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“Willow–”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
I sigh. “All I can say is sorry. So–” I grab my coffee and get to my feet. No use dragging this out any longer. “Sorry, Willow. I’m really sorry. You deserve–”
“Fuck you!” she cries out through clenched teeth.
I feel half the café’s eyes turn on us.Shit. I know how this goes. They’re all assuming I’m a total dirtbag. I need to get out of here.
“You led me on!”
I shake my head and start to walk away.
“You’re a coward! Just like when your mom died!”
My blood runs cold. I keep walking.
“This isn’tover, Drew. This–”
Her words are stifled by the café door closing behind me. Thank god. I rush to my car and drive off as fast as I can, half-expecting her to run after me and slam on the windows. As I drive, tears start to drip down my cheeks.
Fuck. Been a while since I’ve cried about Mom. Used to be every day, then every other day, then every week, then…
Grief is a motherfucker. I don’t need her waving it in my face too.
I have regrets. Who doesn’t?
I can’t imagine going back to the office today. I drive right home. Before I go inside, I wipe my face clean and practice a smile in the mirror. Dana doesn’t need to know about this. She doesn’t deserve the stress. She has me. And doesn’t need to question it for a second.
Dana is at the door before I even walk up the front steps. She’s wrapped in my robe, her curled hair still mussed from my bed. Concern passes over her face. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the day.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I go to her, wrap her in my arms, and kiss her. Her hands clutch at my back with surprise before relaxing onto my shoulder blades.
“Mm. You okay?”
“Yeah, never better,” I say, convincing myself. “Couldn’t stop thinking about that picture you sent.”
Only half a lie.
17
DANA
It takeslike ten minutes to get down to Kira’s office. The Wynters Corporation compound is a sprawling beachfront property that gives Google a run for its money. The whole way, I’m trying to calm my stomach. It’s been in knots since I woke up this morning, alternating between uneasiness and nausea.
Definitely ready for a big lunch. Hopefully, I’m just hungry.
Kira is squirreled away in the basement like she’s some secret that needs to be hidden from the light of day. What’s the point of having a beachfront office if you don’t even have windows?
When I get to her office, her door is open, so I waltz right in. She’s hammering away on her computer like she’s playing Beethoven, the clicking cutting through the air at a breakneck speed. I can see numbers flying across the reflection in her glasses, brown eyes zeroed in on the work she’s doing.
I’m sure she notices me when I come in, so I go toward a seat along the wall.
“Don’t sit. I’m almost done,” she speaks out of nowhere, her fingers not daring to stop.
I catch myself on the arm of the chair and stand back up. “Alright…”
A few more seconds of typing, typing, typing, and then–
