The subway ride to the office the following day is weird. I want to feel excited and eager to return to work, but I feel nervous and unsure. I may be unable to avoid seeing Ben for the first time since Costa Rica.
Because of this, I put extra effort into my appearance by curling my hair and applying extra mascara. I also dress sexier than usual but still business casual: dark skinny jeans, a fitted rose-coloured blazer and nude pumps. I need to feel confident and unstoppable, but I'm worried seeing Ben will make my insides crumble.
That's why I devised a plan to avoid him. I am not ready to mix personal with business.
If my timing is right, my plan is foolproof. Every morning before work, Ben and I grab a coffee at Overflow Coffee Bar around 8:30 a.m. Ben won't be there if I make coffee at home and show up at the office around 8:00 a.m. If he follows our routine (which I'm sure he will because he is a creature of habit), he will arrive at the office shortly after 9:00 a.m. I will have one hour to quickly scan my files and then leave the office to attend client appointments. But if he does show up to the office before 9:00 a.m. I will look fabulous enough to remind him of what he left behind.
When I arrive at the office, I am greeted by Millie, a cute redhead with a bad case of freckles. She's the receptionist. As I approach her desk, she bends down to power on her computer.
"Hey, Megan," she waves. "I hear congratulations are in order. You snagged a Gold Coast listing."
"Thanks. Yeah. Apparently, I did."
"Jake told me Oprah is the client selling the property," she smiles. "How cool is that? You are going to be to meet Oprah."
I nod, trying to suppress my laughter. Mille is very gullible and subject to many pranks by Jake (a fellow realtor). Oprah is not my client on this property.
"How come you're here so early?" she asks.
"I have a lot of work to catch up on."
I walk forward and open the door to rows and rows of cubicles.
She nods, smiling. "Cool. Enjoy your day. Welcome back, Megan."
The office is quiet and relatively empty except for a few random employees.
But in less than an hour, employees will pack this office, phones will ring, and keyboards will click. I missed work- like a lot. Even with Ben's cubicle only two away from mine, this place is home to me.
I sit on my chair and place my cell phone on my desk.
Just as Emily promised, files are piled high beside my laptop. On top of the files, a yellow sticky note catches my attention. I notice Ben's familiar handwriting right away.
WE NEED TO TALK. PLEASE CALL ME.
I crumple the sticky note and toss it into the nearby garbage can. I can't believe this is how he decided to reach out to me. Why didn't he call or text me instead? Hell, he could have stopped by my place at any time. Instead, he writes me a sticky note at work and places it on my desk. What the hell? I am not the one who left on an early flight without a goodbye.
"Look who's here." I hear my boss, Clint Reitman, Owner of Reitman Realty LLC, say from behind me. He's a boisterous middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a long nose.
I turn around to face him. "Good morning."
"How's my favourite realtor feeling today?" he asks, eyes narrowed. "Tell me you already contacted Ms. Dorothy van den Berg."
"I'm feeling much better, thank you," I say, stopping. "Who is Ms. Dorothy van den Berg?"
Clint frowns. "Your client. She's selling 1502 North Dearborn Parkway."
Oh. Fuck. The Gold Coast listing. Despite taking a sick day, Clint would expect I'd know my client's name and address. I do not want to send him into a fury.
"Oh right, sorry," I say, laughing nervously. "I am about to call her right now." I pick up my cell phone and wave it in the air.
"Mrs. Van den Berg is an important client," he says matter-of-factly. "She's a prominent investor. She buys and sells properties all over Chicago. And for some reason, she asked for you. Do not disappoint."
"I won't, Clint. I promise."
When he finally turned away from me and returned to his office, I quickly scanned through my files for Ms. van den Berg's phone number. I called her immediately.
Two rings before Ms. van den Berg's raspy voice answers my call.
She begins by saying how delighted she is to hear from me and that she's heard great things about me and my work ethic. She also says she knows I have what she's looking for and suspects I can sell the property quickly. I thanked her for requesting me as her realtor and asked if I could meet with her to review and sign a contract and, of course, see her property.
We agreed on a time, said our goodbyes, and I hung up from the call.
I feel so excited. This could be the property that defines my career. Imagine I was asked to be featured on Selling Sunset. God knows what could happen. I can not screw up this opportunity.
I'm grinning and sifting through my email when I see Ben walk into the office. I'm nervous and intimidated to see him. He looks so damn hot. His fitted navy suit clings to his muscles in all the right places and his hair is perfectly styled and swept to the side. His jaw is a little stubbly, and his eyes find mine instantly.
