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“Well, you scared me.” She winced, likely feeling a little guilt over the attitude she had. Amanda collected the papers into a single stack, making sure they were all facing the same direction and tapping them against the table to straighten them before putting them back in the folder. When I shrugged, she sighed. “What do you want, Drake?”
“You looked stressed,” I finally said, and she rolled her eyes.
Picking up the paper again, her hands shook. “I’m not stressed. I’m busy.” Her eyes shined with unshed tears, likely caused by the stress she denied feeling but could be clearly seen in the frazzled nature of her ponytail and the way her sweater hung just slightly off her shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” I said, making myself comfortable again in the seat next to her. “Do you want help?”
“No.”
I chuckled when she scoffed. “Are you sure?”
Amanda sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I said no.” She emphasized every word.
“You’re positive?” I smirked at her when her face turned an angry shade of magenta.
She threw her hands up in the air, picking up the papers and dropping them back on the file. Then she tapped her notebook and handed me her pen. “Okay, Drake. You obviously see my notes, and something is wrong, and that’s why you’re not going to leave me alone. So spill it.”
I looked at the handwritten notes on the paper in front of her. It wasn’t wrong per se, but I knew exactly what questions Phil was going to bring to her regarding her ideas. She didn’t appear to have a particular property in mind, but she had the word “strategy” written in big, curvy letters and underlined twice. How long had it taken her to do that before she could get her ideas together well enough to make the rest of the notes?
“This client is picky, very rich, and demands the highest class everything. They would expect their properties to match,” I explained, tapping the space on her notepad where she had written ‘Class B or C’ and circled it with frantic pen scratches. “So why are you suggesting a Class B or C and not a Class A?”
She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, and when she opened her mouth, the shaking in her hands seemed to have stopped. I grinned, excited to hear her ideas presented with confidence her voice lacked. “They like the best,” she said, shrugging, “but they also require private and reserved. They can afford the cost to fix up a lesser building and still get in for less of a budget hit than a Class A building.”
I cocked my head, taking the flyer she offered me. When I lifted my brows, she sighed.
“Just hear me out,” she said. Amanda turned in her seat to face me, the nerves and frustration that had been layered on her face slowly rolling off her shoulders. “This location is Class C, but with this highway right here and the way it’s nestled behind this warehouse, it’s more of a Class B. If they paid just a little bit to renovate the building, it’d easily be a Class A, and then—”
“No.”
Amanda looked at me, shocked by the sudden interruption. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. That’s wrong.” I didn’t waver, and she gaped at me.
Her eyes narrowed, and she cleared her throat. I’d known she was going to be stubborn when I sat down. “Who asked you? I didn’t need or want your help.” She sat for a second, her breathing getting heavier the darker the red on her cheeks got. “Frankly, my idea is creative and out of the box, and I think the client is going to like it. So you can just—”
“Calm down,” I told her, knowing when she flared her nostrils that I had said the wrong thing. “I understand what you’re saying, and it’s okay to suggest it to the client. You still have to take them what they asked for, though. They want to see that first and foremost, so the correct answer matches the profile.”
She rolled her eyes again, and I wanted to grip her chin and force her to look at me. I wanted to get rid of her attitude, but the defeat in her body was evident when her shoulders sagged. “I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Then you’ll fail. Amanda, listen to me. It’s a creative idea, and they’ll probably love it,” I said. Knowing the Morettis, they’d go for any way to make it cheap, discreet, and still nice enough to meet their standards. Realistically, her idea was perfect. “You need to learn the basics first, and that means presenting your client with exactly what they asked for.”
“Whatever. Fine,” she said, slamming her folder shut. “You win, okay? I’ll give them your stupid answer.”
When she stood up and ran off, I didn’t miss the sudden shine that lined her cheeks. She sniffled when she turned the corner, and before I knew what I was doing, I was sliding my chair back and running after her.
“Amanda,” I said, growing frustrated when she pushed through the door and to the parking lot. “Amanda!”
She ignored me, even though I knew she could hear me, but when she got to her car and reached into her purse for her keys, the stack of papers in her hands fell. Everything crashed to the asphalt, and she groaned, dropping to the ground. She winced when her knees hit the rough asphalt, and the rivers of tears on her cheeks flowed faster.
“Will you stop running from me?” I asked her when I got to her car. I crouched down, gathering the papers with her and standing up. She took them from my hand and threw them thoughtlessly on the backseat, refusing to look at me.
I hooked my finger under her chin when she didn’t respond to me, pulling her face towards me and locking my gaze with hers. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole!” She glared at me when she yelled, and when I stepped back from her, she pulled her car door open and slid into the driver’s seat. “I told you I didn’t want your damn help,” she muttered before she slammed the door and started the engine.
I stepped aside, knowing she may not hesitate to reverse the car and pull out of her spot, even if I was in the way. I was wearing new shoes, and I didn’t want her to run over the top of them—or hit me with her car.
“Amanda,” I said again, knowing she wouldn’t hear me. I groaned when she started to drive away.
