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Translation of translation: I was still bitter.
Probably would always be.
The heavy weight of her eyes burned my skin. “And how do you feel about that?”
Cliché.
Even for her.
I sat up and gathered my things, happy I only had a minute and thirteen seconds left in the session.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
I finally gave her my eye contact. “To whom?”
“To you.”
To you.
She was supposed to say, “To me.”
We had been friends since I had joined the bureau six years ago, yet here we were, with a rift so big between us, I could barely see past it anymore.
So, why did it feel like only I could see it?
Why did it feel like I was in this alone?
I stood up, put my jacket on, grabbed my purse, and headed to the door. I stopped once I reached it and turned to face her.
“Look, there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I’m not going to think about it. I’m just going to keep my head down, focus on doing my job, gather as much intel as I can, and try to stay safe.”
Did that sound as impossible as it felt?
“You’re late.”
Dana’s eyes narrowed on my dress, a figure flattering black number that usually made me feel like a Bond girl.
But right now, I couldn’t feel anything past the ache in my feet let alone focus on how I looked.
The rest of me, thankfully, was numb.
She took a step forward and raised her voice, the sound of it echoing in the employee break room and likely into the hallway, though I suspected that was her intent.
“If you’re going to be late, don’t bother showing up at all. That’s not the type of business we run here.”
We.
As in Bastian and her.
Her words weren’t lost on me, considering he managed the restaurant and she was a hostess for the bar. That, and the fact that I was actually eleven minutes early.
Which meant Bastian must have been close, and she wanted to make me look bad.
Not surprising at all.
Dana was a goner as far as he was concerned. Her head was shoved so far up his ass, I was surprised she could still see clearly.
