Of Course, Mr. Sinclair

Terry Sinclair boarded his private jet alongside his security team. He sat down and poured himself a glass of Domaine Leroy Les Beaux Monts.

“Ahh,” he sighed, savoring a large sip of the wine. “Where to now?”

His bodyguard Lance confirmed the itinerary. “Heading to Paris, then London. We’ll be there in less than two hours, sir.”

“Great, I can get some sleep,” Terry yawned and rubbed his hands over his neatly combed, auburn hair. His young face was handsomely impassive as he stared blankly out the window at Berlin’s twinkling lights. A small amount of stubble grazed his upper lip and chin. After take-off, Terry went to his bedroom on the plane, and passed out in his fine suit on the plush duvet. 

***

Landing in Paris was somewhat of an issue. Terry needed to be in a meeting in less than 20 minutes. He exhaled deeply, why was landing a private jet always such a hassle? He told his PA, Sarah, to pay the hanger an extra few thousand to land immediately. He looked through the window as he sipped his wine. They were scrambling to remove a plane from the landing strip below.

“Come on, Sarah! I won’t be late for this meeting, tell them to get a move on!” He shouted from his seat.

“Of course, sir.” Sarah frantically dialed on her mobile and shouted at someone. After five more minutes, the plane below was moved off to the side, and Sarah announced they were clear to land. 

***

After another lengthy meeting in London, Terry double—no, triple checked with Sarah that his itinerary was now open. She kept repeating “yes sir, yes sir,” bobbing her head like one of those silly figurines people stuck to their car dashboards. Terry wasn’t convinced. Just last month, he'd arrived at his mansion outside Toronto when he got a call saying he was supposed to be in Sante Fe that night! He couldn’t believe Sarah had botched his schedule so badly. He’d almost fired her. But sadly, it was hard to find good PAs. 

Terry spent almost the whole flight home on the phone. Business calls assaulted him for hours, until finally, Sarah announced they were done for the day.

“Great, I’m going to sleep. What time will it be when we get home?” Terry asked the nervous-looking PA.

“Um, 3 pm sir. But Mr. Sinclair, sir… Laurel is trying to get hold of you.”

“Can’t it wait till we’re there?” Terry groaned.

“Well, we did say we’d call her on the way home.”

“Fine, dial her,” Terry grumbled. The last thing he wanted was an irritating woman in his ear, but he couldn't really avoid it. Between Sarah and Laurel, he was never going to get a quiet moment.

Sarah handed Terry the mobile, “Hey baby, yes I’m on my way home now. We’ll be there around 3 pm. Everything’s fine, I want to sleep before I get there. Okay, yep. Bye-bye.”

***

Terry arrived at the country mansion at 6 pm. He immediately went to the kitchen and fixed himself a drink. His mobile was ringing. Damn Laurel, he thought, irritated.

“Are you home yet, honey?” his girlfriend asked when he picked up the phone.

“Hi, yes, I just got in the door.”

“Oh! Okay… you said three, so I was going to surprise you, but no one answered the gate.”

“Yeah, you know what.... I'm beat. Can we just cancel today and I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Oh! Yes, of course… I understand…” Laurel’s voice trailed off. He could tell she was disappointed. 

“Look, y’know I want to see you. But I’m so jet-lagged, I need some time to myself.”

“Okay… but you’ll call tomorrow, right?”

“Yep.”

***

Laurel sat in her tiny apartment in Burlington, scrolling through Netflix on the TV. She understood Terry had been travelling a lot lately, and really, she did feel for him. He must be exhausted, with all the commuting and meetings. She couldn’t understand why he had to be there in person so often. Didn’t they invent video conferences for a reason?

She opened her computer and googled the distances Terry had travelled the past week, out of curiosity. Laurel didn’t understand anything about the corporate world, so she tried not to question things. Who knew why he had to be there in person so often, but he did, and she had to deal with it. Truly, she tried to be understanding. She wouldn't be aggravated now if he hadn’t cancelled the last ten plans they’d made together. Ten. In a row!

