All Chapters of THE PRICE OF LETTING GO: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

She called Camille at noon.She was at her desk with the brief open on her screen and she put her pen down and picked up her phone. She had been going to call Camille for two days. She had picked up the phone on day eight and looked at Camille’s name and put it back down. She had not been ready to say it out loud yet. Saying it out loud made it real in a way that it was not quite real when she was only carrying it. She had not been ready for that distinction until now.She dialed and she sat back in her chair and she waited.Camille answered on the second ring. She always answered on the second ring when it mattered. Selene had learned the difference years ago. First ring was casual, the answer of a person who was in the middle of something and had glanced at the screen. Second ring meant Camille had looked at the screen and was already present and had been present since before she picked up.“Tell me,” Camille said. No preamble.So Selene told her.She told her everything.Priya’s ca

He looked tired.She noticed it the moment she opened the door. Not the performative tired some people wear after a hard week to signal they worked hard. The real kind. Drawn at the edges, around the eyes and at the jaw, the specific flat quality of a man who had been running on efficiency and four hours of sleep for two weeks straight and had only just been allowed to stop.Dark jacket. Open collar. No tie. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and he held it up when she opened the door, a small gesture, not asking for anything.Not triumphant. Just offering. The way you offer something when you do not know if it will be received but you brought it anyway.“Hi,” he said.She looked at him for a moment. She had not seen him in fourteen days exactly. She had heard his voice on day three and day four and day nine. She had read his texts. She had not seen his face.She stepped back and let him in.She had not planned what she would say when she saw him. She had planned to watch. She had pl

The restaurant was loud in the way good team dinners get loud. Not fancy. Just a big Italian place with red checkered tablecloths and bread that came warm in baskets. Nicolas had picked it because Ro kept talking about their tiramisu for weeks. The whole team showed up. Even Dax, who usually found reasons to leave early.I sat between Petra and Ro. Nicolas was across from me, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something Dax said about a client who wanted their logo to feel more “spiritual but make it corporate.” My shoulders had been tight all day after last night with Dominic. But the wine was decent and the food kept coming and for a while I let myself just be there.Ro was on her third glass and telling a story about her disastrous dating app phase. Petra kept trying to steer her back to safer topics. Dax listened with that small half-smile he gets when he finds people amusing but will never admit it. I picked at my pasta and smiled in the right places.At some point Nicolas caught my

Dominic heard about it on a Friday night.He was in the back of his car, heading home from a dinner he had stayed at twenty minutes longer than he wanted to because leaving early would have required an explanation and he did not have one that was not the truth. The city moved past the window in streaks of light. Marcus, his driver, knew better than to talk.His phone buzzed.It was Reid Calloway. Old money, old connections, the kind of man who collected information the way other people collected art, not because he needed it but because having it made him feel like the most important person in any room. They had known each other since prep school. Dominic had never fully liked him but had never fully let him go either, which said something about both of them.The message was short.Saw your ex-wife tonight. SoHo. That new place on Spring Street. She was with a man. Looked comfortable. Thought you should know.Dominic read it once. Put the phone face down on the seat beside him.Looked

The Mercer Hotel pitch was Nicolas’s idea, but by the time we were three weeks in it had become mine.That is how good projects work. You do not claim them. They just start living in you the way certain songs do, the ones you hear once and then catch yourself humming in the shower three days later without knowing when they moved in. The Mercer brief asked us to reposition a boutique hotel group for a younger, design-conscious traveler without losing the quiet luxury that made the hotels worth staying in to begin with. It was a contradiction. Which meant it was interesting. Which meant I wanted it.I put together a small team. Dax, who treats bad design like a personal insult and good design like a religion, and Petra, who catches the details that the rest of us float past like they are not even there, and Yolanda, a newer hire with a color instinct so clean it makes me feel things I am not always proud of. Competitive things. Admiring things. Both at the same time.We worked late on T