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I find my phone stuffed down the side of the couch. My heart pounds as I check the log first. Five calls. Not as bad as I was expecting. Then I check my text messages. Twenty-Three? Jesus, I’m surprised I got any sleep at all. I frown as I scroll through them.
Me: Please just speak to me. Five minutes.
Me: Alana, please. Just hear me out.
Me: For fucks sake, I just want to talk…
I stop reading, too nervous to see what the rest of them say. My head is pounding, and I think I feel worse than I did last night, if that’s even possible. I sigh and toss my phone on the couch, catching sight of the time in the process.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
It’s nearly one in the afternoon and I should be at work. I have meetings all afternoon, including one with Phillip to discuss the Benson takeover bid that I want him to consider. As shitty as I feel, I refuse to let it affect my clients. I didn’t get where I am today to fuck it all up over some girl.
But she isn’t just some girl, is she?
The knock on the door stops me from entering an internal argument with myself. I walk over and open it, scowling at Josh. He smiles and follows me back inside, where I slump down on the couch.
“Well, you’re a vision of happiness today,” he comments.
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.
“You’re also not at work,” he points out.
“Yeah? And how would you know that?” I realize the ridiculousness of my statement the second it leaves my mouth.
He chuckles. “What’s up with you?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing.”
“Does this nothing have anything to do with Alana?” he asks gently.
I shrug. He sighs and sits forward.
“Whatever it is, fix it. She’s good for you,” he says.
“You don’t think I know that?” I say with a snarl.
“Have you tried talking to her? Maybe if—”
“What, Josh?” I growl. “Maybe she’ll forgive me? I can’t even get her to hear me out.” I sigh and rock forward on my feet. “Just stay out of it. I appreciate that you care so much, but you don’t know what your fucking talking about.”
I get to my feet and frown at him.
“Can you see yourself out? I have to get ready for work.”
I stalk into my bedroom and slam the door shut without waiting for him to answer. Stripping out of my boxers, I run the shower in my bathroom, waiting for the water to run hot before I step in. I hear the sound of the front door closing, and I sigh, not feeling the relief that I thought I would. I lean against the tiles, angry at myself, angry at the world. I never should’ve let Casey blame me in the first place.
Why do I always have to fuck everything up?Chapter Seventeen
Alana“You’re not going in today either?” Peyton asks. “I get that you’re avoiding him, but why?” she asks. “Talk to me.”
“I didn't call you for a heart-to-heart,” I say with a growl. “Just call in sick for me again. Please,” I add for effect.
“Only if you talk to me,” she replies stubbornly.
“Fine,” I mutter, not caring anymore. “If you want me to talk, then call in sick yourself and come over.”
I hang up on her before she can respond, then I shove my pillow back over my head and attempt to go back to sleep. It works until, twenty minutes later, when someone pounds on my door.
“Let me in, Lanna!” Peyton's muffled voice floats through to my bedroom.
I groan because I didn't expect her to actually come over here. Reluctantly, I force myself out of bed and walk over to the door. I open it and frown at her. She ignores my pissed off expression and hands me a coffee. I take a sip as she guides me over to the couch and sits me down.
I got back late Sunday night after booking myself an earlier flight. I couldn’t stand the thought of being that close to him for three hours, so I paid an obscene amount for a business-class ticket. Monday morning rolled around and the idea of seeing him still made me feel like hurling, so I called Pey. She didn’t ask questions, but she knew something was up.
Today though, she is asking questions. I know I’m not going to get away with not telling her everything. Who knows, maybe talking about it is exactly what I need? Maybe if I get it all out, I’ll feel better and be able to put this behind me and move on.
“Now, tell me what the hell happened,” she says. “Don’t try and tell me it’s a coincidence that Chase didn’t turn up until three in the afternoon yesterday, either.”
I release a big sigh and lie back on the couch, closing my eyes, hating that hearing that makes me feel good. Where do I even begin to try and explain this to her?