Although, with Terry being a CEO, cancelled plans were inevitable. Things came up, she understood. But how was she supposed to have a relationship with a man, if he couldn’t even keep one appointment with her? She hadn’t seen him in-person for about three months… and now he was home—a mere 30 minute drive away, and he didn’t want to see her… Tears threatened to sting at her eyes. She decided maybe a new lingerie would be a nice surprise for Terry, so she grabbed her purse and headed for the mall.

Two days later… 

Laurel was crying. She sat in her empty apartment, her dark hair done up in curls. She was wearing a pretty, red bodycon dress, which complimented her curvy figure. Her mascara and eyeshadow were smudged, and she kept dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, vainly trying to preserve the rest of her makeup. Her apartment was neat and tidy, apart from the shopping bags piled in a corner. A large lacy bra, a Gucci clutch, and some elegant clothes spilled onto the floor.

Laurel dabbed at her eyes again, picked up her cell, and texted: Terry, are you still busy? i’m off work today i could drop by now?? haven’t seen you in months, baby i miss you! 😘

Four hours later, Terry texted back: Sorry babe come over now if you want! 

“Now?!” Laurel screeched. She was in the middle of making pasta for her lunch tomorrow, and she had to be up at 6 am the next morning for work. 

Laurel bit her lip and texted: Ok! be right there.

She then rapidly turned off the stove, placed her half-cooked pasta in the fridge, fixed her makeup, and threw on her new lingerie and the red dress she’d been wearing earlier. She was getting good at getting ready fast. 

***

Terry got the text from Laurel as he came out of the shower. Awesome, Laurel was coming over! He would convince her to spend the night. He knew she typically didn’t stay up late because of her ridiculously early shifts at the café, but she could call in sick if she had to. Terry ruffled his hair with a towel, threw on a t-shirt and shorts, then waited for Laurel in his massive living room. He put on YouTube and set a bottle of whiskey on the table. Hey, why not do shots once Laurel gets here? Terry opened the bottle of 18 year Macallan Scotch and set out glasses and ice. 

Not long after her text, Terry got a call from his front gate. He buzzed Laurel through and, slightly tipsy, opened the door. She came in looking like she was ready for the club, and threw her arms around him. 

“It’s so good to see you, finally,” she gushed.

“Yeah, sorry, but… y'know, I have business in town to deal with too,” Terry replied. Finally? It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her, had it?

“Your hair is longer,” he commented.

“Well, it’s been three months,” she replied. 

“Really? Well, hey—time flies, let’s drink.” 

“I have to work tomorrow morning, I can’t drink.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Terry teased and wheedled until she took one shot with him. One shot led to a couple more, which led to the bedroom. 

After a while, they stumbled back downstairs and put on a movie. Laurel was in a silk nightgown and Terry in his boxers. After a few minutes, their conversation began to turn a little sour. It started with Laurel asking when they could spend more time together, which irked Terry. 

“Laurel, I’m spending as much time with you as I possibly can,” he said, a little aggressively. 

“Okay, I understand, I do. But… the thing is you say one thing and then you do another… or another thing happens. Like, you didn’t call or text me for two days after you got back! What am I supposed to think?” Laurel stated, trying not to get upset.

“You’re supposed to think I’m busy and I’ll call when I can.”

“Okay, okay! But, don’t get mad—”

“I’m not mad, you’re mad for things that aren’t my fault!” Terry shouted. At some point he'd stood up.

Laurel stayed seated on the couch and nodded, “No, no. Just… you say I’m your girlfriend, and you say you want a committed relationship with me—but you also say we’re going out this night or meeting at this time… then you never show up! Half the time you stand me up and you don’t even call to explain!”

Terry grabbed the whiskey and poured himself more than a shot’s worth. He downed it and looked at her, “You have no idea the kind of pressure I’m under. I don’t need you giving me crap.” He walked out through the sliding door onto the deck. 

Laurel followed him and noticed he’d taken the bottle of whiskey along. “Hang on! I’m not giving you crap. I’m just saying maybe there are things we need to work on, especially if we want this relationship to continue.”

“So you’re not happy?” Terry countered, sitting on a patio chair. “Not happy spending my money? Not happy with the clothes, the makeup… I can see every shop you go to, y’know. It’s all there on the credit card bill.”

