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“Oh, was I rude?” I touch a hand to my chest, batting my eyes. “Forgive me. I wouldn't want to be rude. I bet that made you feel pretty small and helpless, didn’t it?”
“Don't put words in my mouth.”
“But it did. I can tell it did, or else you wouldn't have run all the way down here.”
“This has nothing to do with that. This is important to me. I need this to go away.”
“Newsflash, it's not going away. No matter what happens, you'd have to put in the hard work of making up for the stupid things you said. But I understand how you'd be uncomfortable with that since that's not exactly something you've had to do much of.”
“Damn it,” he mutters. “Why? Why are you doing this? Why go to all this trouble?”
“I guess I want to watch you grovel,” I admit, lifting a shoulder.
The man has the nerve to scoff. “I wouldn't say I groveled.”
“Even now,” I marvel, shaking my head. “Even now, you can't help but let your stupid pride get in the way.”
“Is that what you want? For me to grovel?”
Glancing around him, I notice an older couple on their way inside the building. “Careful,” I whisper. “You don't want to dig your grave any deeper by embarrassing yourself in front of your guests.”
“You are unbelievable,” he whispers.
Am I? Or am I only one of many people who have wanted nothing more than a little bit of help or kindness from him over the years? Am I merely denying him what he refused to give others time and again?
“So you say,” I murmur with a shrug. “And maybe I am. But I promise, if you give it a little more thought, you might finally figure out why I came here and what this is all about.”
“I don't particularly care to figure out why you have a vendetta against me,” he fires back. “All I want is your help.”
“You can't be serious.”
“Do I look like I'm joking? I told you what's at stake. I told you what I need. How important this is.”
“There are other—”
“I don't have the time to find anyone else,” he’s quick to insist. “I put all my eggs in this basket. I need you. I need the best.”
I'd be lying to myself if I pretended this isn't even slightly gratifying. Hearing him say he needs me. I mean, he's right. He needs me big time.
Still... “You wouldn't listen to a single thing I said, so what's the point? It would be a waste of time.”
“Once again, you're standing here acting like you know me, and you won't even tell me how. For all I know, you're making it up.”
“I am not,” I whisper, gritting my teeth. “I promise.”
“Then tell me who you are! Whatever I did, I was wrong. And I'm sorry. Whatever you need to hear.”
“You honestly think it's that easy?”
“Why does it have to be more difficult?” he counters. Again, he has to lower his voice when a group of guests passes by, and I have the benefit of watching them roll their eyes and nudge each other at the sight of him.
“Spoken like someone who has never been the victim of somebody like you.”
“Victim? When did I ever victimize you? Would you get to the point already and tell me what is so damn important that you would be willing to throw away the kind of money I'm willing to pay?”
“Yes, there it is. Right on schedule.” I’m almost disappointed in him.
“Exactly what does that mean?”
