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“That’s fine,” I tell her.
“I’ll have all of my work done, but that means—”
“It’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Did you honestly expect me to tell you no?”
“Well,” she says, her brows drawing together. “Yeah.”
“Why would I tell you no?”
“Because I just started working here.”
“And you’ve managed to get more done in a couple weeks than Chandler and I have managed in years,” I remind her. “Have a good weekend.”
“It’s an obligation to my parents, so it won’t be fun, but I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t go. Do you have any questions?”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Questions?”
“About my plans?”
“Didn’t you request a personal day?” She nods. “Then it’s none of my business.”
“My old boss would be grilling me right now.”
“Your old boss sounds like a jerk.”
“She was,” she says. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Can you pull that door closed behind you?”
She nods before turning around and doing as I’ve asked. The last thing I want is for anyone to watch me sitting here, incapable of getting anything done because I’m so lost in my head that I can’t really function.
I don’t know if it’s intrusive thoughts or just self-destructive habits trying to convince me that going to Adalynn and yelling at her is the best way to handle this situation. I’ve avoided arguments with the woman for years because I was afraid of losing her. I also respected her too much to really express myself and how being just outside her orbit all this time has really made me feel.
It could go two different ways. It could possibly open her eyes to how I really feel and she could tell me that’s how she’s felt and she’s been a little gun-shy herself. Or, it could all blow up in my face and how she really feels about me is more akin to sympathy and pity than love.
I’m considering knowing the full truth is better than speculating when my office door swings open again.
“Eastyn, I—”
My words freeze on my lips when I see Bobby John Prichard standing there with hatred in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Eastyn says, standing behind the man, looking distressed. “He just barged in.”
“Barged?” the man snaps. “My taxes pay—”
“It’s fine,” I tell Eastyn. “How can I help you today, Mr. Prichard?”
Eastyn watches me for a second longer before backing out of my office. She keeps her eyes on me even after she sits behind her desk at the reception area. Her vantage point allows her to see the street and my office at the same time, depending on which direction she’s looking.
I do my best to give her a reassuring smile before turning my full attention to the angry man.
“Was this your doing?”
I glance down at the paper when Mr. Prichard slaps it on my desk so hard my computer monitor waivers. Although that says more about the low-quality furniture we have than his strength.
