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“And now that you know it is?”
She shakes her head and starts to pack her things up. “I have to go. I don’t want to talk about this now.”
She doesn’t want to talk to me? After this bombshell? How can we not? I’ve been saying she’d be my perfect girl if only she wasn’t such a bitch, if only she’d let me get close enough to peel back her layers. And now that I know she’s been the one chatting with me… that does it.
This was meant to happen.
She turns away from me, as if she can’t stand to be near me a second longer.
I’m not going to leave it like this. I can’t.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I call after her, stopping her in her tracks.
When she turns to look at me, there’s softness there, indecision. She’s gnawing on her lip again, and I think it might be my undoing. “I don’t hate you,” she says quietly. “But I don’t like you either.”
“After everything we talked about? You told Stranger88 you couldn’t wait to see me. Well, I’m right here.”
She closes her eyes. “But that was before—”
“And nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed!” She hoists her bag onto her shoulder. “We work together. When I told those things to you, I never thought anyone would… it’s so inappropriate. And it can’t continue.”
She stalks for the door but hesitates when I call her name.
“For the record,” I tell her. “I never thought it was you. But now that I know, I’m not mad about it. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same.”
And she must really not. Because she doesn’t turn back. She continues on, and a few moments later, I hear the elevator doors slide closed, leaving me alone in the office.
25
I never thought it was you. But now that I know, I’m not mad about it. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same.
Those words keep playing in my head again and again as I drive home.
How can he not be mad about it? This is Brooks Gentry. He’s all about appearances—which is why he flirts hardest with the hottest interns.
Somehow, I just can’t reconcile the man from the office with the one I’ve been messaging with. The one who said, I don’t even care what you look like now. All I know is that I can’t wait to kiss you.
Lies. They were all lies.
They have to be.
If he couldn’t wait to kiss me, why did he let me go? Why didn’t he make me stay?
Well, maybe that’s on me. I did tell him I didn’t like him. I skirted away from him like he was infected. I probably had a disgusted expression on my face.
The same expression I’d expected he would have.
And yet, he didn’t. He was okay with it. I’m not mad about it.
So does that mean he still wants me?
I’m so deep in thought that I nearly cut off a sedan trying to make a lane change. Finally, I get home to the safety of my apartment. My dry cleaning is hanging outside for me as usual. Taking it in, I go into the dark living room and look around, a feeling of dread settling over me.
I’m all alone. I don’t even have Stranger88 to talk to now.
Trudging to the kitchen, I come face-to-face with Bevin’s wedding invitation. The wedding’s in a couple weeks, but in all the chaos surrounding the Perry case, I’d forgotten to send in the response card. I suppose it’s too late to respond now.
Bleh. I’m not sure what is worse, my lack of response, or that I feel happy that I don’t have to go there alone and embarrass myself in front of my college friends.
I could’ve gone with Brooks. Maybe.
If I’d stayed there and we talked, maybe we could’ve come to some understanding. Maybe we could’ve agreed to—I don’t know—start seeing each other for real?
No, who am I kidding? That was one thing both Stranger88 and Brooks Gentry had in common—they both insisted they didn’t date co-workers.
So what would’ve happened, had I stayed?
At best, more awkwardness. At worst, sex in an unused cubicle, which would most likely never be as hot as the fantasy, followed by me having to move out of state to avoid ever embarrassing myself by seeing him again.
No. It’s good that I left when I did. And good that I’m not going to that wedding. I’ll just send Bevin my regrets with a big check to make up for it. She’ll understand.
I sigh and open the pantry, grabbing for my familiar cereal box. It’s nearly empty, but I manage to pull out a handful of broken O’s and Cheerio dust for my dinner.
This isn’t going to work. I feel worse after eating the food. Hungrier, more unsettled. Grabbing my phone, I place an order on the mobile app for Shaw’s, asking them to deliver bread, milk, eggs, coffee, and Cheerios tomorrow morning so I can at least have a good breakfast.
