Page 7 of The Write Midlife

Last night was amazing, but it was just that—one night. Last night was a professional event. And he had been anything but professional with Mel.

It's better this way, he told himself. A perfect memory, unsullied by reality.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave without a trace. He grabbed the hotel notepad and scribbled a quick note:

Mel—

Had to run. Early meeting.

Last night was incredible.

—Nate

It wasn't enough. It was nowhere near enough. But it was all he could offer right now.

He placed the note on the pillow next to her and allowed himself one last look. Then he was out the door, racing against the clock.

As he hailed a taxi outside the hotel, his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Part of him wanted to turn around, go back to that room and consequences be damned.

But the rational part of his brain—the part that had been carefully cultivated by years in the corporate world—knew that wasn't an option.

He gave the driver the address of Carlisle Publishing's headquarters, his family's company. As they weaved through Seattle's morning traffic, he tried to focus on what this emergency meeting could be about. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Mel.

Her laugh. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her writing. The feel of her skin against his. The way she gasped his name as she came, her body tight around him.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to compartmentalize. Whatever this was—was—with Mel, it had tostay separate from his professional life. He had responsibilities, expectations to meet. A legacy to uphold.

The taxi pulled up to the imposing glass building that housed Carlisle Publishing. He paid the driver and stepped out, straightening his tie. As he walked through the lobby, his protesting muscles made their opinion about last night's activities known with every step, and he was pretty sure he had pulled something in his lower back that no amount of Tiger Balm or triweekly CrossFit sessions was going to fix.

But damn if it wasn't worth it.

Problem was: he had to push those thoughts of last night aside. Because right now, he needed to be Nathaniel Carlisle, heir to the publishing empire. Not Nate, the guy who just had the best night of his life with a woman he barely knew.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than usual. When the doors opened, he was greeted by his father's assistant, a harried-looking woman named Janet.

"Mr. Carlisle," she said, relief evident in her voice. "They're waiting for you in the conference room."

He nodded, steeling himself for whatever crisis awaited. As he reached for the door handle, he allowed himself one last thought of Mel. Then he pushed it away, locking it in a corner of his mind to be examined later.

He opened the door, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. But as he stepped into the room full of stern-faced executives, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had left something important behind in that hotel room.

Something more than just a memorable night.

THREE

Melody wokeup to the sound of cold Seattle rain pattering against the hotel window, a familiar lullaby that usually soothed her. But this morning, it only served to amplify the emptiness of the bed beside her. She reached out, half-expecting to feel Nate's warmth, but her hand met cold sheets instead.

"Well, crap," she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

The events of last night came flooding back in a tidal wave of memories.

The publishing event, meeting Nate, their witty banter, and then... the best sex of her life. She flopped back onto the pillows, grinning like an idiot despite her disappointment.

But even a few more minutes of wallowing couldn’t make her forget how bold the wine made her last night. Three glasses of courage and suddenly she was channeling her inner romance heroine. She—the woman who's spent the last fifteen years choosing manuscript deadlines over Match.com messages.

It's not that she never dated. She had…

She thought.