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WILLOW
This is ridiculous. I should be out of here, on my way home by now. Sarah and I should be planning where we'll meet up for our celebratory champagne. I finally had my say. I finally put him in his place. There's no question anymore of whether or not he remembers me. He does, and even though I wouldn't give him much credit otherwise, I can almost believe he's sorry. Not because of the way his bullying rippled down through the years and affected the here and now, but really, truly. I believe he's sorry for what he did.
In other words, this has gone better than I could have hoped. I should end on a high note and get out of here. I really should.
So why can't I? My feet are suddenly too heavy, rooted to the floor. Maybe it's his gaze that does it, that penetrating stare of his.
“This isn't a good idea.” I wave a hand between the two of us. “You and me? I would hate to ruin all this nice furniture with the blood that's going to flow.”
“It's insured.”
To my dismay, I find myself fighting back a laugh at his deadpan response. He doesn't blink. His gaze doesn't waiver. “What do you say? Four hundred grand is a lot of money.”
“Even for somebody like you?”
“Even for somebody like me.”
What is wrong with me? Did I use up all of my outrage and indignation too soon? I must have because I'm weakening. I'm actually considering taking him up on this, and it disgusts me. Have I forgotten everything he did? Whatever happened to pride? Don't I have any left?
But my God, this is a lot of money we're talking about. And we could do a lot of things for the business with a sum that large. We could hire more staff, maybe even expand our office. The lease on the offices across the hall from ours will be up in a month or two, last I checked. We could take the entire floor, hire a few more associates. We might even be able to afford a little time off every once in a while instead of handling day-to-day operations ourselves.
“You mean to tell me you would be okay with being bossed around?”
His forehead creases in a brief but noticeable frown. “Yes?” I can't help but snicker, and he offers an affable grin. “I told you how important this is. I think I can learn to follow directions if it means getting out of this mess.”
That's not exactly what I'm concerned with. “You mean to tell me your pride wouldn't get in the way? You've matured that much?”
“You didn't know me all that well back then.”
“I knew as much as I needed to.”
“My point is, I'm not who you think I am.”
I can't even pretend to go along with that one. “I see. So deep down inside, you're just a simple guy with simple needs, is that it? A poor little rich boy who has no problem listening to people who know better than he does?”
“I wouldn't use those exact words, but you're pretty close.”
“Then what was with the bitch session that got you into this mess in the first place?” The way he stammers makes me raise an eyebrow. “Nothing about what you've described gives me the impression of a humble, Aww shucks kind of guy.”
“That was different.”
“How so? Because from what you described, you were pissed off at having to go through the same red tape everybody else and their mother has to deal with. What makes you so special?”
“I was frustrated, damn it.” His face is starting to go red and his voice is sharp and this is exactly what I expected to happen.
“Alright,” I murmur. “You were frustrated. I can understand that. But you also managed to reveal your true feelings about the people in this town, whom you clearly think are beneath you. Correct?”
“Don't put words in my mouth.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, he leans back in his chair, loosening his tie as he does. Good. He's dropping the act, no longer playing the part of the buttoned up businessmen. It doesn't suit him—the whole thing comes off as an act.
“I was drunk and I was frustrated and yeah, I guess I was feeling superior. And yes, it's because they were denying me what I needed. But don't make the mistake of thinking that's how I normally behave. I've never been anything but professional and gracious otherwise.”
“Never?”
There's something satisfying about the way he squirms, and I have to hold back a smile. If I didn't know better, I would think I was flirting with him, but that's not going to happen. No matter how he thinks he's changed, the truth is in front of us. If he had really changed, he would not be in this situation. Deep down inside, there’s still part of him that thinks he's better than everybody else. Maybe he doesn't know it, but it's there.
“I'm telling you, this was a one-off. What do you want to do? Break my balls a little more? Here, do you want to step on them?” He pushes back from the desk, legs spread, and unexpected heat rises in me.
