Jia
Jesus H., I’m zoning out again. I’m staring at the pages of the real estate magazine, but everything’s a blur.
I’ve been like that all damn day. Ever since Paul left me with that bomb of a declaration.
I release a heavy sigh and shuffle around on the sofa so I can put my feet up.
Looking for property for a new business is the worst thing I could be doing now in this state. I shouldn’t be doing it feeling the way I do. The reason I’m doing it is because I had a little bit of good news today.
I didn’t check my emails from Friday, but there was one from the SkinCeuticals lab. I sent in a proposal for my natural skincare line, and they’re interested in it.
I kicked myself for being so lame that I didn’t see such wonderful news, and in my response I apologized profoundly for the late reply, although I guess it being the weekend doesn’t make me that late.
I’m just excited, and I don’t want to mess things up.
A company like that helping me to develop my own skin care range would be amazing whether I had my own spa or not; it would just be better to have it.
That’s why I’ve been looking through the magazines and papers Rachel brought over and doing my best to be objective.
There are a number of beautiful, beautiful locations, but nothing strikes me more than Montrose Place.
Nothing has that appeal it carries, and every time I come to that conclusion, I remember Paul.
He wants me back. He’ll do whatever it takes to get me back. That’s what he said.
I believe him. I do, so I have to fight to stick to my word.
Last night was goodbye. It wasn’t hello.
I stand by my word that it can’t be. There’s more to me than moping around the house over a guy, which is all I’ve done for weeks. First I worried about Montrose Place, then I worried about him.
I don’t want to be that woman, no. And because of that, I decided I needed to sell. If we sell like he suggested, then it’s done. Deal done and that’s it. I see him when I see him.
The doorbell rings, and I frown. It’s not that late. It’s just gone seven. I’m not expecting any of the girls, so it can only be one of two unexpected guests. Dad or Paul. I don’t want to see either of them today.
The bell rings again, and I gear myself up to answer it.
I look through the peephole and see Dad. He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers and a box of donuts from Kelly’s, my favorite bakery.
I open the door, and it’s the first in months that he hasn’t looked like the fierce businessman I usually encounter on my day-to-day at work.
“Hi, can I come in?” he asks.
“Of course.” Mad as I am at him, I will always see him.
He walks in and stops in the passageway, looking me over.
“These are for you,” he says, handing me the flowers. I take them and offer him a smile.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” It’s guilt flowers. I haven’t spoken to him all weak. It makes him crazy when I do that, no matter the fact that I always have good reason to.
“These too.” He hands me the donuts. “I was… wondering if we could talk.”
“Yeah. We can.”
I move to go to the living room, and he follows. He sees the property magazines on the coffee table and seems a little thrown by them.
“You’re looking for property?” he asks.