Page 12 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“He’s leading in Chile right now, but Webflix hired a local crew.” Webflix is the online giant that produces my show, and what Webflix says goes. “But I’ll also do some solo shooting, selfie-style and all that.”
I give her more details about the project, and when I get to who I’m working with, I nearly mention Presley.
I almost say, Yeah, there’s this woman. I used to be wildly in love with her. I’d write her love notes so she’d have something to remember me by when I left. Then I did something foolish. I thought I could make it work. I thought we could find a way. Instead, I broke her heart, and mine too. Now, for some damn reason, I see this woman’s face at the most inopportune times.
But my mother has no idea Presley and I were once involved. It wasn’t a secret. It just never came up. Mom was working in California at the time and never had the opportunity to meet Presley.
No need to divulge the story now. She’d have a field day with that intel, and rightly so.
I stuff all those private details into a Ziploc bag, seal it, and toss it into the back of the freezer in my brain. Besides, I didn’t take the job to win Presley back. Hell, I don’t even know her situation. She could be married with three kids. If I’d wanted to see her again after all these years, I’d have sought her out.
Except I can’t deny she’s a big part of the reason I said yes to the project.
I flash back to the call with Daniel, to the details he shared about his esteemed associate.
“Thrilled that Barbara put me in touch with you,” he’d said, referring to my mother. “And on the Highsmith side, I’ll be asking my right-hand woman to lead the project. She’s brilliant, sharp as a tack and knows American history better than anyone.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
“Her name is Presley Turner.”
That was what I’d been hoping he’d say. Talk about luck. “What’s she like?” I’d asked.
“She gets along with everyone, and she’s a natural on camera. When I tell her she’s going to be on your special, I bet she’ll be tickled pink.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but it wasn’t my place to correct him. Besides, I needed information. “She doesn’t know yet that I’m involved?”
“I’ll tell her this week. I needed to line you up first, and boy, oh boy, am I sure glad I did.”
“Me too, sir.”
I try to picture Presley’s face when she hears we’ll be seeing each other again.
But the image won’t come together. I have no clue how she’ll react. I have no clue what Presley’s life is like. When I looked her up online for the first time in years, I only uncovered work details.
But tonight I’ll see her and have the chance to figure out why she occupies my mind in those dire moments. I said yes to this job for a lot of reasons, but once I know why she’s in my head lately, I can get her out of it.
Later that afternoon when I’m changing for the gym, I toss my wallet onto the dresser, contemplate it a moment, and then retrieve it to fish out the creased paper that has traveled the world with me. I read it again, a reminder of why I always chase my dreams so damn hard.
4
Presley
Turn it off! I want to shout at my boss.
Because as I take a seat across from Daniel, the photo of Hunter on the computer screen is laughing at me.
Today of all days, when I’ve learned my publisher is remaindering me, when my agent thinks I have little hope without staging a con, and when I have to dig down deep to promote D-list celeb love letters instead of antiques and artifacts from the turn of the twentieth century, seeing Hunter “I’m rich, charismatic, and charitable” Armstrong staring back at me in my place of work makes me feel like I’m the butt of a joke.
Why must the owner of the most chiseled jaw in the history of chiseled jaws be on Daniel’s screen? And looking so rugged with that three-day stubble, that daring glint in his eyes, and that crooked grin that melts panties?
Ugh, why can’t you be hideous?
I tear my gaze away, focusing solely on Daniel.
“I have good news. Fantastic news. Are you ready?” My boss gives me a jowly grin. He’s quite skilled at jowly grins. He clasps his palms together, and a smile lights him up, painting his face with absolute glee. That’s . . . interesting. I haven’t seen that look since he nabbed two dozen prints of nineteenth-century government survey records at auction. The records of early expeditions to the American West went for more than one hundred thousand dollars all combined.
