The sofa where I sat now, holding my daily meeting with my secretary and assistant.
I flicked the thoughts of her away, a habit I’d grown accustomed to in the past year as my thoughts were often with her, and gave my assistant my attention.
“The new line-up in Turkey—you’re good to make a statement next Tuesday?”
I’d been vaguely present as he had gone over the bullet points of the announcement regarding the programming changes. These were details that had been discussed by my executives and discussed even more thoroughly by lower-level executives. By the time these matters became of consequence to my direct team, there was little need for my input.
It wouldn’t even be me writing the statement that supported the changes. That would be Astor. All he needed was my nod of approval, which I gave him now.
“I’ll be sure it’s sent immediately to the high-profile media,” Charlotte said, making a note on her pad.
“Good, then,” Astor said in confirmation. “That’s all set.”
“Is there anything else?” I was restless, ready to move on with my day. Ready to dive into projects that took more of my bandwidth, left less of my mind free to wander to Amelie and the woman I’d left there. My wife.
The weeks away were agonizing.
I spent every waking minute trying to keep focused. My workouts had doubled in length, pushing myself to the point of distraction. Then I buried myself in business matters, staying at the office later than anyone else, keeping more on my own plate when, in the past, I would have delegated. At home, I drank. More than I’d drunk in years.
It wasn’t an entirely successful method of coping, but it got me through the weekdays. Yet, every Friday, as the clock ticked on, and the buzz of work wound down around me, and the long, lonely weekend loomed over me, I’d invariably pick up the phone on my desk and dial the airfield to schedule an impromptu flight to the Caribbean. Every time I’d make it so far as one ring, maybe two, before I slammed the receiver down, wondering what on earth I’d been doing. What I’d been thinking.
I had no sure plan, and that was so unlike me it set a pit of terror in my stomach that grew and grew anytime I allowed myself to ruminate too long. And having no plan, I knew it was better that I stayed away from her. For her as well as for me.
Even though the distance did little to rectify the situation. Wherever I was, I was fucked.
Another flick of the mind, pushing out those thoughts to concentrate on my employees. Charlotte had already begun to gather her things, but Astor sat still, which gave the answer to the question I’d asked without him having to speak.
Whatever he had left to go over was more personal in nature, then. My secretary’s presence wouldn’t be required.
Charlotte had made it two meters when she stopped. “Oh,” she said then sighed. “Warren Werner.”
I stretched my neck to the side, trying to work out the permanent kink associated with his name. “He called again?”
“He did. Personally this time. What would you like me to say?”
It might have been less provoking if his calls were regarding his daughter. A handful of short emails sent under her account to his wife seemed to be all he needed to be rest assured Celia was doing well. If it had been my daughter who had wed my business rival, if it had been my daughter who had crossed an ocean and limited her communication, I would not have been satisfied with impersonal messages sent via computer. I would have demanded phone calls. I would have expected a visit over Christmas. If Genevieve had denied those, I would have flown the pond and shown up on her doorstep.
It only proved what I’d always known about Warren, that he was a cruel, heartless bastard.
Because the only reason the man had reached out those several times was to follow-up on the alliance I’d hinted at on the day I’d wed Celia. I’d only dangled the idea to get him calm enough to accept our marriage. It had been an impromptu move on my part. I’d been so desperately close to the end of the plan. I would have said anything at that point, and I did.
And if I’d followed through with the plan as it were, this wouldn’t be an issue now. I’d have already buried my wife and any contact from Warren would likely be through lawyers because there was no doubt he’d try to contest the transfer of Werner Media shares to my name. It would be a long and drawn-out process, but he had no leg to stand on, and I’d win. Eventually.
That eventually would never arrive as long as Celia was alive.
“Put him off,” I said, rising and buttoning my jacket out of habit. I couldn’t be on this couch anymore. I continued as I crossed the room to my desk. “Tell him I’ve been preoccupied. Long weekends in the islands with my wife. Surely, he remembers we’re newly wed.”
“Yes, sir,” Charlotte said, her mouth set, clearly disapproving. She knew there was something fishy in my marriage. She knew it was odd that my new bride would choose to stay on a small island away from me. She knew how often I flew off to Amelie.
She didn’t know how often I thought about it.
I imagined the woman was thoroughly confused. If she’d thought I’d married a woman a decade younger than me for her body, that notion had been dismissed when I’d abandoned her in the Atlantic. If she’d thought I’d married her because of who she was and the connections she’d afford me, then why hadn’t I taken a call with Warren yet? If she’d thought I’d married Celia because of love…
Well, bless Charlotte, then, for her ignorance.
It wasn’t her job to think anything about me anyway.
I dismissed her now, but she’d worked for me long enough to get away with one more comment. “But I can’t put him off forever.”
Then she was gone, and Astor was still here to discuss something that would hopefully take my mind off my wife once and for all.
I unbuttoned my jacket and sat behind my desk, motioning for my assistant to join me here. He stood, bringing the chair and his messenger bag with him.
“Mateo has sent over a list of purchase items that need your approval. He says you’ve authorized a redecorating project?” He set the chair down and sank onto it.
I nearly told him to pick it right back up and put it where it belonged because I was not in the mood for discussing this.
But that wouldn’t make the item go away.
“I did,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t even tell myself it had been on a whim because I’d carefully collected the catalogues for her from a variety of stores I knew she liked based on the bookmarks on her computer and then left them on her bed with a note suggesting she fix the room to her liking.
She hadn’t mentioned wanting to since we’d first arrived on the island. I’d dismissed it then, convinced that she wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. Still believing I’d go through with it, that I could go through with it, because that had been the plan. That had always been the plan.
By giving her this gift, had my mind been made up?
It gave her something to do. It gave her something to keep her mind sharp and her spirits high. It replaced the wreckage from the walls that had begun to break down in our sessions. What was the point if I didn’t intend to let her come out of this whole?
The answers weren’t at the ready.