“He’s not an idiot, Anna. He knows you mean business now because you set your foot down. You’re demanding respect from him. He’ll come to his senses. He’s a man, and sometimes, men are a little slow at figuring things out. Hell, look at how many times Brock and I fought over when we should get married before he came around and compromised with me.”
My eyes widen as she lets me see a glimpse of something they fought over. She was always so secretive about it before, so it takes me aback that she blurted it out like that.
“Wait a minute,” I say as things click. “Are you telling me that all the fighting between you and Brock that I witnessed at Larry’s was over setting a wedding date? Quinn, I didn’t even know you were engaged then.”
“We weren’t engaged until recently. Our fights were about that very thing though. I left him there for a while to pound it into his head that if he wanted to keep me around, he would need to really commit to me. That’s when we got back together, when you first got here. I give you props, Anna, for standing up to X and sticking to your guns. We women need to stand up to our men and make them understand what we need in order to be happy.”
The mention of Xavier causes me to wonder again where he might be. We haven’t spoken, except through our texts, since he dropped me off at the airport. I miss him terribly, but if he needs some space from me, I have no choice right now but to give it to him, seeing as I’m on the other side of the country.
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of thoughts of Xavier before I break down into a puddle of tears with Quinn on the other end of the line.
I need to change the subject. “I got an interesting text last night.”
“Oh?” Quinn says. I can tell her interest is piqued. “From whom?”
“Jorge,” I reply simply.
“What? Oh my God. What did he want?”
“He somehow knew I was in Seattle and asked to meet while I’m close to home. He says we have things we need to discuss.”
“Are you serious? You’re not going to see him, are you? X will shit a brick if you’re out with your ex-fiancé.”
I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face. “I know, but I feel like I owe it to Jorge to hear out whatever he wants to say to me. He was my friend, one I was promised to marry, and then I ran out on him without any explanation. He has a right to be upset with me.”
Quinn sighs into the phone, and it’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t exactly agree with me. “You’re a better woman than me, cuz. The best I would’ve agreed to would’ve been a phone call. I don’t think I could bear to see an old boyfriend face-to-face, but your situation is different. Jorge wasn’t just some guy you dated for a while who cheated on you or something.”
“He’s actually a great guy. He’s just not the man I’m meant to be with, and I should’ve had the guts to tell him that before I left, but I didn’t. I need to make things right between us. I need that closure.”
“That’s what makes you such a good person, Anna. You really do care about people.”
“Thank you. I don’t always feel that way about myself. Father always made me feel like I was the evilest thing in the world.”
“Pfft,” Quinn huffs. “Uncle Simon needs a reality check. By being his crazy, uptight self, he’s missing out on what an extraordinary woman you have become. It’s his loss, Anna, and you have to stop believing that what he said is true. He’s the one who’s wrong when it comes to how strict he’s been with you. Hopefully, one day, he’ll wake up and give you the apology he owes you.”
I release a slightly bitter laugh. “That’s never going to happen, Quinn. You and I both know Father doesn’t work that way.”
“You never know. He might surprise you after he realizes that you’re not going to bend to his will anymore.”
I open my mouth to repeat again that Father will never apologize, but the sound of my name being called over the low murmurs in the catering room catches my attention.
“Anna Sweet?”
“Right here.” I raise my hand and then whisper into the phone, “Got to go, Quinn. I’ll call you soon.”
“Okay, love you,” she says before we end the call.
I shove myself out of the seat and then follow the guy wearing a Tension T-shirt out of the room. I recognize the man as one of the stagehands. When the show goes live, he is responsible for fetching the talent to get them ready to head out and face the crowd.
We make it back to a set of closed blue double doors, and the man raps his knuckles on the steel just below a piece of paper that says Writers.
He twists the knob and then pops his head inside. “Anna Sweets for you.”
“Send her in, Al,” a female voice on the other side calls.
I instantly know I’m about to face Vicky.
Al turns to me with an expression on his face that can only be described as worry as the corners of his mouth pull down. “Good luck.”
I lift my chin and step through the door, unsure of what I’m walking into.
The writers’ room is set up identical as it was in Atlanta with the folding tables side by side and four writers sitting next to each other, typing furiously.
“Have a seat,” Vicky orders. She doesn’t bother to glance up at me from her computer.