Page 32 of Finding Mr. July

A front rolls in overnight, bringing unseasonably warm temperatures and predicted thunderstorms for later. The clouds are low and gray, the air dense and charged around me as I drive to work with the windows down, and at first, I blame that for the sense of unease nagging at me.

I sit down at my desk and open my laptop.

According to my schedule, I’m with Rachel in one of her educational conference calls today where she’s teleconferencing in as a guest lecturer at UC Berkeley.

That should still give me plenty of time to get the data entry on my plate done and to tweak the copy about my fundraiser for the back of the calendars.

Jonathan is going to handle the photo shoot with George from the adoption fair tonight since I have to take Ava to tennis practice.

Or, I don’t have to—I’ve volunteered with the ulterior motive of asking her coach if he’ll pose for the calendar.

Apparently, he has two bulldogs. But if he says no and I still can’t reach Dennis’s friend, I could be in a bind. Is that what’s bothering me?

I go make myself a cup of coffee, telling myself I’ve got everything under control.

Stir in sweetener, add a new stack of napkins from the cabinet to the counter because it’s running low, wander over to the window, and take a sip.

The first big raindrop lands on the glass with a splat, then another.

No, there’s something else churning inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on.

“What are you looking at?” Rachel says, joining me to peer out across the gloomy city.

“Nothing.” I turn around and lean against the windowsill. “Spacing out. I’m trying to remember… something.”

“My birthday is not until December.”

I smile. “Noted.”

“I booked a room for the call at nine thirty. See you there in a bit.”

Watching her walk away makes me realize I do have one more person I could ask about the calendar. Her first choice, and my last. I pull out my phone and open my thread with Jude. Maybe it’s time to get over myself.

I have a big favor to ask , I type. Still need a couple more models. Will you please be one of them?

His response is immediate. Is my daughter speaking to me?

I grimace. Still holding a grudge. Please.

No. But ballsy to ask for my help.

Well, it was worth a shot.

Staying busy helps take my mind off the proverbial red bow around my finger. Rachel’s call is both interesting and valuable for my (possible) future role, so I take a lot of notes, and my copy for the calendar only needs a few revisions before I’m satisfied.

Just before lunch, I’m making my way through the data entry when a shadow falls across my desk. At the same moment I look up, there’s a sharp crack outside as the first flash of lightning hits somewhere over the water. I jump as much from that as from Manny’s unexpected company.

“Hey, Holly, you ready?” he asks. He’s in a suit and carrying a manila folder.

I have no idea what he’s talking about. Another flash, and thunder echoes between the buildings of South Lake Union. My pulse picks up. I know without knowing that the red bow is coming undone.

“Um, give me a second,” I say, stalling. Since he can’t see my screen, I pull up my schedule again to see what I might have missed. Nothing. Email then?

“You could totally smell the storm this morning,” Manny says. He looks at his watch. “Almost done?”

“Mm-hmm.” I scan the contents of my inbox from this morning, Friday, Thursday, all the way back to the beginning of last week for “sender: Manny Gupta.”

Then I see it. Subject: Re: Save the Reef symposium

I never accepted the invite, which is why it’s not in my calendar. And what’s worse, the email has three attachments—articles I was supposed to have read by today. Articles I put off reading last week with the intent of doing it over the weekend. And did I? No, because I was with Jonathan.

I can feel the color draining from my face, but fortunately for me, Manny is looking at his phone.

Another crack echoes between the buildings and the rain picks up outside.

How could I be so stupid? Work comes first. Always.

It’s not that I regret spending time with Jonathan, or blame him; it’s that I know better.

Jonathan and I are temporary. That’s the deal.

This should have taken precedence, but instead I let myself get distracted and ugh… this is so embarrassing.

“Something the matter?” Manny asks.

“No. Nothing.” I stand to gather my things. Maybe I can scan the articles while our counterparts present.

“I hope you found those studies I sent you interesting,” he says as we start walking. “The discourse around ocean chemistry is perhaps more complex than one of them suggests, but it’s a good place to start. Feel free to jump in at any time with your observations.”

Oh shit. My step falters. What do I do? I can come clean and invite his disapproval now or I can try faking it and risk looking like an idiot in front of the senior global team.

Manny squints at me. “Holly?”

