Page 1 of Rushing Her: Seattle, Westerners
Chapter 1
Alexandra
Unwinding in the backseat of the blacked-out town car, I watch the city that has become my home pass by me. I loved living down in LA when I was there for work and law school, but my roots have always been in the Pacific Northwest. I grew up in Portland, Oregon, and currently live in Seattle, which I’m starting to love.
This weekend, I’m going back to Portland for some appointments and a retirement party, and a part of me is excited to see my family. I haven’t had much time to spend with my parents in months. My sister, Brea, and I try to get together, even if I’m in town for only a few hours. She and I have a tight relationship, though we are ten years apart in age. I can’t wait to spend time with her. There is this diner we like to go to for epic milkshakes and donuts. I’m so happy that she’s found her husband, T.K., and they are expecting in October. I can’t wait to be an aunty.
Growing up, Brea was like my very own living baby doll. Back then, life was easy. I only wished for a couple of things: to be amother, to be loved like my dad loved my mom, and to walk in my father’s shoes and become an attorney. I’ve always wanted kids, but now I worry that I’ll never find the right man to have one with.
Sighing deeply, I try to alter my thoughts by gazing out the window, only to be slapped in the face as I look out at the park, where moms are pushing strollers or playing with their kiddos. My heart clenches, and I turn away from the scene playing out before my eyes. Staring down at my hands, I concentrate on something other than what I just saw. A pounding in my ears thumps louder. It’s as if my head is inside a large ticking clock.
Closing my eyes, I focus on controlling my breath, on trying to relax. In my mind, I repeatedly tell myself I am safe and happy. I will be stronger than the moment. I’m a fierce, capable woman and will make my dreams come true. I repeat the mantra as many times as is necessary.
For months, I thought something was wrong with me. I experienced a usually soft pounding in my ears, but sometimes it would get loud, and I was sure others could hear it too. I went to numerous doctors, thinking I had high blood pressure or something worse, and they all said the same thing. They couldn't find anything wrong with me. They didn't know what I was hearing, and some even thought I was a little crazy.
Finally, one of the doctors suggested I see a therapist, and I kind of laughed at him and said, “I don't have any mental problems. I was raised by two loving parents. I had no trauma,” but he suggested it anyway, so I did. Ten minutes into my first session, the therapist determined that I had high-functioning anxiety. The sounds in my head were a manifestation of my biological clock ticking away, thinking I would never have children. That I would never find the love of my life again. I believed I wouldn't because I had already found him and let him go.
It only takes a moment, and I'm back to normal. I can breathe again, my chest doesn't hurt, and my ears aren't ringing or pounding. My breaths have calmed down, and I feel like I can inhale fully. My hands aren’t clammy anymore, and the nausea has abated.
I spent most of my twenties focusing on my career and am one of the best football agents on the West Coast, having become a managing partner of the Pacific Northwest division for Top Tier Sports Agency. I was at the head of my class in business management at the University of Oregon, as well as Stanford Law, where I specialized in contract law. The agency recruited me during my final year of school, and now here I am.
One perk of being a managing partner is the use of the private jet. Even though the drive from Seattle to Portland is only three hours with traffic, it can take longer, and I don’t have that kind of time to spare, so, jet here I come.
The plane is ready for me as soon as the car pulls onto the tarmac. Waiting until my door opens, I step out with my Louis Vuitton laptop bag and purse. The driver moves to the back of the car and removes my matching luggage. I realize it’s extravagant—well, that’s what my dad calls it—but ever since my mom got me my first weekender Vuitton bag when I graduated from college, I’ve added on a piece here and there. They hold up well, and with how much I travel, I need that. I can be here in Seattle one day and on a commercial flight tomorrow for the Midwest or even the East Coast to meet with a client. That’s why I’m a leading agent. I’m at my clients’ disposal whenever and wherever they need me. I’m in demand, but with all my new responsibilities, I hope I can still be there for my clients in the same way.
I climb the stairs in my high heels, and my black leather skirt flares slightly at the bottom but is fitted along my waist to my knees. My long-sleeve navy blue blouse has a bow at thecollar and is made of soft, silky material. I had a meeting with my department heads before leaving for the airport, so I’m still dressed for the office. I’m not like my sister, who solely wears skirts, but I prefer wearing them more than I do slacks or jeans. I feel like I command the room better in negotiations. Maybe it’s my sex appeal, but I tend to secure more advantageous contracts for my clients.
The flight attendant greets me with a bottle of water, knowing I don’t drink alcohol while working. I take a seat at the club table and open my laptop bag to dive into some paperwork as they finish preparing for takeoff.
When my cell buzzes, I look to see my best friend Raven’s name come across the screen.
“Hello,” I answer, not sure if she has me on speakerphone, so I don’t respond with our typical,What’s up bitch?
“Hey, girl. Are you there yet? Did you talk to them?”
Sitting back in my chair, I look at my laptop, where the confirmation for my appointment is displayed. This is how I’ll release some of the anxiety from my body.
“Nope, haven’t taken off yet. I had meetings and couldn’t leave until just now.”
“Oh, man. Are you going to tell your parents?... While you’re there?”
Pulling in a deep breath, I slowly exhale and again focus on something other than the pounding in my ears. “No, not right now. I’ll wait until after the procedure is done. I still have questions, and I’m not sure what my doctor will have to say.”
Two months ago, I went to my physician down in Portland to have my IUD removed, and we discussed freezing a number of my eggs. She had me undergo several tests and take extra vitamins. Two weeks ago, she started me on oral hormones to produce a higher volume of eggs, but we’ve discussed moving on to the next stage. If the subsequent testing yields promisingresults, I’ll then receive the trigger shot, and finally, about a day and a half later, the retrieval will take place. Today is likely the administration of the first injection, and I’ll continue with the rest at home over the next eight to twelve days.
“Girl, you probably have awesome eggs, and it won’t be a problem.” Raven chuckles.
“Want to come with me for the weekend?” I ask again. For weeks, I’ve been begging her to go with me. It’s not the doctor’s appointment that stresses me out; it’s the formal black-tie event I must attend on Saturday.
“I wish I could, but this case is killing me. We have to do cross-examine on Monday, and this weekend is preparation.”
Raven is an excellent defense attorney. She’s sought after for her ability to create reasonable doubt. She’s defending a client who has been wrongly accused, and they are prepping for the witness against her client.
“Besides, you’ll be fine,” she chuckles. “Just walk in there in those stacked heels of yours and show him what he’s missing out on.”
I don’t correct her; I should. I should tell everyone that I’m the one who ended it, but instead, I just tell them not to worry about it and skirt around their questions.
Raven was there for me at Stanford shortly after I broke up with Brayden. He was my college sweetheart while I was at the University of Oregon, where he played football. We dated for two and a half years before he was drafted by Seattle. Everyone thought we would get married, but no one knows how close he really was to proposing. I hate thinking about it. It’s been thirteen years, but it still hurts as if it were yesterday.
