Page 95 of I Saw You First

“I’m sure you’ll tell me whether I want to know or not.”

“You’re right.” He pauses, a lead-up to a good ass-kicking, I’m sure. “I think that you’re scared. You’re scared of your dad because he’s been holding the reins your entire fucking life. And you’re scared to let yourself love Abbey, but for the life of me, I cannot understand why.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “It’s done. We’re over. I told you before, Sam. She needs this job more than she needs… well, me.”

“You’ve said some stupid shit over the years, but that’s gotta be the stupidest. Why can’t you at least give it a shot if you’re at different stores?”

“It’s bigger than me, and you know it.” Jefferson A. Wilshire III always gets his way. It’s been like this my whole life. Toe the line, Wil. Toe the line, and you’ll go places with this company.

He huffs out a frustrated breath. “If you say so.”

“This isn’t like your lucky parking lot, Sam. Not everything works out because you wish it could.”

“Fuck you.” He doesn’t smile or laugh, and he, too, turns and walks away.

I’m batting zero today.

When I turn back to the computer, there’s a new email from Felix, no subject, no greeting: I know you’ve only got a couple of days left but any chance you could convince Abbey to skip that Cambridge interview? It would make things a lot easier for me.

I have no idea what he means. I delete the email. If he asks me about it, I’ll play dumb. Besides, I’m the last person to tell Abbey Rhodes what to do.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“BLACK” BY PEARL JAM, 1991

WIL

Today is my last day at Woodlake. The end of an era, although hopefully I’ll be back. Soon.

It’s also the day Abbey interviews with the Boston team, according to Jeremy. That must be what Felix’s email was about. I’m even more convinced that deleting it was the right thing to do. She looks beautiful if a little frazzled and nervous. She came in this morning wearing two different earrings, which Jimmy was kind enough to point out, and I overheard her asking Crystal if she could borrow a jersey because she forgot hers. Crystal wasn’t happy about it.

After Abbey clocks out, she hovers around customer service, waiting. I’m in the Dugout going over a few last-minute things with Jeremy, who has that glazed-over look in his eyes. How this guy ever passed his merch rotation is beyond me.

“Did you get that?” I ask.

“Settle down. Century can handle this,” he says. Then he notices Abbey beyond the door to the Dugout. He frowns. I pretend to be very interested in what’s on my clipboard.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Jeremy says. “You stay here. She hates your guts right now.”

He leaves the door open. I don’t even pretend to not watch them and listen.

“You sure about this, slugger?” he says.

“Slugger? That’s a new one.”

“Abs, Boston. That’s a big move. A big, high-profile move.”

Her mouth turns down. “Maybe I’m ready for a big move. Boston can’t be any higher profile than Woodlake.” She pauses. “I have to at least try, Jeremy.”

A short Black man sporting a buzz cut, Hometown polo, khakis, and dress code-violating, blindingly white Air Jordans opens the Performance Center door. “You must be Abbey. I’m Pharaoh. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Thanks for meeting with me,” she says.

“This guy had a lot of good things to say about you,” Pharaoh says with a jab of his thumb toward Jeremy. “Said it would be a big blow to lose his best employee to a new market.”

They’d be stupid not to take her.

“When are you going to patch things up with her?” Jeremy asks when he comes back into the Dugout.