“I didn’t read them,” I blurt out. “I meant to, but I forgot.”

Manny switches the folder from his right to his left hand. “But I sent them a week ago.”

“I know. It’s so unprofessional, especially since I really appreciate you inviting me on this call. I’m so sorry.”

He looks at me a long moment. “That’s unexpected,” he says eventually. “Is there a reason?”

A brief flash of Jonathan’s naked body sprawled out beneath me comes to mind. “Some of the calendar work has taken up more time than I expected. It slipped my mind.”

“There’ll be a lot more balls to keep in the air as program liaison, you know.”

My stomach drops. “I know. And I promise I’m usually more on top of things.”

Finally, his expression softens. “I know you are.” He taps the folder against his thigh. “Tell you what—watch and learn today, and we’ll say nothing more about it. Still read the articles, though.”

“I’ll do it tonight. Promise.”

“Sounds good.” He gestures for me to lead the way toward the conference room block, and we set off again.

On the way there, we pass Jonathan’s office. As if he can sense me, he spins around in his chair and lifts his hand in greeting.

“Is he staying on his best behavior?” Manny asks, waving back. “No more tantrums?”

“No, he’s come around,” I say. Way around… “The photos are perfect.”

“Excellent.” Manny opens the door to conference room C and hooks up his laptop to the overhead monitor. We’re about to start.

As member after member of the global team joins the call and Manny introduces me, I count every lucky star at my disposal that my temporary slip didn’t end up with worse consequences.

But one thing’s for sure—I can’t do this again.

There’s so little time left, and I need to keep my eye on the prize.

No more behaviors allowed that might knock my chances of winning.

I’m halfway through the second article Manny sent me when Jonathan texts that evening. It’s a photo of George and his Aussie stargazing. I’m about to comment on the impressive clarity of the night sky when he adds:

The Milky Way is courtesy of editing software. We had to get creative because of the cloud cover.

It’s still a strong picture, and plenty real looking. George’s face is in partial profile, his beard gleaming silver in the supposed moonlight.

Love it, I say. We’ll have to get creative tomorrow too. Ava’s coach said yes—he and his partner will both be in it. I think it’ll be good variation to have a photo with two guys.

Good thinking. Ideas for the shoot? It’s supposed to keep raining.

It’s a real bummer the PNW chose this week to live up to its reputation.

All the photos must be done by Friday for the printer, and I’d have preferred them to be outdoors.

But oh well. Getting them done is more important than crossing off the wish list. Plus, at this point, I know Jonathan can work his magic like the best of them. In more ways than one.

So indoor shoot it is. My gaze sweeps around Jude’s living room as I think.

Ava is upstairs, and Jude has gone to bed.

They’re still not talking. When I asked Ava about it on the way home from tennis, her only response was something that sounded like a literary quote—“A woman’s place is in the resistance”—so maybe her English teacher is doing his job at least. Unless it’s from Star Wars , which, come to think of it, might be more likely.

Either way, I see no signs of her standing down, and Jude is flying out to meet the partners next week. Anything could happen.

As my mind wanders past the photos on the windowsill, my attention is caught by one of Ava with Santa Claus when she was seven years old. She was stubborn back then, too, and that year, she would only wear summer dresses. I smile at the memory.

Then inspiration strikes, and I text Jonathan.

What if we do a Santa shoot? The guys can both be Santas, and we can put antlers on the dogs. Presents, a tree, fake snow maybe?

He responds right away. I like it. Where?

I tap my lips as I think. With such short notice, our options are nonexistent. Jude’s garage is big. We can hang sheets as screens. Plus his Xmas tree is already put together in a corner. He never disassembles it.

Efficient, comes Jonathan’s judgment. It’ll have to do.

It’s decided. Looks like a trip to the craft store has been added to tomorrow’s agenda.

My phone buzzes in my hands again. Any chance I can persuade you to come over? I missed you today.

A burst of warmth spreads through my limbs.

And I have a surprise , he continues.

I groan at my laptop where the article sits open, half-read. A surprise sounds so much more fun.

No. I straighten in my seat. I can’t. Business before pleasure—that’s what I committed to earlier today.

Sorry, I’m swamped , I type. Tomorrow. After the photo shoot. By then I should be done with this reading.

Can’t wait, is his response.