Page 187 of Revenge Puck

If I were her, I’d tell me to fuck off and never want to see me again. But I’m not a quitter, and I have to give it a shot, see if she’ll at least hear me out.

Keeping it professional in the workplacewill have to wait, because she won’t agree to see me if she’s not taking my calls, or responding to my messages.

I square my shoulders and start walking toward her office.

Paperwork handled.

Now comes the hard part.

Her desk is vacant.

Crap—what if she didn’t show up for work?

My shoulders drop. What if she’s gone home? Or is hiding from me?

Then I notice the glass-walled conference room at the end of the hall. The lights are on. The blinds are half-closed.

And she’s inside.

Alone.

She’s seated at the far end of the table, elbows on the surface, fingers pressed to her temples as if she’s mustering the energy to do whatever she’s in the room to do.

She looks up when I open the door.

Our eyes meet.

There’s no smile, no greeting, no teasing.

Juliette looks tired, her face free of make-up except for a small bit of mascara.

She looks like she’s probably been up crying all night.

I close the door behind me.

“This won’t take long.” I hold my hands up, praying she doesn’t call security or something.

She nods, crossing her arms.

“I went to HR,” I start, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Rock back on my heels, nervous as hell.

Juliettes mouth falls into a straight line.

“I disclosed our relationship,” I go on, unencouraged by her silence. “I wanted it documented, you know—so there are no surprises.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

“You came here to tell methat?” she asks flatly.

I blink. “Yeah.”

She lets out a breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a scoff. But if sarcasm had a sound, it would be that.

“Alright.”

Silence hums between us, she on one side of the table, me on the other, the glass walls making me feel exposed to prying eyes so soon after my meeting with Tara.