see Luka watching us and smiling. But he doesn’t say anything. When I glance his way, he quickly shifts his gaze back to the TV.
“I can change it,” Luka offers.
I look at the screen, realizing that BoJack Horseman is on, offering up just enough silliness to make me smile. Luka and I had binged the first few seasons of the show one weekend, staying glued to the couch for hours to watch “one more episode.”
“This is okay,” I say.
As we settle in to watch, I sneak another look over at him, taking in the long, strong lines of his body. I miss that body. And so much more. It’s almost painful to be so close to him knowing that he isn’t mine to touch, that I can’t just go over there and lean my head on his shoulder, let my hand wander lazily down his chest, tug his belt open, his zipper down…
Get a grip, Brooklyn. I force my eyes back to the cartoon.
It doesn’t take long before we’re quietly snickering at the antics on screen. Who would have ever thought a show about a talking horse-man would be the icebreaker in my marriage?
The episode finishes, but Luka doesn’t move so neither do I. Not that I could just get up anyway. The dog is completely passed out, snoring softly in my lap.
Luka tilts his head toward me. “I’ve got something for you.”
I watch as he gets a few sheets of paper out of his work bag and brings them over. He looks me square in the eye as I take the pages from him.
“What is this?” I scan the words on the top page, excitement suddenly rushing through me. “You booked me for a runway walk? Tomorrow night?” My face tingles as I see the designer’s name. “For Elia Mertins? Are you kidding me?”
My voice has gone from a low murmur to a high-pitched squeal that has Mr. Kibbles wide awake, wagging his tail and trying to lick my face. I laugh as I push him gently away.
“She’s doing a private show for some deep pockets and you were personally invited to walk,” Luka explains. “You’ll be fitted at four. Then hair and makeup, show at eight.”
“I…can’t believe this.”
“All the big names will be there,” he adds. “The guest list is on the second page.”
I flip to it and look over the list, then devour it again like it’s a piece of calorie-free triple chocolate cake. “Holy shit!”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “Designer-wise, this will be your biggest show yet.”
I’m breathless. “This is incredible. Thank you.”
Luka shrugs. “Just doing my job.”
Our eyes meet, and silence falls between us, along with a mutual warmth. My mind whirls with all the possibilities this show can bring my way. The exposure will be epic.
“I guess I should get to bed,” I say. “Big day tomorrow.”
As I shift off the chair, Mr. Kibbles jumps to the ground, stretching low with his hindquarters in the air before trotting into the kitchen to slurp from his water bowl.
“Well. Good night,” I say, picking up my empty glass.
“Wait. Brooklyn, look. I…I really did think you had the Maxilene campaign.”
Locking eyes with him, I can tell by his unguarded look that he’s being honest.
He goes on, “I pitched you so hard, and Guy was so receptive to all my input. I never thought for a second it would go to anyone else. Especially not Monica Shore.”
“But it did,” I say softly. I clench my jaw, knowing I’ll never be able to truly forgive him if I don’t ask the next question. “Tell me something, Luka, and I need the truth from you.”
He nods for me to go on.
“Did you sign Monica just so DRM would have a winning horse in the race with Maxilene? Because you didn’t actually think I could cut it?”
Luka lets out a breath. “God, no. I signed her because she’s a big name and she threw herself at DRM at a time when we need all the commission revenue we can get. But I didn’t sign her to get us the Maxilene gig.
“I really was convinced you had it in the bag. I still don’t know what went wrong. Monica isn’t what they said they were looking for, and I sure as hell don’t think she’s a better choice than you. Not by far. I’m sorry I didn’t do enough, or say the right things, or—”
“It wasn’t just about losing the campaign,” I interrupt. “I’ve been rejected plenty of times, and