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His brows jump. “You’re not going to bother negotiating?”
I tap on the sticky note. “Your number.”
“Make it twelve thousand.”
“I’ll drop my offer to seven if you don’t stop talking.”
His smile falls as he scribbles across the paper before passing it to me.
I tuck his number into the inner pocket of my coat. “Delete it.”
“Now?”
I tap my shoe against the floor. He sighs as he pulls out his phone and walks me through the process of deleting the evidence.
As soon as he is finished, I walk out of the station, text Dahlia about how I took care of the photo, and head back to my house. By the time I make it inside, Dahlia still hasn’t answered the group chat or my single text, which is unlike her.
My dinner sits in my stomach like a boulder as I take a shower and climb into bed.
You’re going to find a way to make everything work out, I chant to myself in the dark.
I just need to figure out how.
Dahlia spends most of the next morning hiding in her office, so I don’t get a chance to see her until she shows up for the team meeting scheduled over a week ago.
Originally, I considered handling my affairs with my team in private, but Dahlia’s lack of trust and attempts at avoiding me pose a unique challenge I need to overcome.
Showing Dahlia that I plan on sticking around will require a lot more than promising her I’ll move to San Francisco. I need to make some necessary changes to my life, starting with the one thing I’ve been putting off for years.
Dahlia mentally checked out of the discussion twenty minutes ago, once Ryder, Mario, and I began reviewing logistical issues about the Lake Aurora remodel. She spends the time sketching designs for her décor line, and I find myself getting distracted a few times by her skills.
“Are we all good here?” Mario asks.
“Yeah.” I glance at Ryder. “Can you stick around once Mario leaves?”
He nods.
Dahlia makes one last change to her design before she tucks her tablet beneath her arm and rises from her chair.
“I need you to stay,” I tell her.
Her face pinches with confusion as she retakes her seat.
“See you all next week.” Mario tips his chin before walking out of the conference room.
“What’s up?” Ryder asks.
I sit back down. “I’ve been thinking…”
Dahlia’s chair creaks as she places her elbows on the table and leans forward.
My project manager tucks a pencil behind his ear. “About?”
I clear my throat. “I need some help.”
Her eyes widen.
“Whatever you need, I’m your man.” He doesn’t hesitate, which catches me by surprise.