“What?” Laurel said, taken aback. Terry had never raised this as an issue before. “I— Terry, if you don’t want me to use the credit card, I won’t! I don’t use it for food or bills… I pay those myself, I—”

He cut her off, “That’s what it’s about, eh?” He chuckled. “You want me to pay your rent? I will, I’ll pay for everything. You don’t have to work at that stupid coffee shop anymore…”

“It’s a book café, not a coffee shop! And I like working there! I don’t want to quit. Why does my job mean nothing to you?”

Terry laughed, “Because it’s a frickin’ joke!”

Laurel started to cry… why was he being such an asshole? She tried to calm herself and wipe her tears, as Terry took another swig from his whiskey bottle. 

“Look, Laurel,” Terry stated, “If you’re not happy, buy another purse, or y’know what? Another one of those lingerie things like you wore tonight. Buy whatever you want, okay? I don’t care, I’ll pay your rent—or you can live here. Whatever will make you happy…” And how could she argue with that? Terry thought smugly, as he lit up a smoke. He tried to stand, but was a little wobbly, so he sat again. When he looked back up at her face, Laurel seemed angry, hurt, sad… anything but happy. 

“What is your problem?!” Terry said, or maybe he shouted it. He didn’t mean to shout. But this was frustrating, damn it. He offered to provide for her, offered as much time as he had for her… he was stretched thin as it was. What more did she expect from him?

“You… you jerk,” Laurel whispered. 

“Sorry, what?” Terry asked.

Then suddenly, Laurel erupted with tears and angry words, “You jerk! I don’t want you money, I don’t want you to pay my bills, I don’t want to quit my job! Why are you treating me like I’m some kind of gold digger? I didn’t ask you for anything. You offered me the credit card, and I only use it to buy clothes and stuff, to look good for you! Asshole!”

“Jesus, Laurel, I didn’t mean it like that… what do you want then?”

“You! I just want to spend time with you… I want a relationship. I want to do things together, and not be stood up for months on end with lame excuses!”

“Excuses!” Terry stood now and shouted back. “I’m working! I’m not screwing around or cheating if that’s what you think… like I’d have time even if I wanted to!”

“No, I never thought that! But why did you make a commitment to me, why do you promise me things if you know you can’t deliver?”

“Promise you things?” Terry was confused. Did she want an engagement ring or something? “Whatever you want, just buy it. I don’t care, you can have whatever you want—”

“I’m not talking about material things, Terry! Damn it, you missed my birthday, you stood me up dozens and dozens of times— I’ve lost count! If you won’t make time for this relationship, then why did you commit to it? Why promise you’ll be there for me… when I need you, I can’t even get a hold of your PA!”

“I’m busy—”

“I’m sick of waiting around, being understanding, and never having any support from you. Can’t we at least talk about changing things? That’s all I’m asking.” Laurel began to calm down. These thoughts had been silently consuming her for months. It felt good to let it out. 

But Terry, who found this conundrum more difficult to solve than his itinerary, business meetings, or his private jet maintenance, was done being patient with the situation. 

“You know what Laurel,” he said coldly, “Get your things. Lance will drive you home now.”

***

Several days after things went south with Laurel, Terry remembered something important. He sat on a stool at the marble counter of his home bar, staring at a paper bill in his hand. He’d registered the MasterCard he gave Laurel under her name. It was to help build her credit score, it was under her social insurance number… 

Knowing full well that she couldn’t pay off the bill, he sent a text to Sarah: Send the Platinum MasterCard bill to Laurel. 

He received a text back immediately: Are you sure? I thought we promised to pay it each month?

Terry stared at the word that both Sarah and Laurel had used: promised. Laurel’s voice echoed in his mind for the hundredth time. Why do you promise me things if you know you can’t deliver… 

With a rush of anger and spite, he texted his PA back: it’s under her name, it’s her bill i’m not paying it. SEND IT.

Three dots indicated Sarah was typing. The dots stopped. After a minute, the dots were back, and Sarah’s response appeared: Of course, Mr. Sinclair.