“There is no rest for the wicked. In three months, we have the London winter collection.” He grunts, not bothering to even open his eyes.
“Why did you tell me this? I was happy, dreaming of a beach, tanning my skin.”
My head rests on the table. My brain can’t work anymore until it gets some sleep. “I’ll leave now. I have no energy left in me for anything else.”
Ann mutters in a sleepy voice, “You can take one of the guest rooms, if you’re too tired to travel home.”
“Guest room? What’s that?”
“We have several guest rooms for designers who work late, like today. You can even reserve one for a longer period and keep your stuff there.”
“Really? That’s so…thoughtful.” I know Vanessa has her own studio behind the office, but her providing such facilities to her employees surprises me. Especially given the fact she would be the last person to get nominated for a best boss award.
Ann turns sideways and his tired gaze meets mine. “Van is not what she likes people to think. She is tough on the outside, but if you get to know her, she’s one of the sweetest people.”
I’m taken aback by the affection in his voice. I’ve seen this connection between them several times. But I never imagined anyone calling Vanessa sweet.
Yeah, she might be thoughtful, but sweet?
Maybe there is something going on between these two.
“Before your exhausted mind runs wild, Clementine, she and I are just friends,” Ann says, his eyes closed again.
“I was not thinking that,” I mumble in embarrassment.
“Whatever you say.”
I leave Ann’s messy office and enter mine, which is in no better shape. I don’t like the idea of spending the night here. I want to talk to Keith, want to see him, want to know what he’s thinking.
Was yesterday just a casual one-night thing for him?
I dial his number and clutch my phone with both hands. He doesn’t pick up, and it goes straight to his voice mail. His rough voice, asking me to leave a message, reminds me how he spoke in my ears last night.
“Are you staying the night?” Ann stands by my door. “I can show you the guest room.”
I look hesitantly between my phone and him. “Can you give me a minute?”
After Ann leaves, I dial Keith’s number once again, my heart hammering, praying for him to pick up.
“Please, Keith,” I whisper, my throat choking with each ring.
This time, when his raspy voice asks me to leave a message, I feel as if it’s teasing me about something that’s slowly slipping through my fingers, even when it was never fully in my grasp.
Trying my fate one last time, I send him a text.
Me: Hi
I wait, but no reply.
Me: I’m at Vanshionista. It’s crazy madness here. LOL
Again, no response.
Me: Can you pick me up?
Worry crawls up my spine when he doesn’t respond.
I haven’t talked to Keith at all today. Is he all right? But then my phone vibrates. A surprised feeling, mixed with relief and…annoyance hits me.