He rubs the back of his neck, frowning apologetically at me.
My heart stops.
I am not ready to have this conversation right now, which is precisely why I needed to avoid him this morning.
He doesn't look away, so I feel like I can't, even though my knees want to buckle.
Thank God I am sitting in a chair.
"Did you get my note?" he asks, frown slowly fading.
I look past him, over his shoulder, into the office, where it's still relatively empty. When I don't answer, he bends to catch my eyes. "My note. Did you get it?"
"Yeah, I got it," I tell him. "You wanted to talk. We could have talked in Costa Rica if you hadn't left on an early flight. Even a call or text would have sufficed. But instead, you left me a sticky note on my desk at work. This doesn't seem like the right place to talk."
His brows pull together for a beat before he understands. "Maybe we should go for a coffee –"
"I'm busy catching up on work."
He nods. "Right. You weren't at the office yesterday. Is everything okay?" he asks, his gaze shifting to my mouth.
Did we get back from the same vacation? Of course, everything is not okay. I want to scream, but I don't.
My voice is nervous and shaking when I whisper, "Yeah. Sure. Everything is okay."
"You look great, by the way," he says. He's so close I can smell his aftershave. It smells like fresh air, sharp and soothing all at once.
I glance up at him. He's no longer looking at my mouth; we're looking directly into each other's eyes when he runs a thumb down my cheek. It feels so secluded in my tiny cubicle, but all around the office, it echoes with co-workers' pleasantries and the clicking of keyboards. I want him to
touch me everywhere – God, I miss feeling him touch me – but I'm nervous, too. I do not want to become the subject of office gossip, so I pull away from his touch.
"I should get back to work," I say, turning away from him.
"I need to talk to you, Megs," he whispers.
"Not everything is always on your terms, Ben," I tell him. "We're at the office. You know where I live, and you know my phone number. Don't sticky note me again."
He runs a hand down his face. "Can we please walk to Overflow Coffee like old times and talk there?"
I take a moment to breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth, and wince at his reference to old times. I'm almost positive I may throw up. I thought I was ready to tell him I was in love with him, and here he is, suggesting we revert to old times. I knew him leaving Costa Rica meant he realized we were a mistake. Sex doesn't change the fact I will always be his beer-drinking buddy, Megan Daniels.
I shake my head. "Sorry, I'm swamped. I don't have time for coffee."
You are such a fool. This is why you decided to end things with Ben in Costa Rica. You need to let him go.
"With Ms. van den Berg's listing?" he asks. His voice is hoarse and low.
Of course, he knows about Ms. van den Berg's listing. Our office is a gossip factory, as I'm sure everyone already knows.
I blush, and my eyes drop to the floor. "Yeah. With that listing."
"Tonight..." he begins.
"What?"
"I am meeting a client for a drink at Third Rail Tavern around 7:00 p.m.- you know, the pub where we flipped that coin-" he says, rubbing the back of his neck, smiling hopefully at me. "We should be done around 8:00 p.m. It's not too far from your apartment. Tell me; you'll be there."
I want to say yes. I want to tell him I'll be there. But then the words old times ring between my ears again. Meeting him at a pub seems like something that would happen between friends. I can't subject myself to any more rejection. I need more time to sort through my humble emotions and gain clarity in my thoughts without being bombarded by Ben's smooth-talking charisma.
"I'm sorry, Ben. I really can't promise anything," I say, standing. I grab my files, cell phone, and purse and push past him, walking toward the exit.
The problem is, I don't want to meet Ben at a pub. I want to drive to his condo, kick him in the nuts, and then drive back home. He's acting like a complete douche and hiding how he fucked Stephanie, punching Steven, and then leaving Costa Rica the way he did, showing he's
not ready for a real commitment. Sure, I'm tempted to meet him for a drink, but I'm also tempted to snub him. To let him know I will not be fucked with.
I remember something my mother once told me after my father left: Never be a woman who begs a man to stay. You may be sad if he decides to walk out on your life but never chase him. If he genuinely loves you, he will realize what he lost. Make him fight for you.
These words are dropped like a bomb in my head. He hasn't even apologized for anything. And he's not fighting for me. He wants to hang old school, shoot the shit, and meet or have a drink – to what? – talk about how he hopes we can still be friends.
I need to be more focused as I tour Ms. van den Berg's home. I vaguely recall her signing a contract, us saying goodbye, and leaving her home.
