CHAPTER SEVEN
To say I cried my way through the weekend would be the understatement of the century.
Not only did I wallow in self-pity over what I now saw as a disastrous Friday night date with Michael, but I also consumed enough calories in two days to feed a family of five. Postmates had become my new best friend and I had gone to town ordering food at every hour and allowing myself to gorge on anything my heart desired.
But I didn’t care. Food was the only comfort I had at this moment in my life.
I wished I had never called Georgie in my drunken stupor from the bathroom at the club because he called and texted all weekend long, wanting to hear all the details. I had not wanted to share the sad news with him. Instead, I texted him that everything was good and I would call him on Monday. He hadn’t been thrilled with my response, but I was sure he just assumed I was staying over at Michael’s having the best time—aka sex—of my life.
Too bad that hadn’t been the case.
There were a lot of hard truths I had to come to face in my time alone in those forty-eight hours of hell.
One.
I despised Davis. Like wished-his-body-would-be-consumed-by-a-tribe-of-cannibals despised.
Two.
Michael Sinclair had magically achieved the impossible without even being my boyfriend—breaking my heart. Shattering it, to be exact. His rejection of me was one that would live vividly in my mind for years to come.
When he had seen me up to my flat without so much as a kiss on the cheek goodbye, I had stood there by my door for a long while trying to comprehend the change of events—and the change in his feelings. The only logical conclusion I could come up with was he had been so smashed at the club that he hadn’t realized what he had been doing.
Every perceived look, touch, glance… all of that had obviously been in my head and wishful thinking on my part. My delusional self—probably a third personality that I had been unaware of until now—had tricked rational Abby into believing, hoping that there was something more between us.
Nothing else made any sense.
Three.
I was going to quit my new job.
Surprisingly, I was upset about having to do this for reasons that were not just about my feelings for Michael, but because I was genuinely starting to enjoy being part of the non-profit work. But what choice did I have? How could I torture myself by working for him?
Especially now?
I didn’t even know how I was going to face him.
So I had my plan, and instead of obsessing about how I would react when I saw him on Monday morning, I chose to stick my face in a gallon of chocolate gelato and let the sugar do its magic trick.
***
Why didn’t I bring the flask to work like I originally planned?
I ponder this question for the thousandth time when I walk through the office on Monday morning, bloated and ready for whatever was going to come my way. For my first order of business, I knock on Mrs. Lions’ office door.
“May I come in?” I ask, motioning to the seat across from her.
She nods. “Please.”
I decide not to mince words.
“I’m quitting.”
Mrs. Lions looks at me in complete shock.
“What?” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “You just started. And you seemed to be doing so well. I thought you and Danielle got on really well.”
“It’s not Danielle.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s Michael,” I admit. “Mr. Sinclair. We’re just not a right fit.”
I’m impressed by my boldness, but then, what do I have to lose at this point? I’m quitting, and this job will be but a fleeting moment in my life.
From the look on Mrs. Lions’ face, it seems she’s just as surprised as I am by my comment.
“I see,” she says when she’s finally able to speak.
“I know you’ll have to talk to Mr. Sinclair about it and I’m pretty sure he won’t disagree. He might even be relieved.”
Mrs. Lions can’t seem to find the words to reply, so I continue.
“Of course, I’d like to stay a few days to help Danielle out in any way I can.”
Danielle has been nothing but nice and helpful to me since I arrived, and I consider her a friend. The last thing I want to do is add more stress to her plate.
Regardless, I’m pretty sure she won’t take me leaving too well.
“I see,” Mrs. Lions says again.
I wait for something more, but she continues to stare at me in uncomfortable silence.
“I guess I should thank you for your candor, Abigail.”
I smile awkwardly.
“So what’s the next step?” I ask anxiously. “Do I need to sign anything?”
“I’ll have a talk with Mr. Sinclair and then get back to you sometime today,” Mrs. Lions says. “I don’t believe he’s in yet.”
“He’s not. He has a few morning meetings but should be here by noon.”
Right when I’ll be taking my lunch.
Not that I’ll be eating anything but ice chips after the weekend I had, but still, I am going to do the best I can to avoid him for the rest of the time I’m here.
And the rest of my life, for that matter.
“All right then.” Mrs. Lions sighs and then gives me a stern look. “Let’s reconvene at five o’clock after Mr. Sinclair and I have talked.”
“Perfect.”
I leave Mrs. Lions and walk over to the commissary to grab a cup of coffee. After I’m done there, I make my way to Danielle to say hello and ask if she’d like to have lunch so I can break the news to her on my own, before I finally make my way back to my desk.
Michael’s door is open.
My heart takes off at warp speed. I quickly try to calm myself.
It’s still way too early for him to be in yet. And he never cancels a meeting. It must be the cleaning crew or IT.
I walk over to see who’s inside.
“Tell me exactly what she said, Mrs. Lions.”
I hear his voice bark from outside the office.
I freeze.
My heart rate starts thumping so fast I’m pretty sure I could be on the verge of a coronary attack. I look over at the clock. It’s half past ten! He shouldn’t be in for at least another two hours!
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I immediately turn around in a panic and start walking in the opposite direction as everything blurs around me. Where should I hide? The bathroom? Downstairs? I can go for a cigarette break even though I don’t smoke and just sit out there for a while.
No one will think to look for me there.
I tell myself I just need a minute to gather my senses—that it has nothing to do with actually being afraid to face Michael.
Liar, my inner voice says as she chooses that moment to make another untimely appearance.
