Dear Heart, I Hate You

“No. I handed them off to one of my co-agents for the weekend. She took them out last night and this morning. She’s going to handle everything.”

The muscles in his chest tightened as he moved to sit up. “What do you mean?”

I pushed myself up too, narrowing my eyes at him. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Which part has you confused?”

“You’ve been working with these clients for weeks, Jules. I don’t want you to miss out or get screwed out of your commission just because I’m here.”

“I’ll still get commission. And I made a choice. I wanted to spend this weekend with you. I work pretty much every weekend, all the time. I work late at night almost every day. I’m at my clients’ beck and call, basically.” I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t get to see you, ever. So if you’re coming into town for the weekend, then yes, I’m going to hand off my clients to a co-agent, and I’m going to be okay with that.”

I had no idea what Cal was thinking, but it was obvious the wheels were spinning in his head. Work had always come first for me, but being with Cal had changed that. It wasn’t that he had replaced my career, but I definitely found myself wanting to make room for him, to share my time. There had to be a way to balance being successful with being in a relationship. Hell, people did it all the time, every single day. It was just that before meeting Cal, I’d never wanted that balance before, never sought out how to have it.

But I did now.

And I hadn’t expected him to be upset about it.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“I hate the idea of you giving things up that you’ve worked so hard for, just because I’m here.”

“I’m not giving anything up. You’re reading way too much into this.”

Cal seemed upset, and I wanted to calm him down. I knew now exactly what he was doing and thinking. A guy like Cal would look at what I’d done and interpret it as my taking a step backward in my career instead of forward. He would never want to be responsible for something like that.

“Please don’t read into this,” I practically begged him. “I know you are. It’s nowhere near as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

He stared at me, but his eyes looked right through me, suddenly making me feel invisible. He was questioning my decision making, and I could tell he felt guilty about it in some way.

When he asked, “Do you want me to head to the airport now,” I freaked out.

“Don’t you dare. We have to leave in a couple hours, as it is. Work can wait. I know that you and I don’t normally believe in that kind of thing, but this weekend, right now, I do. I believe that while you’re here with me, my work can wait.” I hoped I sounded as convincing as I felt. I needed him to see reason, to understand. “Do you understand that? It’s one client, Cal. Just one property. There will be others.”

“Okay, Jules,” he said with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you say so.”

But it was too late. Something had changed. I could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the air.

He scrubbed at his face before lying down and staring up at the ceiling.

Moving next to him, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Did you want to go to Santa Monica? Maybe we could have lunch and walk around Third Street before you have to go.”

“That sounds nice.” He nodded, his eyes slowly moving to meet mine.

“Then you’d better get up,” I said before hopping up from the bed and making my way toward my walk-in closet to get dressed.

“Should I pack my things? We aren’t coming back here before the airport, right?” he called out.

I poked my head out from around the door. “Right. We won’t be back.”

As I said the words, it made me sad to know that when I came back to my apartment later, I’d be alone, without Cal.

• • •

That little shift between us lingered as I drove toward Santa Monica. I hated how much I sensed it and wished I was wrong, but I knew that I wasn’t.

Even with Cal’s hand firmly planted on my thigh where it belonged, his disappointment, or whatever it was that he felt, was still there, hanging between us like a foul odor I couldn’t swat away. A woman knew when a guy was off. We noted little things like facial expressions, tone of voice, and gestures, and I was no exception. I read into everything Cal said and everything he didn’t say.

He did, however, hold my hand a little tighter than usual as we walked along the shop-lined street after eating.

“Is it always like this?” he asked.