I try to focus by calling new clients and reconnecting with old ones. I spend my afternoon in a café a few blocks west of the Gold Coast district. I catch up on emails and paperwork, trying desperately to keep my mind on the task.
I make decent progress until late afternoon when I become distracted. At that point, I think less about the Chicago real estate market and more about Ben and his late-night proposition.
I should go. I'm done being mad. Trying to stay mad is exhausting, and I've never been good at it. I miss Ben. I miss what he had before the coin toss and what we had after, too. But I can still feel my jealousy that Stephanie slept with him, climbing in a hot flush against my neck.
I want to talk with him and tell him I'm so completely consumed with pain at the thought of losing him. When he kept a secret from me, it felt like everything I thought we were was just a lie. I want to tell him I'll always want to be Megan and Ben, that ice-skate around McCormick Tribune Ice Rink in the winter or grab a burger at Sliders to watch tone-deaf people sing karaoke or spend a Friday night watching Will Ferrell movies under a warm fuzzy blanket eating popcorn. That's the Ben I want in my life. The problem is I can never forget what it was like to kiss and touch him and...
I suck in a sharp breath, keeping my gaze focused out the window. I watch people moving quickly along the sidewalk and the flurry of traffic. My gaze snares to a young couple hugging on the sidewalk in front of a cab. He kisses her forehead and lips before opening the cab's door for her, waving her goodbye.
Their interaction makes my stomach turn.
What if that guy were Ben? And I wasn't that girl? There was a new girl, and I watched him kiss and wave her goodbye. I mean, it is inevitable; eventually, he will move on.
If we were to remain friends, how could I possibly be okay seeing him with someone else?
My phone vibrates, startling me.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" Emily asks.
"At a café."
"I've been trying to reach you all morning," she says. "I called you a few times, but your phone went straight to voicemail."
"Oh. Yeah. I turned off my phone when I was with Ms. van den Berg."
"I still can't believe you scored that listing," she says. "Clint is over the moon about it. This is a huge deal for the company and, of course, your career. You are so lucky."
"I know. I can't believe she requested me."
"I need a serious favour," she says. "I helped you all week, so I hope you can do this for me."
"What?" I ask, taking a pull from my coffee.
"I have a showing tonight at a condo by Wrigley Field, but I also have a hot date with an up-and-coming guy..."
"You want me to show your listing."
"Yes, please, Megan. The showing is from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. Please, please."
I should meet Ben tonight. I can't stop thinking about it. But I also can't say no to Emily. I owe her big time.
"Okay. I'll be there. Text me the address."
"Thank you, Megan. Love you."
As I ride on the subway, I remind myself to focus on myself and my career. If anyone, Ben should understand this. I couldn't say no to Emily. Plus, this late showing will give me an excuse to stay late at the office and get more work done on Ms. van den Berg's listing. The commission on that sale will finally allow me to purchase an investment property.
Something I have been dreaming of doing for a long time.
The sun setting over skyscrapers isn't as beautiful as the ocean, but it still looks pretty. The sky is a fiery orange at the horizon, and the city begins to pick up speed again with those coming and going after a long workday. I finally left the office and headed to Emily's listed condo for a showing. I buzz into the building, introduce myself to the sellers, and set up for
those who will attend and are looking to purchase a property. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about it, I know Ben expects me to show up at the pub in an hour from now.
I will text him to let him know I can't make it. But just as I am about to do so, people start arriving. I am caught up showing the condo, explaining condo fees, and reviewing the building's history with potential buyers. Time flies quickly.
I glance at a clock on the wall and see it's quarter after eight—my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. I see Ben has sent me a text.
Are you coming?
My head is spinning. I want to see him more than anything else at this moment.
"Excuse me, Miss. How much are condo fees again?" A woman's voice comes from my right.
I glance up at her. "Um. Twelve hundred a month."
She nods, turning away from me. I tap out a text.
Sorry. I'm covering one of Emily's showings till 9:00 p.m. Can you wait till then?
My phone buzzes with another text.
You know what... don't bother. I'm leaving.
I texted him again.
I'm sorry. I had a crazy busy day. I forgot to text you.
He responds instantly.
Don't worry about it, Megs. I get it.
Shit. Now I feel horrible. My chest feels like it may cave in on itself.
I tap out another text:
I promise I can be there just after nine.
The three little dots stay visible for what feels like hours before he responds.
Nah. Like I said. Don't worry about it.
My hands are shaking, and my pulse is racing as I place my cell phone back on the counter. I hate knowing I hurt Ben, but the last thing I needed to hear tonight was the dreaded "friend" word.