I reach for a slice of the turkey club in a blur, as if I’ve been stranded on an abandoned island for weeks without food.
When I take a bite of the sandwich, my eyes roll back as I let out an involuntary groan. “Shit, this is good. I can’t tell if it’s the best sandwich ever made or if I’m just that hungry.”
Owen lets out a deep, rumbly laugh that turns my insides to mush.
“I think we could eat cardboard right now and would think it tastes good,” he replies.
We eat in comfortable silence, losing track of time as we devour the delicious food. For a beat, our eyes meet, quick and unintentional, sending a giddy little flutter through my chest.
Once we’ve quenched the rumble in our bellies, Owen leans back and eyes me over the rim of his glass. His gaze washes over me like a bucket of molten lava.
“So,” he starts. “Why did you say yes?”
I swallow a bite too fast and cough, almost choking on the chip rammed in my throat. He slides my water toward me with two long fingers, amused but a little concerned.
Why am I like this? I have a talent for humiliating myself.
“Yes to what?” I wheeze, even though I know exactly what he’s asking.
He gives me a pointed look. “To this.” He gestures around the suite. “To being here. With me.”
Electricity crackles beneath my skin as I pick at a piece of melted cheese to buy myself some time.
“I don’t know,” I breathe.
Owen rests his corded forearms on the table, his attention zeroed in on me.
“I needed a break,” I admit, my words tumbling out. “From Chicago. From work. From my miserable manager.”
My heart skips a beat as his brows knit together and a protective flare darkens his eyes.
“She’s fucking awful,” he spits, his fury aimed toward Stacy. “I don’t know how anyone can put up with her shit.”
“Tell me about it,” I scoff. “She jumped my ass over a jersey color in a draft that wasn’t even final. She acted like I plagiarized an article from the New York Times or something,” I shake my head. “God, it’s always something with her. Nothing is ever enough.”
Desperately needing to vent, I keep going before Owen can reply.
“I spend half my day rewriting things to match her mood and the other half trying not to throw my keyboard against the wall,” I huff, blowing out a heavy breath. “I’m just tired, Owen. So tired of dealing with her day in and day out.”
His jaw tenses as his knuckles turn white around his glass.
“You don’t deserve that, Meadow,” he almost growls. “You work so fucking hard, and all she does is make your life a living hell.”
I pick at the crust of the sandwich, my thoughts roaring in my mind. There’s something I’ve been putting off mentioning to Owen, and contemplating saying it out loud makes it feel real.
We’ve been coworkers for years… and I have no idea how he’s going to react.
“I know,” I finally mutter. “I—I’ve been thinking about looking for other jobs,” I add, keeping my eyes on the table. “Just to see what else is out there. Hopefully find a company where my manager doesn’t treat me like an unpaid intern.”
There.
I’ve said it.
My confession lingers between us, heavy and raw. When I finally glance up, Owen is watching me intently, a combination of panic and pride filling his emerald eyes.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I mean, I’m not quitting until I find something else, but I can’t keep doing this forever. I feel like I’mbecoming a shell of myself. Every week that I let her speak to me like dirt beneath her shoe, my confidence dies out a little more.”
