“You want me to say it? Fine, I’ll say it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry that you didn’t have the balls to ask me to stay. I’m sorry that you’ve spent seven years holding onto this anger and sadness like a crutch because you were too afraid to face the world without me holding your hand. And I’m sorry that I ever thought you were man enough to be able to have a professional, mature relationship with me. I’m. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I ever loved you.”
“Great.”
“Good,” I fire back.
“Perfect.”
“Awesome.” Now I’m just being immature.
“If you’re about done, I’d like to leave now.”
“If you leave, there’s no coming back,” I warn.
“After the way you’ve treated me, why would I ever want to come back here?” Her chin quivers like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears and damn if it doesn’t make me feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
I don’t know why I can’t stop myself. Why I feel the need to continue to punish her over a decision she made seven years ago. She’s right. I am a baby. A right git. And yet knowing that and being able to do something about it are two completely different things.
“Fine. Then go. You’re fired anyway.”
“Perfect.”
“Great.”
This time, when she moves toward the door, I let her, stepping out of her way to give her a clear path.
Part of me thinks maybe she won’t take it. That she took this job for a reason, which means she was desperate if the best option she had was to work for me. So maybe, just maybe, she’ll be desperate enough to stay.
I’m not sure which I want more. For her to walk out of my life and never look back, or for her to stomp back over to her desk, sit down, and continue to fill my life with misery every single day.
What does it say about me that I’m leaning toward the latter?
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else but then snaps it closed. Without another word, she closes the short distance between herself and the door.
Seconds later, I’m left standing alone, watching the open doorway that she just exited through, wondering what the hell I just did.
CHAPTER TWELVE
London
“Stupid, freaking jerk.” I swipe at the angry tears that streak down my face. Tears that I somehow, by the grace of God, was able to hold in until I was outside.
I can’t believe Penn.
I can’t believe the things he said.
The way he looked at me.
The way he spoke to me.
It was like I was standing in that room with a complete stranger.
I knew the donuts were probably a bad idea, but I wanted to do something nice for the guys and I certainly couldn’t afford to pay for them, and I honestly didn’t think Penn would care that much...
Then again, that may not be entirely true. I think a part of me knew it would irritate him and that gave me even more reason to do so.
Though what just happened in there... That had nothing to do with donuts. I’ve seen his books and while he’s not a millionaire by any means, he’s got more than enough to spare a couple hundred on a nice treat for his employees. The donuts just gave him an excuse... I gave him an excuse.
