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Who is that?
But even as I think that, I know I have no right to ask anything. I blew my chance with her. I acted like such a piece of shit that getting her friendship back is enough for right now.
But the more I look at her, something in me softens and eases and it hits me that I want her. I want all her kisses and all her laughter. I want her tears. I want her anger and everything there is about her that makes her so unique.
She is the only woman that ever roused my interest, and even years back, I started laying my claim, bit by bit: small touches, flirting. In the back of my mind, I had been carving my name into her heart, subconsciously.
As the truth wraps its head around me, I feel aghast at how badly I handled the situation the other night. I have to fix this.
My feelings for Agatha are there, and they are deep. She was always been around me, and I had never been forced to evaluate them or think about them. It had always been Ian and Agatha.
I cross the street, a fierce determination filling me.
I can’t mess this up. I have to be careful with how I handle this.
The office is emptying as I step inside the warmly lit place. A few more stragglers remain. I nod at Jenna, who gives me a smile before talking to a man who nods intently. When he leans over to kiss her cheek, I assume this is Nick, the boyfriend.
As I cross the huge floor to Agatha’s office, my eyes don’t miss the new door that is attached.
I frown at that.
That is so unlike her.
She is alone now, and I just reach the doorway when she looks up, and our eyes meet. Her eyes hold exhaustion, which is now replaced by shock and hurt before she quickly blanks it out.
“Ian.”
I can’t find it in me to step inside.
“Hey.”
There is awkwardness there, and something else that I can’t identify. There are a few odd things that I note around her.
A heavy metal baseball bat leans against her filing cabinets, along with a few bottles of mace. The coat that hangs in the corner is a far cry from the beautiful form-fitting ones she always wears. It’s a dark color and even from here, I know it’s an ugly shapeless one that will never stand out in the street.
I wonder what is going on, a bad feeling creeping up my spine.
She is watching me warily. “Can I help you, Ian?”
The formality in her tone, along with a hint of coldness, makes me wince. Not that it isn’t deserved.
I force myself move past the door. “I just wanted to check up on you.”
That is clearly the wrong thing to say because her eyes grow cold, impossibly so, and her tone turns sweet, the kind she uses when she is furious. “Is that so?”
“No, I mean—” I try to backtrack. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I am missing you.”
She studies me. “Now you’ve seen me.”
Oh, she is not pulling any punches.
“I was a douchebag.” I stick my hands in the pockets of my pants. “I should—”
Agatha runs her fingers through her hair, exhaustion in her form. “I get it. You’re sorry. You feel bad. You want to be friends again.”
I freeze at the bite in her tone, laced with bitterness. “Agatha, I—”
She smiles at me, the kind of smile she gives to people she has no interest in, an aloof curving of the lips that doesn’t match her eyes. “Like I said, I get it. But I don’t have time for this. I have too much going on, and I need to get a handle on that. You’re the least of my problems right now.”
