Page 89 of The Truth of Us

22

ELLIOT

It was as if everyone was out to get me. And no, I was not being a ‘dramatic crybaby’ like Rowan suggested. I was a man who had grown accustomed to not being told no, and suddenly every fucking person in Chicago had decided no was their favourite word.

No, Elliot. No, you can’t have her number. No, I don’t know where she is. No, I won’t pass along a message. No, I cannot confirm when or if she’ll be returning to Chicago.

No.

No.

No.

No.

The word had become to feel like a personal attack. Timothy was especially enjoying himself. I had asked to speak to Harper so many times that the receptionist at her old firm no longer bothered pretending she didn’t recognize my voice. She simply transferred me to Timothy, who answered with the kind of professional brightness that made me want to commit a felony.

“Mr. Vale,” he said on Tuesday morning, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “How can I help you today?”

“You can put Harper on the phone.” I huffed.

“As I’ve mentioned, Ms. Lane is no longer with the company.”

Yes, he had mentioned that, and every time he had, it had felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Harper left her ‌fucking job.

“Then forward me to her,” I demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I ground out because this little routine was getting exhausting.

A pause, then, “Both.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Timothy.”

“Mr. Vale.”

“I need to speak with her.” Was I whining? I am going to say no, but Timothy probably would have a different opinion.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“I need five minutes.” I pleaded.

“I cannot help with that.”

“One minute.” Negotiations were supposed to be my strong suit.

“No.”

See that fucking word.

“Thirty seconds.” I tried again.

“No.”

“Are you enjoying this?” I finally asked, because I truly felt like he was.

Another pause, then calmly, “No, I am not enjoying it.”