Page 18 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

NINE

Back at the motel, I retreat to my room.

I barely have the energy to check the news on my phone.

Mount Spurr is still spewing ash and air traffic is still grounded across the United States.

It looks like I’ll be here for some time to come.

Maybe Mom’s suggestion to drive the eleven hundred miles to join them wasn’t such a bad one.

I stare out the window, watching the rain cascade down the glass in steady rivulets. The gloomy weather perfectly matches my mood. I can’t help but wallow in self-pity, feeling utterly alone and beaten. Whatever charm this little family-run motel held has disappeared, along with my humor.

For the first time since arriving, I’m thinking that if I have to be stuck in this city for whoever-knows-how-long, I should really be doing it in five-star comfort, with an on-site spa and room service.

It also doesn’t help that Dan works here and there’s every chance we could bump into each other.

Instead of dissipating, my annoyance with what he said, and implied, has actually increased overnight and is now bordering on rage.

No, I’m not a parent, Dan. But I am a woman, and I was once a frightened little girl growing into a teenager.

Just like Chloe. Confused, scared, and overwhelmed, as I tried to make sense of the world and my place in it.

There’s a reason I don’t do ‘me time,’ because it gets dark, fast. Better to stay busy. Better not to dwell.

Despite all my professional accomplishments, I find myself seriously considering if I am indeed an imposter.

It’s the only logical explanation. I’m scared to look too deeply at my past successes, because truth be told, maybe it was just a case of right place, right time, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that sort of hard truth.

Of course, I’ve convinced myself that my ability to win new business was down to my fastidious research, and my obsession with getting into the mindset of my client’s customers.

But, you know what, maybe it’s because the team at Channing Gabriel has built up such a great reputation, that I just have to walk into the room and manage not to fall over, and they will become a client regardless.

Maybe they aren’t signing up because of me, but in spite of me.

What is the opportunity debit of this supposed success?

The long hours, the sacrifices, the missed opportunities for genuine personal connection.

I’ve poured everything into my career, but at what cost?

Losing out to Zoe because of an admin snafu, despite the months of groundwork I did to win GreenShoots.

Hell, we wouldn’t have even been invited into the room to pitch if it hadn’t been for my efforts getting Channing Gabriel on their radar.

The emptiness inside me grows with each passing minute, and I think for the first time in my life that I might be on the verge of completely losing my shit.

My phone buzzes, jolting me out of my melancholy musings.

It’s a text from Dan:

Hey Rachel, I feel terrible about how things were left last night. Please let me apologize. In person, not by text.

I hesitate, my finger hovering over the screen.

Part of me wants to decline, to retreat further into my solitude.

I really don’t feel like putting a brave face on it all.

Not today. But another part of me, the part that is becoming unhinged looking at these four walls, urges me to accept.

After all, what do I have to lose? It’s not like this week could get any worse.

I type out my reply:

Sure, why not. Meet you in the lobby in 10?

Thank you. See you there.

With a sigh, I drag myself off the bed and slip into a pair of flats. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror—tired eyes, slumped shoulders, a far cry from the polished PR executive I usually present to the world. But right now, I can’t muster the energy to put on that mask.

I grab my purse and head out the door, steeling myself for Dan’s grand apology.

As I step into the elevator, while I firmly believe that everyone deserves a second chance, I can’t help but wonder if this is a mistake.

But I really do need to get out of the room, and some company, even if it’s just an apologetic Dan, is too tempting to resist.

The doors slide open, and I spot Dan waiting in the lobby, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks up as I approach, offering a tentative smile.

“Hey, thanks for seeing me,” he says, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

He chuckles softly, and for a moment, the tension between us eases.

“Do you mind if we go outside?” he asks, gesturing towards his car in the parking lot.

Dan opens my door, and I jump into the passenger seat quickly to avoid the rain.

He jogs around the car and drops into his own seat, shutting his door and shutting out the rain that has really started to come down now.

“Listen, Rachel, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night,” he begins, his tone sincere. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

I study his face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all I find is genuine remorse. Slowly, I nod. “I appreciate that, Dan. It’s been a tough week for both of us.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe, but that’s no excuse. You were a guest in my house, and you were expressing an opinion. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I was out of line, and for that, I’m really sorry.”

I shrug, “It’s fine. Apology accepted. Water off a duck’s back.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. It felt like a personal attack, and it hurt. It still does.

An awkward silence settles over us.

Dan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping against the dash. “So, how are you holding up? With the ash cloud and everything?”

Part of me wants to maintain the professional facade, to insist that I’m fine and in control. But something about Dan’s earnest expression compels me to be honest.

“It’s been challenging,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Today’s meeting didn’t go very well. I’m not used to being stuck like this, unable to do my job, unable to fix things.

I hardly spend any time there, but I actually miss my condo.

My stuff, my own bed—I’ve realized that I’m not good at living out of a small suitcase for more than a day or two. ”

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I get that. It’s hard to feel helpless, especially when you’re used to being in control.”

An awkward silence descends again, and I decide to use the moment to extricate myself from the car.

“I better get going.” I search for the handle to open the door.

“Rachel,” Dan blurts, “if you’re not doing anything, and it sounds like you really don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in your room, do you want to come over to the house? I know Chloe would be pleased to see you.”

“From sincere apology to emotional blackmail. Smooth.”

“She would!”

“I know,” I laugh. “I’m teasing. I’d like to see her too.”

“Chlo? I’m back. Rachel’s here too.” Dan shouts up the stairs as we enter the living room.

“Okay, Dad, I’ll be down in a minute. Hey, Rachel.” Chloe replies.

“Must have homework tonight.” Dan opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of craft beer. “Would you like a drink? A beer? Wine?”

“A glass of white would be lovely.” With the day I’ve had, it really would.

As we sip our drinks, the tension dissipates, replaced by a tentative truce. But just as I begin to relax, Dan clears his throat, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry again about last night,” he admits, his eyes darting away from mine.

“It’s okay,” I manage, my voice carefully neutral. “You’ve apologized, let’s move on.”

He shrugs, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“I’ve gotten so used to making all the decisions since…

I think I’ve confused ‘being decisive’ with ‘I’m always right.

’ It’s been eight years, but I’m still navigating how to cope.

You know? I guess I’m so used to being dad , I’ve forgotten who Dan is. ”

I nod, understanding all too well the feeling of being disconnected from your own life, your own identity.

“It’s hard,” I say softly, “trying to figure out who the authentic you is, when everything around you is changing.”

He meets my gaze, a flicker of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. “Yeah, exactly.”

I instinctively reach out, my hand resting lightly on his arm, a gesture of comfort and understanding. “There’s no rush. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal, to find your footing again.”

Dan takes a long sip of his beer, his eyes distant.

“You know, back when I was on the show, everything seemed so easy. The fame, the success, the adoration… it was like a drug. I got caught up in it all, letting it consume me.”

He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “But I neglected what truly mattered—my family. I was so focused on my career, on chasing that next high, that next paycheck, that I didn’t realize how much I was missing out on. And then, when Rebecca died…”

His voice catches, and I squeeze his arm gently, silently encouraging him to continue.

“I wasn’t there for her, not the way I should have been. I was too busy, too self-absorbed. Chasing cash, but no idea what for. And now, every day, I carry that guilt with me.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat, my heart aching for him, for the pain he’s endured.

“Dan,” I say softly, “you can’t blame yourself. You wanted to be the provider. There’s nothing wrong with that. You did the best you could, given the circumstances. And you’re here now, for Chloe, being the father she needs. That’s what matters.”

He nods, blinking back the tears that glisten in his eyes.