23. Ellis

CHAPTER 23

ELLIS

" T hank you," I mutter to the girl in the café as she hands me my coffee. "Keep the change."

She gawps at me because I gave her a hundred-dollar bill, but then wisely decides to pocket it without saying anything.

I'm just glad none of the staff in here have said anything to me since the incident the other day. They all saw it. They all saw Marina leave me.

But the coffee in here is good, so, as long as they seem not to care, I'm going to keep coming in. Life has to go on.

I step out of the café, glance around me to make sure the coast is clear, then start hurrying to the office. I very nearly make it all the way to the door when my plans for a quiet morning get foiled.

A young woman, part of a group, waves her arms and calls out to me, "Oh, my God, Ellis! Hi! We love the show!"

Clearly, she's been dared to do it because her friends all fall away into giggles around her. I glance at them and don't smile. "We love you!" she yells.

I can't stop them from shouting, but I don't give them any further acknowledgement. I'm not in the mood to be drawn into a conversation right now. I'm not really in the mood for anything right now, but I have to go to work and that's fractionally better than moping around at home.

Sort of.

Leaving the girls outside, I step into the building.

"Morning, Mr. Whitlock," beams the receptionist.

She's not the useless one, so I give her a little greeting nod as I head over to the elevator. To my relief, no one else bustles over to get in. Good. I don't want to speak to anyone today.

I stand alone in silence as the elevator lifts me up through the building, until it hits the top floor with a ding. The doors swoosh open, and I glance around again, not wanting to be stopped by people who want things from me. I have nothing to give today.

As soon as I'm sure it's safe, I dash across to my office, slamming the door shut behind me.

I swing into my chair, log into the computer, put my coffee down in the spot I always put it in, and stare at the clock. Just after nine a.m.

I open up my emails next to find two hundred and four unread, thirty-six of which are spam. But before I can even start reading them, I get a pop-up notification from the virtual-meeting software. I open that to find minutes and points of action, three new items that want my attention, five new requests for meetings, one urgent need for my signature.

I sign the document without reading it.

Just a few months ago, being this busy would have been exhilarating to me. It's everything I've been working for.

Hell, even a couple of days ago it was thrilling.

I know exactly what success tastes like. Beautiful Fitness was a hit from day one. Even between the scandals and the outrage and the multiple public apologies I've had to make about it, it's always been a success.

That success has always given me a thrill. That was what I was chasing with Beautiful Baby. I thought I needed that success in order to feel alive.

And until just a few days ago, I thought Beautiful Baby was about to make me feel alive too.

But as I sit here staring at my full inbox, I feel absolutely nothing. Nothing except a hollowness inside my chest that reminds me of all the things that I could have had.

All the things I did have. And even if it did start as a lie, for those three weeks, Marina really was family to me.

She showed me a way of life that I'd never thought about having — and now I think I miss it. Am I having a midlife crisis? I'm barely over thirty! How can I be having a midlife crisis?

But there's definitely some kind of crisis happening here. Every day that passes makes me more and more sure. I should never have rejected Marina like I did. I should never have pushed her to the point of being so upset with me.

I was a fool and I was unforgivably rude to her. And now I'm never going to have a chance to say sorry.

There's a loud knock on the door that pulls me out of my thoughts with a jolt. My head snaps up to see Priscilla staring at me through the window. She's maybe the only person I could even consider dealing with right now.

"Come," I call harshly.

She enters, unfazed by my mood. Before she can speak, I say, "What are we doing next?"

"What?" she says, blinking. I guess she wasn't expecting me to be ready to move on.

"Our next project. What is it?"

"Don't you want to make sure that Beautiful Baby is succeeding first? You know, get that all set before we move on?"

I sigh. "It already has succeeded, hasn't it? That's why we're here, isn't it? Come on, I need something to do. What are we doing next?"

She stares at me, baffled, her perfectly plucked eyebrows drawing together to form a crease between them. "I actually came to see if you had signed that document yet, but if you want to brainstorm something new, I'm happy to sit down with you soon and?—"

"Not soon!" I snap, interrupting her. "Now. I want something to do now ."

"I can see you're busy," she says, which is her diplomatic way of telling me that I really need to stop being in such a bad mood before I deal with other people. "Have you been watching the show?"

"The show," I scoff. "No, I haven't been watching the damn show. I lived it, didn't I? Do I really need to watch it too?"

Priscilla shrugs. I'm sure she can see that I'm hiding the true reason for my mood, and the true reason why I can't bear to watch the show. Seeing Marina's face, seeing us smile together, is like a thousand knives tearing me open.

"Okay. Well, did you sign the document?"

"What document, Priscilla? Details. You can't just ask about documents . Don't you know how many things people want from me?"

She takes a step forward and leans over my desk, splaying her hands over the wood. "Call her back, Ellis. Stop being an idiot."

With that, she turns and walks away, letting the door swing firmly shut behind her.

"Whatever," I mutter. I'm not in the mood for her to be right just now. I'm not in the mood for anything .

But I have to do something or my brain is going to explode. I decide to attempt to clear out my email inbox. With a sigh, I click on one at random. It's some sort of digest of the app's weekly performance. I'm pleased to see that it's doing well.

What I'm less pleased to see is how it's plastered with images of me and Marina being held up as some sort of power couple. There are articles, analyses, posts — all about how awesome we are together.

A lump forms in my throat. We're not a power couple. We're nothing at all.

I look at one of the pictures of her smiling face and it's like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

Were we ever really so happy?

It's agony to admit it, but I do miss her. I want her back.

I think again about our conversation in the café. It's burned into my mind, the look of hurt on her face when she realized that I was giving her money. She wanted something romantic — and I gave her business.

I had really wanted to go for lunch, but my own cowardice to confess how I truly felt ruined everything. I should never have turned the lunch date into business. It should have just been about us. It always should have been us.

And now I've lost her forever.

And worst of all, I keep getting reminded of it everywhere I look. I can't look at my social media without being forced to see pictures of us holding hands. I can barely go outside without being confronted by a commercial, and it always aches because it makes me think of her warm body against mine, and her delicate hands on my skin. Her lips pressed against my chest.

Her smile. Lila's smile.

I hate that I miss the baby as well. I hate that Lila has opened up my eyes to a world worth more than a career. I can't believe I've let myself lose the best family I could ever have wanted — and for what?

Money.

It's all so stupid.

One of my assistants walks past the office and glances in, looking like she's about to knock and ask for something. I glare harder at the screen, using all my willpower to subliminally encourage her to go away.

Fortunately, she gets the message and backs off, continuing on down the corridor without even stopping. Good.

I don't want anyone to bother me today. I want to be left alone to my misery.