Isobel fought the urge to uncross and re-cross her legs.
For the last five minutes they'd been scissoring madly beneath the meeting room table as they watched the carefully compiled presentation regarding the footage from her time in New York. But now that the presentation was concluded and the lights clicked back on, she wasn't about to move a single, solitary inch that would make her appear as anything other than poised and centered.
Especially since the man spear-heading the meeting was bronze, dark, gorgeous and completely off limits. He'd strolled into CP24 little over a week ago and within that time span not a single—single—woman under forty hadn't experienced a serious case of whiplash whenever he walked by.
A former production manager from CBC and CP24's newest acquisition.
As he'd woven through the presentation, citing numbers, viewership response all carefully splayed out in eye-popping charts and graphs, Isobel had struggled to recall his name without much success when all that popped to the forefront was the nickname courtesy of Priya after Isobel's gushed over their last Skype session three days ago:
Mr. Whoremones.
But above the hum of attraction, was another more insistent feeling. Guilt.
Kyle had been her world once. He future. She'd been foolish to think eight years of feeling would evaporate in the span of a blink. As much as she hated to admit it, thoughts of him had crept back in since New York as the rage, hurt and frustration ebbed, a tarnished shield crumbling around her, and the torrid flood of what once was returned. Bringing with it the sweet sting of nostalgia that shook her straight through, had her fingers itching to reach for the familiar.
The comfortable and easy. Everything she was so entwined with him, how could she ever hope to successfully separate the two without shutting it all away and losing herself in the process?
Her fingers fluttered to her neck, to the delicate rose gold chain and the simple little pendant that dangled there. Old and cherished.
Memories. So many memories.
Call him, her heart wheezed with the desperation of the dying. No, her head replied—though the tone had lost its warrior edge over the subsequent week and had gone almost mewling. Even her night with Hideo had become tainted in the wake of her clashing feelings.
Checking out the hot bossman was like picking at a healing scab, all it did was pluck up painful feels and led to a bit of bleeding, but she couldn't stop herself.
Under the table her legs started bouncing...
"All in all, I think you can agree that Passivist Activist has debuted to a roaring success," he said and swung his gaze around to the other meeting attendees.
"Of course." Nneka set a hand to her thigh, quelling the restless bounce. "Isobel is everything we promised, and more."
"She is," he said with such a degree of sincerity Isobel felt the flash of heat in her cheeks and knew she was about as red as Nneka's cherry tailored slacks. "According to the executive producers, they felt Isobel's capturing of what happened in New York was poignant, beautiful but, more important, thoughtfully rendered. She showed the world and viewers the truth while balancing the fine thread of delivering fact and emotion." As his smile spread, so did that heat. "Now, let's talk about what's next for Passivist Activist."
Mind reeling from the last half hour, Isobel gathered her coat from the back of the chair and folded it over her arm. The day had started brisk and rolled straight into miserable with a steady fall of rain, forcing her to pull out her large umbrella and early fall coat.
An almost sacrilegious act considering it was only June.
At the sound of her name, Isobel pulled around and hand to bit her bottom lip to keep her jaw from tumbling open. Mr. Whoremones had called her name and was already heading her way.
"Hey," he said, hooking an arm over the paneled divider of the cubicle she worked out of when she wasn't busy behind camera or on her phone filming spot segments. "There's hasn't been much opportunity to speak with directly, but I wanted to you to know firsthand, how impressed I am with what you've put together that I'm excited to work with you closely on this project."
Isobel released her lip to smile pleasantly—or so she hoped as her face was flame hot as an Olympic torch, obliterating all sensory feeling. By some small act of mercy the lights were dim at this end of the studio as the team was rolling out for the evening. "Thank you, Mr.—" Crap!
"Navid," he said, saving her for a moment of unforgivable humiliation. And, wow, that smile. Framed with a groomed black goatee it was arresting as moonlight after a storm. "I hope this isn't too forward, but I was hoping if you had nothing else planned that you would allow me to take you to dinner. A celebration of mutual collaboration."
There was no mistaking intent. The new hot executive on the team, the man who was going to oversee her project for the foreseeable future, was asking her on date.
Isobel gathered her purse, her bearings, and shrugged into her coat. "I'm...sorry, Navid, but I have to get home."
"That's right. Nneka did mention...your father, is it?"
"Yeah."
"How's he doing?" Navid eased into step with her as she began to walk, ignoring a subtle thumbs-up from Stacey and a not so subtle fist bump from Drew.
"He has his good days. Today wasn't one of them."
"I know what you mean," he said as they stepped out the studio doors. Cars tires sloshed down wet pavement streaked with shadows in the setting sun.
"You don't have to say that."
"No, I get it. I do." Navid set a hand to his chest, smile genuine and entirely disarming. "My grandmother is in early stages of dementia."
"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. Please. She lives with my parents, I step in to help as much as I can where I can, but admittedly I don't do enough."
"I'm sure that's not true." Isobel brushed a strand of hair out of her face, curled it behind her ear and his eyes tracked that simple movement before settling his gaze back to hers. Her phone vibrated in her hand and an incoming call from an unrecognized number flashed across the screen. Grateful the excuse to pull away, Isobel glanced over as the silver Honda pulled up at the curb with the driver watching intently. "Oh...it's my Uber."
Before she could reach the car, Navid stepped ahead of her and opened the passenger door, smooth as any gentleman in the old black and white movies she loved to watch during snowy winter evenings with her Da.
"I know you've got a lot on the go and I don't want to hold you up, but if you decide you want to take a rain check on that dinner sometime, or lunch—coffee, even, whichever suits your schedule best, let me know."
