Except her feelings weren’t engaged, and she never felt as if his were, either.
It was all so—restrained. A little cold. When they were out together she’d never felt an overwhelming desire to drag him somewhere private so that they could be alone. He’d never appeared overwhelmed by her, either. He was perfect for outer Samantha—the version of herself that she showed to the real world, but inner Samantha? The person she really was under the poise and polish? Wild Samantha. That woman wanted so much more.
Why did she find it so hard to be that woman? What exactly was holding her back?
Could she really blame her mother?
She sat up a little straighter.
She wasn’t a toddler. There came a point where you had to take responsibility.
If something had to change, then she was the one who had to change it.
She winced, aware that her thoughts could have come straight from her mother’s book. Choice Not Chance. That damn book that slapped her in the face every time she walked into a bookstore.
For a moment she hesitated, loath to do anything that felt like following her mother’s advice.
And then she realized how ridiculous that was. This was her life and her decision. Her mother wouldn’t even know about it.
She wasn’t waiting until the New Year to make a resolution. She was making it right now—starting with Kyle. She wasn’t saving the relationship; she was breaking up with him. Not only had she forgotten their date, she hadn’t even realized she’d forgotten it. She wasn’t an expert on relationships, but even she knew that wasn’t good. What she had with Kyle wasn’t what she wanted.
No more bland, safe, unsatisfying relationships. The next man she met, she was going to be open and honest with him. She was going to take a risk and share her thoughts and feelings, instead of keeping them locked away. Maybe if she did that, her relationships would change and she’d feel passion. She wanted that. She wanted to be emotionally involved.
Satisfied that her mother would be suitably horrified by that revelation, Samantha felt better.
“Let’s make those calls, Charlotte.”
“Okay...well, for the record, I think you’re very brave, holding it together like this.” Charlotte checked her tablet. “Just to clarify—because my brain is a little fuzzy after Amy’s eventful night—I’ll call your mother’s assistant back and say you’ll go to the hospital later. I’ll tell the Mortons that you feel Iceland is the perfect choice for them, that it’s your personal recommendation and that you’ll call to discuss it once they’ve taken a look at the itinerary we suggest. I’ll get the laird on the phone so you can try and persuade him that you don’t need to visit, and I’ll also call your sister.”
“Not my sister. I’ll call my sister. You get Kyle for me. And stop calling the Scottish guy ‘the laird’ or I’ll do it by accident.”
“Right. Got it.”
Flustered, Charlotte left the room with the others and Samantha returned to her desk.
She closed her laptop and slipped it into her bag. She’d be able to do some work on the flight, or maybe in the hospital. It was unlikely that her mother was going to want her hanging out in her room.
She reached under her desk, rescued her shoes and slid them on, not wanting to analyze why she needed to wear heels to break up with a guy over the phone.
The thought of seeing her mother made her feel mildly nauseated. So did the thought of speaking to Kyle. She felt the same flutter of nerves in her stomach that she’d felt before she’d done a parachute jump for charity.
She smoothed her hair, then reached across to the phone on her desk and stabbed a button. “Charlotte? If you’re not feeding Amy, could you bring me a drink, please?”
“Sure! Tea or coffee?”
“Vodka. Rocks.”
There was a brief silence. “Right. Coming up.”
Charlotte appeared a moment later, ice clinking in the glass she held. “Here. And I’m not judging you, so don’t worry about that. Your mom is in the hospital, your relationship is ending...basically your personal life is a total mess, so you shouldn’t feel bad about needing a drink.”
“Thank you.”
“Was that blunt? Darn. I’m trying to be less blunt.”
“Blunt works for me. And you’re right—my personal life is a mess.” But she was about to make a start at clearing it up.
Charlotte patted her hand. “Just to say it’s okay for you to talk about it if you want to. You’re always listening to everyone else, but you keep all your own personal stuff inside.”
She kept everything inside. What would happen if she didn’t? If inner Samantha and outer Samantha actually merged? How would that work? It would be like walking into an otherwise immaculate apartment and finding laundry on the floor.
Charlotte seemed reluctant to relinquish the glass. “Instead of vodka I could give you a great big hug. I always find a hug is the best thing when I’m scared about something.”
“Charlotte—”
“And I never gossip, so you don’t need to worry about that. You’re probably afraid someone will go straight to the press with a story about your mom, but I would never do that.”
“I know.”
“You never talk about your mother, and I understand why.”
“You do?”
Should she be pleased or alarmed? Could it be that someone had actually seen beneath the surface?
“Of course. It’s obvious. Gayle Mitchell is a legend, and if you mention her, everyone is going to want to talk about her, or get you to pull a favor and have a book signed or something. You’re afraid people will only be interested in you because of your mother—but you shouldn’t think that. You’re an inspiration in your own right. Look at what you’ve built here! Although... Choice Not Chance.” She beamed. “I read it three times. And I have Brave New You on preorder.”
Samantha wished her mother had never written that damn book.
She made a mental note to store a bottle of vodka in her office. She could invent a new drinking game. One shot when someone said something flattering about her mother. Two shots when someone said those three dreaded words.
“Let’s get those calls done, Charlotte.”
“Right.” Charlotte finally put the drink down. “And I think you’re amazing, being able to focus on work at a time like this.”
“Thank you.”
She waited until Charlotte had left the room and then picked up the glass.
What was she doing? Was she really so bad at dealing with emotional issues that she needed a drink to get her through?