Cosmopolitan Girls by Charlotte Burley Page B

concentrating on shots and angles for his first national commercial in L.A. He stuffed his camera lens and other last-minute items into a leather duffle. If I didn’t say it now I might not have the courage again. A horn blew. The car service was outside waiting. I poured a cup of coffee.
    â€œTroy?”
    â€œYeah, L?” He was patting his jacket pockets. “You seen my cell?”
    Pointing to it on the counter, I grabbed his arm with my free hand.
    â€œI’m really going to miss you, Troy. I’m so proud of you getting the Nike campaign.”
    â€œThank you, baby.”
    The car horn sounded again. “Baby, I gotta go.” I clenched his arm. “Troy, I just wanted you to know,” I swallowed hard, “I love you.” Troy froze. He leaned down slowly and kissed me on the forehead like a puppy, and whispered, “Don’t forget to lock up, Lindsay. I’ll call you.” Troy walked out, leaving me standing in the kitchen, clad only in my underwear, holding a piping hot cup of coffee.
    I struggled desperately to hide an oncoming anxiety attack. Frantic and unsure thoughts bounced around in my head, while butterflies danced a light salsa in my stomach. I checked my phone, no messages, and nervously ran my fingers through my limp hair.
    My behavior all boiled down to Troy. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the morning I told him I loved him almost two weeks ago. I chalked the first few days up to the possibility that I’d simply scared him. How could he just kiss me and walk out the door like nothing happened, like I’d just said, “Looks like rain today, better carry an umbrella.” Not even a “Thank you very much, but no thanks” or a “Gee, what a nice surprise.”
    I hadn’t been able to get him or that day off my mind. I’ve even tried to bury myself in the Alix Alexander project. Robert keeps catching simple mistakes in the script that I should’ve noticed, but I’m distracted thinking about Troy. I haven’t had much sleep, and I’ve got to pull it together.
    Today’s staff meeting had been a disaster. I excused myself and ran out of the conference room midsentence in front of my entire department.
How could that be?
Lindsay Bradley was always in control, a perfectionist. Thank God I was hidden behind the walls of my cubicle and no one could see me cry.
    I peered out from my Times Square perch. New York was a living, breathing museum. Neon flashed even in broad daylight. Everything moving in various directions, the bird’s-eye view seemed to be a splattered patchwork of Basquiat. But the sight was somehow soothing for my troubled mind. Today, I wanted to be an unknown piece of the human jigsaw puzzle below too.
    I’d left messages for Troy at work, home, and on his cell. I even had a crystal bowl of floating white roses from the Daily Blossom waiting at his office the day he was scheduled to return from his shoot. Whatever was going on with Troy, I couldn’t call again. Damn it! I could hear Robert’s footsteps heavy and sure coming toward me. I tried to arrange myself in a more confident posture. The look in my eyes was far from the commanding certainty I normally felt.
    I’d left Robert to clean up the mess from the meeting, and he was furious. He whipped around my cubicle wall.
    â€œWhat the hell was that show all about, Lindsay?”
    â€œI’m sorry Robert,” I stuttered.
    â€œSorry? Listen, if you weren’t ready for this kind of responsibility you should’ve told me a long time ago.” He didn’t care that the entire staff could hear him yelling.
    I stiffened, hoping I wouldn’t be completely humiliated. “I want to,” I said, clearing my throat. “I mean I
am
ready.”
    â€œWell, act like it!”
    Robert’s words were trapped in my ears like standing water. I couldn’t hold up any longer. My mouth felt like sticky gauze