Chapter 8
I set my glass down on the windowsill.
"Don't say anything. I don't want to hear it right now," I said.
"Alright. Just let me know when you're ready to hear it," David said.
Eight o'clock, right on the dot.
David took me around and introduced me to three people: the Asia-Pacific president of a Japanese consumer goods brand, the founder of a big Singaporean restaurant chain, and the head of Horizon Group's overseas division.
Every single introduction was as "the founder of Epicurean Studio."
Not a soul there knew I was actually Claire Jennings.
Nobody had a clue that just three months ago, I was the "divorced, chubby woman" everyone used to gossip about in the cafeteria.
All in all, the three meetings took just forty minutes.
The outcome: two memorandums of intent for potential partnerships, and one official invitation to visit Singapore next week.
It was totally worth it.
By the time I left the VIP lounge, it was almost ten.
I took the VIP route down to the basement to pick up my car.
When the elevator doors opened, I froze.
Eric was standing right there in the hallway.
He froze, too.
"Claire?" he stammered, his eyes wide in shock.
I instinctively tried to step back into the elevator, but the doors had already closed.
He hurried over, looking me up and down.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Just passing through," I replied.
"All dressed up and wearing makeup?" Eric frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"None of your business," I shot back.
"This is a Horizon Group event. How did you get in? Who do you know?" His voice was sharp, like he was grilling me, demanding answers.
Old habits die hard.
Back when we were together, he always used that tone, always questioning, always controlling, never letting me do anything unless he knew about it.
"Eric, we're divorced," I said, my voice steady.
"I know, but..." he started.
"Where I go is none of your business," I cut him off.
I walked around him and headed for the parking lot.
He hurried after me. "So, you got a new boyfriend now? Someone brought you here, didn't they?"
I stopped.
I turned to face him.
"Why do you care?" I shot back.
He was left speechless.
His face was a mess, not jealous, just wounded pride.
In his world, dumping me was just how things should be. I was supposed to be miserable, so he could feel good about himself for leaving.
But here I was, in a black dress with flawless makeup, standing in the exclusive VIP area he could only dream of entering.
So where was he supposed to stash all that sense of superiority now?
"Claire, you've changed," he said, his voice tight.
"Yeah, I changed after I left you," I shot back.
I turned and walked away.
He didn't follow.
Once I got to my car, I slid into the driver's seat and took three deep breaths.
My phone lit up.
David: [You are leaving?]
Me: [Yeah, heading home.]
David: [Did you run into your ex at the elevator? I saw it on the security cam. Sorry, I should've handled that better.]
Me: [It's fine.]
David: [He looked pretty shocked.]
Me: [That's normal. He probably thought I'd be sobbing in some crappy rental.]
David: [And you? Do you want to cry?]
Claire stared at the screen for three seconds, her mind blank.
She replied: [Nope.]
She sent the message and started the car.
On the drive home, an old song came on the radio, its melody light and easy.
I rolled down the window, letting the cool night air wash over me.
Crying wasn't even on my mind.
Honestly, not even a little.
Those four years felt like a boring dream. When I finally woke up, the sunlight outside was just right.
By the time I got home, it was almost eleven.
Sophie had sent me a bunch of photos of Lily.
There were pictures of her eating ice cream, riding a rocking horse, and even one of her fast asleep on Sophie's lap.
The last one was Lily clutching her stuffed rabbit, drool at the corner of her mouth, totally knocked out.
I saved the photos, took a shower, and opened my laptop to get some work done.
The Singapore trip was coming up next week, and there was a ton of stuff I needed to get ready.
By one in the morning, I finally closed my laptop.
At the bottom of my work log, I wrote:
"Day 91. Everything's on track."
It was the 91st day since the divorce.
I was better than I'd ever been.