Emily
Baggage. Everyone has their own baggage and Lord knows I have mine. The kind that is extremely heavy and sits hidden, deep inside my cupboard. Its been four years since the curtains of my life have drawn, now I am miles away from my past, living in a different country, having another name and a completely changed persona.
I stand in front of the floor to ceiling windows, on the 17th floor of my office, looking outside at the heavy rain that sweeps over the streets of Chicago. My office is cold and dull and the weather outside, doesn't help my mood either. It is late November, I take a sip of my coffee, which has turned cold as well and think about him. Only Lord knows how much I miss him, his sweet laugh, his light blue eyes. My broken heart twists so much in my chest, that suddenly I found myself unable to breathe.
I try to snap myself out of my reverie, letting out a deep breath. I lift myself up on my toes and discard the high heels I was wearing for this morning's meeting. I step bare foot out on to the cold wooden floor and turn to sit in my office chair.
I export the CAD file with the alterations I had to do for the central stair case and compose an email for the client and the developer, then hit send. I close my computer and slide into my winter boots, I grab my coat and my umbrella and rush to my appointment at the hair salon. We have a dinner party with a prospective client and his business partners.
After my hair got done, I take a taxi and head to my apartment. I change in my dress, look around to see if everything is in order and then grab my suitcase, which I have already packed last night. I switch off the lights and activate the alarm. I pop my suitcase in the boot of my new Range Rover and then climb in the driving seat. After the dinner party, I wanted to go ahead and make the two hour drive to Eastwood, a small town in Indiana, where me and Tim Blair, our contracted surveyor, have an appointment with the developer, for the new shopping center.
At the party, I do my usual socialising, I shake some hands with colleagues in the industry, property lords and investors while broadcasting the whole two hours, my signature subtile smile. I only drink the quantity of one glass of Champagne, although I have picked a fresh one every fifteen minutes from the trays of the waiters swarming around the crowd. I have to drive later this evening, so I don't want to be tired or tipsy considering its a late night drive out state.
After saying my goodbyes to the people I was interested in seing at this event, I leave our guests in the hands of Lucy and Mike, my business partners and head outside of the venue, towards my car. The chilli air outside hits my face in full force, giving me a boost of energy, but also its making me shiver in my beige trench coat. I find my self suddenly very awake, but I know as soon as I set my tush on that comfy leather seat and switch the heating function on, I'll get too comfortable and sleepy. Especially since I plan on hitting the ONLY Christmas 24 radio station, as soon as I start that engine. So I make a note to stop at a Starbucks to grab a coffee, oh and also a sandwich, as I am now fully aware of my grumbling stomach.
It's only 19:48 and if the traffic is good on this Thursday evening I should be there not long after 22:00.
Luckily, the traffic was good and I have arrived in Eastwood unscathed and still full of energy from my Starbucks coffee. I am sitting in front of the reception desk of the only hotel in town and waiting for the receptionist to find my reservation. Trying to kill to awkward silence, I ask.
"What is the best place to have a late night drink around here?"
"There is only one bar open at this hour, but it is also the best one in town. It's just a few blocks from here, a converted barn called Gateway!"
"That sounds like it is just up my street! Thank you very much!" The receptionist hands me the key card of my room and I head upstairs.