I didn't care. I shut the door behind her and roared off toward home.
***
A dry, sticky mouth and a splitting headache aren’t exactly the most pleasant ways to wake up. Drinking a ridiculous amount of whiskey after I returning from my failed attempt at a revenge date hadn’t been the smartest idea I’d ever had. It had, however, calmed me down and temporarily quieted all the warring thoughts in my mind.
I heaved myself out of bed and started to mentally prepare for the morning's rigorous workout, after which I would head in to the office. It was Saturday, yes, but I wanted to work. It would keep my mind sharp, focused—and off certain things. A certain person, I suppose I should have said.
I spent the morning working out and sweating my hangover away, although, try as I might with exercise, nutrition, and rehydration, the headache wouldn't go away. I hated taking medication and would only do it as a last resort, but at the moment it seemed as if popping a few pills was the only way I'd be able to get any respite from the dull, persistent throbbing in my skull.
I asked my chauffeur to drive me to the office as I was in no mood to deal with the city traffic myself. Once there, I immediately started getting to work on the new campaign for VIV Perfume—the project I'd met with Anton about in France. This was going to be a challenge, as it would require a lot of in-depth research into French markets and consumer behaviors in the fields we were trying to market the perfume to. Luckily, exhaustive and obsessive research was my thing—there was nothing like a good challenge to get me going and get my mind mentally focused.
I managed to get several hours of solid research in before my concentration started to falter. I stood from my desk, did a few stretches, and then stood at the windows looking out over the expansive view of the city that stretched to the edge of the horizon. The sun was sinking low in the sky, but there were still a few hours of daylight left. I decided to go for a walk and get a quick bite to eat before returning to the office.
As I was walking out of the building, my phone buzzed. I took it out of my pocket and was surprised to see a message from Lilah. I opened it and read it with eager eyes.
Hi, Asher. I just wanted to apologize about last night. I'm sorry if I came off as a bit defensive or standoffish. I just wasn't feeling too great. However, I'm actually feeling a bit better now. What are you up to?
A broad smile crept over my face. Maybe she wasn’t as disinterested as I’d thought. Maybe she really had been feeling bad the night before and I jumped to conclusions. Maybe. Only one way to find out. I typed out a reply.
No worries. I'm glad to hear you're feeling better. I'm actually at the office working on a new campaign, the one for the French company VIV Perfume. You don't happen to know much about the French perfume market, do you? I've been researching all afternoon and trying to brainstorm ideas. Let me know if you have anything that might help save my brain. Hope you're enjoying your Saturday!
I strolled along the bustling streets, enjoying the hustle bustle of weekend pedestrian traffic; it was strangely calming, this moving sea of strangers. After a few minutes, I got a reply from Lilah.
As it so happens, one of my college friends has been living in Paris for the last five years, and she works in the fashion industry. I'm sure there's a good crossover with the perfume market somewhere in there—I could arrange a Skype conference call with her, if you'd like? We could pick her brain and probably gain some valuable insight into the market. What do you think? I can come in to the office later; I don't have any plans.
My smile broadened as I read her reply. Hopeful optimism, coupled with inspiration, began spreading throughout my body.
“Well, suddenly this weekend isn't looking so bad after all,” I said to myself. “Not looking too bad at all.”
I responded with:
I'll be at the office all afternoon and evening. Come on in whenever you're ready. See you later :)
Chapter Twelve
Lilah
Some of the guilt I'd been feeling since the previous evening began to alleviate. Even though I’d tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had acted, quite frankly, a little selfish and had let my own fears get in the way the night before—characteristics that were usually alien to me.
I'd made assumptions about Asher's motivation for taking me out to celebrate. It was an immature move and after some thought and an evening of beating myself up over it, I decided I had been too harsh on him. I mean, did I really expect him to buy the lame ass excuse about not feeling well?
My guilty conscience was wreaking havoc on me. I had to not only make it up to him, but give him a chance to prove that his wanting to spend time with me was not solely motivated by a desire to replay the drunken evening that ended with more than a handshake between colleagues. He deserved the chance to prove me wrong out of professional respect, and as a friend.
Of course, I couldn't deny the chemistry was there between us—but to reduce his desire to spend time with me to solely that, seemed like I had been blowing things a little out of proportion.
So I texted him and opened up the option to spend time with him—with the pretext being that of a professional context. Although it wouldn’t be a typical day at the office if we'd be the only ones there.
He'd come across as rather eager to follow up on my suggestion of Skyping my friend Alicia in Paris so, as soon as I finished reading his reply, I sent her a message asking if she was available to chat in a couple of hours. When she responded that she was, I got ready to go in to the office.
***
It was late in the evening when I walked into the building. It was weird being there on a weekend. The space which was normally bustling with activity and crowded with people was empty and most of the lights were out. It was almost like being in an entirely different building. I went straight through to Asher's office and knocked on the door.
“Lilah?” came a muffled but familiar voice from within.
I pushed the door open a little and stuck my head in. “Hi, Asher,” I replied.
“Come on in,” he insisted.