Love Me, Mr. Jones

eight | "do it"

Standing here, outside the huge Jones’ Publishing House’s building, I realised something I probably should’ve before I left Archer’s & Co. to drag Miller Jones out for lunch. I realised I shouldn’t have come here.

It had been a week since Miller walked out on me at the office canteen after he had been the one to seek me out to sign the papers his lawyer had drawn up. One week of radio silence from him. One week of restless, sleepless nights where I kept shuffling in my bed because I couldn’t get the picture of that hair tie out of my mind no matter how much I tried.

The alphabets ‘K’ and ‘L’ written in a shiny yellow on the inside of the black tie haunted my dreams. The memories of me wearing it in my hair and flaunting it whenever anybody asked me where I’d gotten it from flashed in a loop, sending me spiralling down the lane of our memories from London. I shook my head, ridding myself of those thoughts and focusing on the present.

Once Miller had left and I’d grasped the reality of the situation; how he’d interrupted me and left without any particular reason, I’d tried to follow him. He’d been gone by the moment I got down to the parking lot and when I’d come up to at least get the hair tie, I’d realised he’d taken it with him.

And then, for the whole week he had proceeded to ignore me. I had typed out an extremely professional email regarding his request about needing my signature and there hadn’t been any reply. I had reached out to his assistant the next day to know of his whereabouts and she had told me he wasn’t available. I had left him alone for the next two days, thinking maybe he really was busy with the sudden move to London super soon and that he had to divide certain responsibilities and attend to pressing priorities but when he had seen and ignored the text I’d sucked my ego inside to send to him, I’d lost my damn mind.

I plucked my phone out of my black, sequined purse hanging over my shoulder and opened our text thread. Despite telling Miller to delete my number from his phone, it had been impossible for me to get rid of his number ever since I’d saved it from the last time he’d texted me once.

Me: Hello.

Me: I hate to be the one to break professionalism and text you but this is really important and since you won’t check your emails or tell your assistant how I can reach you, I’m hoping you’ll at least pay attention to these messages.

Me: On Monday, I’ve arranged a meeting with Jenny for us to discuss the initiating process. Sending you the link to the restaurant in ten. Be there at one.

I’d sent this text to him two days ago, on Saturday and it was already Monday today and — I checked my watch — oh, it was already half past twelve and there was absolutely no sign of Miller or whether he’d come or not.

And that’s why I was here. As I grabbed my aviators and pushed them over my head, I entered the large building, my head high and my steps calculated.