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"Why on earth would you ask about Logan and me as if we're a thing?"
"Oh, please, Bailey!" She stretches out the 'please' for emphasis, her signature move when she's about to spill some hard truths. "You're as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss book!"
I splutter into my drink again. "That's... That's ridiculous!" I protest, trying to keep my voice steady. "There's nothing to read."
"Oh, honey. The way you talk about him... The way you blush when I mention his name... It's like you two are in some sort of... 'situationship' or something."
I can feel my cheeks heating up at her words. "I swear, Rachel, you and your made-up terms!" I try to divert the conversation away from my complicated non-relationship with Logan.
Rachel gives me another look. "When are you going to give in, Bailey?"
I wonder the same, to be honest.
I break away from the whirlwind of my thoughts, ignoring her question as I reach for my phone. The notification light blares at me. A flagged email.
When I open the mail, my heart sinks a little. It's from my boss—a meeting is set for tomorrow.
"Oh fuck."
"What's up, Bailey?"
"It's an email from my boss," I confess. "Logan and I... we messed up the other day at the meeting. We made it personal."
She laughs, shaking her head at me. "See, I told you! You're a 'thing'."
I can't help but roll my eyes at her, even though a part of me knows she's right.
A knot tightens in my stomach, anxiety creeping in. I do my best to push it aside, to enjoy the night, but I'm struggling.
As the night winds down, I find myself staring into my almost-empty cocktail glass, the ice cubes clinking against the glass.
Rachel and I wrap up and head home and as I slip into bed, my mind continues to race. As I drift off to sleep, my last thought is of the meeting tomorrow.
I have a bad feeling about it.
* * *
It's exactly10 a.m. when I stride into my boss's office for the meeting.
Keep it together, Bailey,I tell myself.Be positive.
His office is annoyingly inviting. The rich scent of mahogany fills the room, reminding me of the depth of his pockets.
"Ah, Bailey. Right on time."
"Mr. Atwood." I nod to him, waiting for further instruction. "Nice weather we're having." I try to steer the conversation toward safe, neutral ground.
Everything's okay, Bailey,I repeat to myself.Just another day at work.
"Bailey." He motions toward the chair opposite him. "Please, sit."
I oblige, settling into the plushness of the leather. A silence fills the room, not uncomfortable, but definitely charged.
"There are some things I want to discuss with you." He seems more serious than usual.
Uh oh.
"Okay," I reply cautiously.
