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Ispend the next two days in bed. Will and I have texted short, friendly messages a few times, but I don’t have the stomach to see him. He’s leaving in two days, and once he’s gone, I’ll have six weeks to do my job without the fear of bumping into him and disintegrating like fragile dandelion seeds.
Wednesday morning, Aziz meets me at my apartment door to drive me to work. I feel bad for Bruce, learning that he was the guard who had to sit in his car all night watching for body snatchers. One definite upside of Georgia’s and my obsession with true crime shows is our naturally dark sense of humor. Aziz, however, does not see the humor in the jokes we’ve been making about how I could put my keen observation skills to a real test if I allowed myself to be kidnapped.
Aziz doesn’t leave my side until I’m in an elevator and have promised I won’t leave the building without him. As much as I dislike the idea of being taken away by bad guys, the dread I feel in this tower, where the nicest guy I can’t be with lives, works, and breathes, is just as uncomfortable.
I go through the motions in all the offices, polite hellos to employees, lying that I’m doing well, and hoping my dear plants don’t absorb my sadness. Otherwise, I’ll be dealing with a thousand pots of compost in a week.
At about three thirty, the anxiety sets in. I have one floor left before I have to visit Will’s office. Half of me hopes he’s there; the other half prays he’s not. When I step into the special elevator to the floor Will and his brothers’ offices occupy, I can’t make myself punch in the special code. The doors close, and I lean against the wall until I’m too tired to stand. I sit on the floor. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I’m frozen with a decision that feels like it only has bad outcomes.
The elevator moves on its own, heading up. Decision made for me. I stand before the door opens. Colt is waiting.
“Come to my office.” He touches my elbow and directs me down the hall.
I assume he knows everything since he and Will don’t seem to have any secrets between them. Colt doesn’t appear to be upset, but maybe he’s waiting until we’re alone to give me hell for ghosting his brother.
He motions for me to sit on the couch and finds his place beside me. He pours me a glass of my favorite juice without asking if I want any. Pours himself a shot of whisky.
“Cheers,” he says, holding up his tumbler, waiting for me to lift mine.
We clink. He swigs. I sip.
“We’re all worried about you.”
I shrug. “No need. I’m taking this seriously.”
“Virginia, you just spent twenty minutes sitting on the floor of an—”
I straighten. “Wait. How do you know how long …” It dawns on me. “Cameras.”
“Security called Will.”
“And he called you, instead of …” I can’t seem to finish my sentences.
“He did. He’s here—there.” Colt points as if toward the other side of the building. “But he thought that if you weren’t getting off, you were worried about seeing him. So, you get his better-looking brother instead.” Colt looks apologetic.
I shrug. “You kind of are, since you don’t have that scowl line Will has.” I point to the spot between my eyebrows.
“Sometimes I wish I did. He’s had a much harder life than I have … for, you know, a man who’s had a ridiculously easy life in most ways.”
I take a sip of the fresh-pressed mango juice and am overcome by grief. Mango juice means breakfast with Will. Or did. I put the glass down and bite my lip.
“You can cry in front of me. Will does all the time,” Colt jokes.
“I’ve never seen him cry.”
“Actually, neither have I. Will inherited more robot genes than I did. Gets that from Mother’s side of the family.”
I’m frustrated at Colt for trying to be funny. “Colt, you don’t need to babysit me. I’m fine. Really. I was just having … a moment. I didn’t think about the cameras. I’m sorry I worried anyone.”
“Virginia, he’s miserable. Even though I haven’t seen actual tears, I know he’s crying on the inside.”
I flip from anguish to anger in a nanosecond.
“And that’s supposed to be helpful, how exactly?” I snap. “You’rethe people with all the power. Don’t look atmeto fix this. I’m just the idiot who thought, for one hot minute, that aspiring to have more than just a ‘getting by’ life was something I was worthy of. Silly me.” I only stop ranting because I run out of air, and Colt uses the seconds of silence I need to catch my breath to interrupt my tirade.
“Virginia, you’re the one who ran, who left without even a goodbye and then sat in that goddamn elevator as if getting out on this floor was some kind of torture,” Colt matches my tone.
“Because seeing Will would be torture! And in case he forgot to mention, he’s the one who ended it, not me. He’s the one who said, ‘If you love someone, set them free.’” I stand and storm to the window. I’m filled with fury. I need to scream or punch or tear something to pieces.
