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High-fives all around.
“Dude, way to go. You gonna see her again?”
“Hell no. You know there are over seven hundred thousand women just on the little island of Manhattan…”
“Livvy. Earth to Livvy.” Owen snaps his fingers in my face.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I mumble.
Weston lays his pen down, thank God, because the tapping was driving me crazy. “I was just telling Livvy we received the same note she did and she feels her challenges are paramount to ours.”
Wow. So he wants to play that way?
Owen jumps in. “Livvy, we’re trying to be your lifebuoy with our support and friendship.”
For a second I feel like a shit. But only for a second. I’m too pissed and too busy feeling sorry for myself to be gracious. Or human. Or civil.
I jump to my feet. “I have to get back.”
I squeeze past Enzo and Owen, who reaches for my arm. I wriggle away from him and burst out the door, running all the way back to Pawsh Pets, once my oasis, my nirvana, and now my prison.
39
LIVVY
I get back justin time to find Jewel packing her stuff and throwing her bag over her shoulder.
I take a deep breath. I’ve been enough of a bitch for the day. “Heading out?” I ask, trying to sound all cool and casual, but instead, squeaking like I’m trying too hard.
“Um, yeah,” Jewel says, giving me wide berth.
Fuck, does she think I’m going to hit her or something?
“See you tomorrow?” I throw out as a peace offering.
She nods vigorously. “Yes. Yes of course. I just thought I’d tell you me and my boyfriend got back together. I’m going over his place to celebrate.” She gives me the kind of smile that someone who thinks maybe they shouldn’t be smiling gives.
“Ok, that’s awesome. Have fun, Jewel. See you tomorrow.”
She grimaces at me and is gone.
I put my hands on my hips and look around Pawsh, at the light colors, flattering light, and displays that look like something out of an expensive department store. I so carefully curated everything here, and am happy to have some time to myself with my baby, which I’ve so lovingly cared for since her inception.
Goddammit, I want to rage. I want to rage that this is a fucking awesome little boutique that I put my blood, sweat, and tears into and that everyone should love it the way I do.
Instead, I’m afloat in a sinking ship and I realize I’d better take a good hard look at whatever the developer is offering, with or without the cooperation of the guys next door.
Regret churns in my stomach for being so rude to them, but the truth is, it’s better to cut off contact now rather than later. Sure, I’ve messed around with them from one degree to another, but that will just have to be my one ‘wild girl’ story, something Arthur tells me everyone needs at least one of.
Besides, when the guys find out what a sinking ship Pawsh is, will they really be willing to tether themselves to it? To me?
‘Course not. They’ll be out of here like their asses are on fire.
I suppose working with the developer rather than against him is a coward’s escape. But it’s an escape nonetheless, and sometimes that’s what a girl needs. And yet, acceptance of their help, or should I say interference, would be the nail in the coffin of the person I believed myself to be.
I slump into the stool behind the cash wrap counter where Jewel usually sits, and feel myself breaking down into a pile of elements, rather than being a whole, healthy person. Every conflict, internal and external, is pulling me to pieces, leaving me not only at war with myself but also the whole fucking world.
I’m realizing saving Pawsh, or letting it go, is not just about my small business. I’m now facing holding together the pieces of my crumbling life.
