"When are you coming to pick me up?"
The line crackled. Wind hit the receiver. I hugged the phone to my ear because the balcony railing felt colder than the concrete.
"Tonight," Xavier said. "I said tonight."
"Then get on the next flight," I said.
"I can't," he said. "There's a situation at home. I have to handle it."
"Xavier, I left a filming schedule. I left meetings. You promised—"
"I'm sorry. I can't leave," he said. "Tell Janet to handle it."
"You could have told me before my flight," I said. "You could have told me before I sat on the tarmac."
"Look, Have—" He almost said my nickname. He stopped. "Trust me. I'll come when I'm done."
His voice landed flat. He ended the call.
I watched the call disconnect. The line on my phone went gray. The hotel balcony blurred. I put the phone down and forced a laugh that sounded like glass.
Janet's messages blinked: Where are you? Need the schedule?
I typed: Reykjavik. Fine. Send the second draft to StreamWave.
Then my screen lit up with a group chat. Zander.
Zander: New club pics. Worth a thousand headlines.
Zander: Caption: "When the boss leaves, we celebrate."
Photo 1: Xavier mid-laugh, drink raised. He was close to Galilea. Her hand rested on his shoulder. They were too close.
Zander: @Haven, thought you'd like a postcard.
I scrolled. Photo 2: Xavier and Galilea, foreheads almost touching, faces turned to the
