Page 52 of Scrooge

“What are our people saying?” I ask, wondering what the staff and the shareholders are thinking.

“Mostly shock, intrigue, and dare I say, it’s favorable,” he comments, like it surprises him. “So it looks like this little contract we have with Haylee is working. Your likeability has increased, but now after Thanksgiving, it has skyrocketed. Apparently, the connection with Tucker Toys is a positive step because everyone is familiar with the store, so immediate kudos from that is coming your way, too. Not to mention, the engagement to top it all off.”

Needing to move, I walk to the windows. The city looks the same. It hasn’t changed, but it feels different and looks different in my eyes. I find the spot where Tucker Toys is located. The solid beacon in my life now, sporting cars and people on the sidewalk outside.

“I’ve fielded calls from three designers who want to make her dress, four venues who are offering their establishments for the reception, not to mention, the flowers and cake operators… they are coming in by the dozen,” he says like he’s checking items off a list. “They now want you as a keynote at the conference,New York Businessmagazine is calling, wanting an interview and cover shot, and I am even getting calls about Haylee.”

“What about Haylee?” I ask, feeling extremely protective, even though my head is thumping and my sinuses are burning.

“Interviews, offers of clothes and jewelry. I mean, she is hot property and everyone wants to know who she is and how she captured your heart… which brings me to the next thing we need to discuss.”

“What else?” I ask, wishing this conversation would end already. I just want this day to end so I can sleep off this cold.

“We need to start thinking about the breakup,” he says matter-of-factly, and I feel like I have been punched in the stomach.

“Breakup?” I blanche.

“We need to strategize how to manage it. What we are going to say and when. I was thinking she could cheat on you,” Laurent suggests, and I still.

“Cheat on me?” I grit out as I rub the back of my neck and walk back across my office, the blood pumping through my body making me feel lightheaded.

“Well, we need to keep you in a favorable light…”

“It won't work. Anyone who knows Haylee would know that is not something she would do. She is caring, empathetic, so friendly and smart. Really fucking good at painting too. You know, she does these portraits of people, it looks like they’re photographs, but it is her paint, her strokes, her brush…” I trail off, feeling energized just talking about her. “She is well-known in the community. People gravitate toward her. She has this energy that shines out of her, you know?” I say to Laurent, who is now staring at me, mouth agape.

“Oh my God…” he whispers, looking shocked.

“What?” I ask, eyes narrowing at his reaction.

“You like her, really like her,” he states like it’s a fact, and I pause.

“No. This is an agreement,” I lie easily, hating the taste of the words on my tongue.

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s it anymore. You have fallen for her hard.” Leaning back, it looks like he’s thinking of a plan.

“Pfft.” I wave him off as I sit back at my desk, acting like he is wrong while fear crawls up my chest because he is actually right. Already, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. And I don’t want to.

“You’re sweating just thinking about it.” He scoffs.

“I’m sweating because I have a fucking fever,” I tell him, and he frowns. Though, I might be sweating for both reasons at this point.

“You are looking a little sick… Maybe you need to go home and rest,” he says, and I roll my eyes. I’m never sick. I have never had a sick day. I’m fit. I drink green juice every fucking day.

“Not going to happen,” I say, just before I sneeze, and he smirks.

“Get out of my office and go do some work,” I tell him, and he stands, not looking convinced. But he walks out anyway, closing the door, and I lean back, feeling like I am dying.

* * *

“Alexander.Haylee is here to see you.” Angela’s pleasant tone feels like needles in my ears as I try to read through this contract for the third time in half an hour. I’ve pushed back a few meetings, but I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours, trying to get some work done, and all the while, I feel my health declining. But I sit up, not expecting the visit, suddenly feeling slightly more awake because of it. I run my hand through my hair and take a sip of water, hoping I look better than I feel. Because I feel like shit.

“Send her in,” I say, wondering if my voice always sounds this husky.

“You're sick?” she says with an adorable pout as soon as she pushes through the door. She looks like an angel. She is in her usual blue jeans, her hair bouncy, curly, and shiny, with hardly any makeup on her beautiful face. My favorite look.

“I’m not sick,” I tell her as I stand, then cough, grabbing a tissue from the nearby box, which is now already half-empty.

“Come on. Dan is waiting.” She walks toward me with purpose.

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