I gape at him but he goes back to ignoring me, turning away again but standing sentinel in front of the drawers like a guard at Buckingham Palace.
“I’ll call over there and talk to Dean. I’m sure he’s not happy with the grandstanding.” A pause. “I’m not worried about it. It’ll be over by tomorrow’s news cycle.” Another pause. “Yeah, that’s fine. I agree. Thanks, Bill.”
He hangs up, facing the window for an extra beat. Eventually he turns, tosses his phone on the desk, and sits, scooching in his chair. Only once he’s all settled does he look at me.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Adams?” His tone is coolly professional.
Is he serious?
“Why do you have a file with my name on it?” I demand.
“Why are you here?”
“What’s in that file?”
“What file?”
“Are you seriously going to pretend I didn’t just see you hide it?”
He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his computer, clicking his mouse and tapping a few keys. I stare at him, incredulous, but he goes right on ignoring me.I guess he is.
Remember why you’re here.I take a deep breath and give the elephant in the room a backbreaking shove. “Fine, I came by to talk to you.”
“About?” He frowns at his screen, clicking absently.
About how annoyed I am that I miss you. Can we go back to the way things were?
The glow from the monitor slants across his face and I find myself studying his profile, my memory summoning images of his sleeping form and my late-night hand creepage. His five-o’clock—or, technically, seven-o’clock—shadow is visible and I gulp as I remember how it felt beneath my fingertips.
Get back on track, Kate.
“Um, about... this standoff we have going on.”
He doesn’t reply, just clicks around, glaring at his screen.
“Ben.”
No response.
“Benjamin. Benjy,” I poke, but not even his nickname can break him.
“Kate, you came tomyoffice. What is it you need to say?” He is not going to make this easy.
“I came to apologize.”
He finally looks at me, reclining slightly in his chair and folding his arms. It is all power pose.
“I’m sorry about the things I said to you. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that, especially after you helped me. It was clearly a result of my own embarrassment about my behavior. I wish I’d handled it differently.”
I wait for him to say something, but he just sits there, stoic. His face betrays nothing.
I’m so uncomfortable, I’m practically twisting out of my skin. Nevertheless, I persist. “While I’m at it, I’ll add an apology that you had to take care of a belligerent, ungrateful drunk. You didn’t have to do that, and I really appreciate it.”
I should probably apologize for making unwanted advances toward him, but since that went over so well the last time, I figure I’ll just leave it unspoken. Besides: I’m not really sure I’m sorry. It’s the most action I’ve seen all year.
I wait a beat for him to respond, but he stays stone-faced, still leaned back in his chair. I’m starting to feel pathetic at his lack of reaction and my continuous word vomit. I’m struck by an idea, but if this doesn’t work, I’m bailing out faster than you can sayGoldman Sachs.
“I was wrong, you were right. You’re the best, I’m the worst.” There! I spot it—a lip twitch. “You are good-looking, I am not attractive.”
