Chapter 15

WHITLEY

I just stand there. I can’t say anything. I want Gabriel to turn around and come back, but he never does.

My heart is shattered. We’ve only been seeing each other a short time.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Kendrick asks, rushing over to me.

“I have to leave. I have an interview in New York. It’s a big opportunity,” I say, my voice shaking.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Kendrick!” I sob.

He pulls me into one of his bear hugs and holds me while I sob.

“Gabriel didn’t take it well I assume.”

I just shake my head.

“Well, I know if my heart is breaking at the thought of my sister leaving me alone, his is probably shattering. That man has loved you for years.”

“He’s so upset,” I say.

“He’ll calm down. Just imagine if the roles were reversed. How would you feel?”

“I think I’m going to head up.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Whit.”

“I need to be alone.”

I walk into my room and run a bath. I seem to do most of my thinking either on a run or in the tub, and I don’t feel like running right now. Right before I get in, I hear my phone ring. Thinking it may be Gabriel, I run back out to my room and grab it. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I answer anyway.

“I’m looking for Whitley Barrington,” a woman’s voice says.

“This is Whitley.”

“Hi Whitley, I’m Chanel from Seaside Publishing here in Los Angeles. I apologize in advance. I was going to call you last week, but I had a family emergency. I would like to meet with you as soon as possible and speak with you about possible employment here with our company. Your resume is outstanding, and you’re at the top of our short list for editor,” she says.

“I’m sorry, did you say editor?”

“Well, yes. We’re a smaller publishing firm at the moment, but we’re growing larger each quarter. I promise if you stick around, it will be worth it in the long run.”

“I can come by and speak with you.”

“How about we meet first thing in the morning. Eight sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Just ask for Chanel.”

“Looking forward to it.”

***

As I walk into Seaside Publishing the next morning, my heart is heavy. I don’t know when Gabriel came home last night. His car was there when I left, but his door was closed. I have already gotten used to him holding me at night, so I slept like shit without him.

I left as quietly as I could this morning. I made sure to leave early, so I could have time to stop for a coffee and find the place. Chanel said they were a smaller publishing firm, but from the looks of this building, they aren’t all that small. The building is made of all glass. The nice receptionist tells me to head up to the tenth floor, and Chanel would be waiting.

Chanel is an older woman. Older than I thought she’d be. She has stunning, gray eyes and a figure to die for. I hope I still look that good when I’m her age, because she is rocking those heels like nobody’s business. As she closes the door to her office, she laughs.

“Not exactly what you expected me to be, huh?” she says.

“No. I was just thinking that I hope I look as good as you do when I get a little older.”

“Sex,” she says.

“Excuse me?” I ask, surprised.

“Sex. That’s what makes a woman stay young. If you have a man that satisfies you, then you’ll be blessed for the rest of your life.”

I look down at my hands, trying not to think about Gabriel.

“So, let’s talk numbers,” Chanel says. “What would it take for you to come aboard?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were that serious about me. I just thought we were going to talk.”

“We are, about numbers.”

She smiles, and so do I. This woman is a breath of fresh air. I like her instantly. My mom always says to go with your gut. My gut wants to be happy and with Gabriel. I want Gabriel, and I want this job. I want to stay in California.

“Okay, Chanel. What are we looking at number-wise?” I ask.

Her smile widens.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

***

I sign my contract with Seaside Publishing, and I’m now, officially, staying in California. I ask Chanel to give me a couple weeks before starting. I need to fly to New York and close up my apartment. She agrees. I call my professor on my way out and tell him thanks for the opportunity, but I won’t be returning. He’s upset but understands.

I leave and head to the practice field and find the coach.

“Ahh, Ms. Barrington. Are you here to tell me what the hell is wrong with both of my star players?” he asks.