"Okay." Unable to hold back her smile, Isobel let it spread, bright and fast. Warmed, his expression mirrored hers.
"Okay." Stepping back, Navid raised his hand in goodbye, and held there a moment longer as she slid into the back seat and shut the door.
She smiled the rest of the way home, all but skipped up the walk way, through the front door and into the living room.
Angus eyed her over the edge of his Sudoku puzzle, glasses near the tip of his nose. "Someone's in a fine mood."
"Oh, that I am," Isobel sang in the lilt of his native Dublin as she twirled out of her coat and set it on a hook. "You won't believe the day I've had. Passivist Activist is really taking off."
"Well, if you think you can find your feet for a minute, come scoot over here and tell me all about it."
Sailing to his side, Isobel plunked down on the armrest—careful not to jostle him and planted a noisy kiss on his grinning cheek. Pleased to find it plump and soft as she remembered. In the last couple of weeks since she'd returned from New York he'd started putting on weight—the right kind of weight. Luz will continue to look after him while she's gone for the week (Vegas and then off to Spain).
"We had a follow-up meeting this afternoon that has me spinning with so many ideas. So many directions I want to take it to. Directions they're actually going to let me explore."
"Wonderful, love. Didn't doubt you for a moment."
"It's going to mean more travel."
"We'll manage."
"And longer hours."
"Bel, stop fussin' your pretty head."
"And Navid thinks—"
"Navid, is it. Indian fellow?"
"Persian, I think. He's one of the new production managers for the network."
"Hm." Angus draped his Sudoku face down on his lap. "And already on first names with ya, I see."
"Da!"
"I'm just pointing out the facts, Bel. He's one of the higher ups. Tread carefully."
"Aren't I always?" Isobel kissed him again as he buried himself behind his Sudoku, before bouncing to her feet. "That enough idle chit chat. I have dinner to make, packing to finish and a red eye to catch."
In the kitchen, still floating on cloud nice, Isobel whirled from fridge to pantry, gathering and collecting spices, bread crumbs and a carton of silken tofu. Tonight she was making her speciality: vegan spaghetti with eggplant meatballs, one of the few dishes that her Da didn't roll his eyes over or prod sullenly with a fork like an errant child.
She'd only set the last of the ingredients on the counter when the house phone rang. "Got it." Isobel plucked up the cordless receiver and wedged it between her cheek and shoulder. "Yes?"
"I'm looking to speak with Angus Morgan."
"Sure, may I ask who is calling?"
"This is Lydia Oxford, from the Enriched Wellness Center."
Isobel recognized the name immediately. "Is this about Nurse Mendes? We're expecting her tomorrow morning to—"
"No, I don't deal with nurse visitations. I'm from the rehabilitation program and we're looking to confirm his residency details."
"Residency?"
"Yes, we're expecting him as of Thursday next week and wanted to confirm his needs for transportation."
Head spinning, Isobel gathered the phone in her trembling hand. "I'm sorry, there must be some kind of mistake. My father isn't going anywhere."
"Are you sure? Because we have his term of care paid for in full for the next eighteen months."
"Paid for? By who?"
"I can't release that kind of information, Miss."
"Bel..." At the sound of Angus' voice, Isobel jolted and whirled around, accusation and disbelief slashing her heart to ribbons as he reaching for the phone and took it from her limp grasp. Eyes dipped away from hers, he muttered into the receiver and the buzzing in her ears drowned out everything but a few harrowing words.
Yes. Next Thursday. 11am. I'll be ready.
And just like that, what was left of Isobel's world bottomed out from beneath her feet. "Da..."
Angus set down the phone. "Come, let get ya off your feet. We have a few things to discuss."
Isobel followed numbly as he guided her back to the living room and prodded her into the soft corner of the worn couch. They'd had this couch for the whole of her life and the cushions sagged in the middle, the armrests were hard and the floral print near worn off, but it was wide and deep and smelled of home.
Angus settled into his recliner, spun on the swivel base to face her and pinned his elbows to his thighs.
"You're leaving?"
"Only for a spell, love. It's for the best."
Tears fell and she could hardly blink fast enough to see through them. "How...without telling me?"
"I wanted to speak about when ya got back from Spain. Not while you're rushing off to see your friends..." Angus cupped the back of his neck, calloused palm scraping over the rasp of hair. "You've had such a light about you, Bel, with this new job, and you just said things are gonna only go up from here. Decided to do the right thing. They specialize in helping individuals like meself facing long-term recovery after an accident or illness. Teach patients to regain independence and strength." Blue eyes fringed with steel locked to hers and in them she saw no room for negotiation. "You need to be free, to live. Not helping an old man into his jeans every morning."
"That's it? I have no say in this?" Furious, Isobel thrust to her feet. Shaking with cold and the strain of sobs. "Where did you even get the money, Da? Tell me? Because we don't have the funds from the settlement and won't see it for at least another eight months, so where?"
His eyes dropped and the proud line of his shoulders lost their strength. She'd broken his armor, a point to the scoreboard for her but at the moment it didn't feel like anything but another loss.
Understanding was a hard, brutal slap to her already battered soul. Of course. At the sound of her knowing gasp, Angus lifted watery eyes strained with grief.
"Bel. Don't be angry with her."
**AN**
Eeps we're almost there. The BIG blow out. Who could 'she' be?
Oooooo the possibilities.
And I totally felt for Isobel battling her old feelings and new sense of self as she's trying to find her place in the world without Kyle in it. I know it's easy to think why isn't she just over him, but lets face it - no one comes out of any relationship unscathed and we all grapple back and forth with our feelings of missing them/hating them/wishing we could go back/wanting to push forward. Life is a yo-yo, letting you go only to spring you back. Catch and release. Constant.