My face begins to perspire, my breathing has become erratic and I find myself looking for the nearest exit. I just need to go and sit somewhere and take in some deep calming breaths before I face my tormentor.
“Abigail!” Michael’s bellow echoes through the room.
Every single person who works in the godforsaken Think Tank looks up in shock. Like they just heard Parliament has declared war.
Clearly, this is something out of the ordinary.
I stop walking. And turn ever so slightly to look at him.
He’s wearing scuffed up jeans that fall low on his waist and an inappropriately tight T-shirt that stretches out over that beautiful chest of his. Does he have to intentionally draw attention to himself?
And why do I even have to notice?
Then I notice a few other things—like how he hasn’t shaved and how he looks so tired.
And mad.
Really, really mad.
“Inside my office,” he barks at me as I face the fire shooting out of his cerulean eyes. “Now!”
There is a collective gasp in the room.
I’m mortified so many people are witness to my humiliation.
Lucky me.
I look over at the group and try to smile as though I’m unaffected, but it’s really hard. And I’m pretty sure I’ve failed miserably at it. Michael turns around and walks inside his office before I reach his door.
I stop at my desk to grab his calendar before I go in, but I’m stopped by another shout.
“You don’t need the damn calendar!”
I’m pretty sure everyone hears that order as well. I rush into his office before he can bark out another order.
“Shut the door.” His voice is cold.
He’s standing with his back to me, facing the window.
I do as he says and it takes all my willpower to try to remain unaffected by his anger or the embarrassing way he just spoke to me in front of his employees. When he finally turns to face me I’m shocked by the rage I see in his eyes.
What did I do to deserve that look from him?
He is the one who is so in the wrong here, not me.
I was only trying to rectify what would surely become a very toxic situation.
I realize two things very quickly. I can either play the hurt, snubbed girl pining away after his affection—which I am—or I can be my cool, unaffected self. The exterior persona I’ve worn almost my whole life.
I choose the latter.
“Has someone died?” I bite out sharply.
My question seems to take some of the wind out of his sails.
“I’m sorry?”
“Died,” I repeat.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No one has died.”
“Have I ruined a deal for you?”
“What?” Michael seems confused then shakes his head again. “No.”
“Then what reason would you have to ever speak to me like that in front of your employees?” I ask him icily. “What can I have possibly done to deserve that treatment?”
His eyes flicker down, and I think he might be apologetic about his behavior, but then he looks back up at me with an indecipherable look on his face.
And the shift in power comes again.
“I see the Ice Princess has reared her ugly head.”
“Excuse me?” I lift a brow and stare at his handsome face.
“The proper, icy Abigail.”
My hands ball in fists at my sides.
“You have no right to call me names!”
“I can do as I damn well please,” he responds arrogantly.
I count to ten before I speak.
“Just what is going on here? What was that about out there, Michael?”
“You saw Mrs. Lions.”
“And?”
“And?” He approaches me and stops so close, I can feel the heat coming from his body.
“You want to quit.”
“Yes, I do.” I raise my chin in defiance.
“The answer is no,” he growls. “I don’t accept your resignation.”
“I don’t think you have a choice.” What the hell?
“Actually, you’re wrong. I do have a choice.” The smile he gives me doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You signed a lot of paperwork when you began working for me.”
“And?”
“My PA needs one month’s notice to terminate the job unless, of course, I fire her.”
The wind leaves my sails.
Why didn’t I read the fine print? What the hell was I thinking?
“How convenient for you,” I finally manage to mutter.
“Yes, it is. So if you feel the same way thirty days from now, we can have this discussion again.”
“I know I will feel the same way, so there is no discussion to be had. Consider this my one month’s notice.”
“We’ll see.”
If I had my coffee in my hand, I’d probably end up throwing all of the contents on his gorgeous face.
“We will not see,” I hiss at him. “I know what I want.”
“Do you?” His voice is husky when he whispers back at me. He takes another dangerous step closer to my body.
“Don’t you dare,” I say to him, lifting my hand up in defense. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me.”
Michael stops and stares at me in that way of his that makes me ache so badly to have him it should be a crime.
“I’m not letting you quit because of the other night.”
I hate him.
Hate.
Love.
Him.
“This isn’t about the other night,” I blatantly lie to his face. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing.
“We kissed. Big deal. It happens.”
Hate him.
I hate him.
“Wonderful,” I reply as emotionlessly as possible. “Regardless, I’m not going to be your toy. I won’t allow you to play games with me. And that’s what you’re doing. We both know it, and I dare you to deny it to my face.”
My words seem to anger him. His eyes become hooded and he takes another step closer to me. I swear we’ll be on top of each other in no time.
“I told you I don’t play games.”
“I think we should just agree to disagree on that point.” I let him hear my anger. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do.”
I try to leave.
I do.
But when he reaches my side and grabs hold of my arm and I feel that touch of his, I can’t move.
I don’t want to move.
“Abby…” His voice sounds just as tortured as I feel. “It’s not what you think.”
I want to ask what it is then. But I have too much pride. And I already went down that road and it did not end too well for me.
I have to protect myself.
“It doesn’t matter, Michael,” I tell him, closing my eyes. Feeling defeated.
“Look at me.” His voice is forceful.
I slowly open my eyes and stare up into his stormy gaze. I try to mask how hurt I am, but I’m pretty sure he can read it all over my face.
“It matters to me.” His voice is husky.
My stomach drops at his unexpected words, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to stay strong. To find that icy shell he accuses me of wearing, and cloak my entire being with it.
“You probably saved us both the other night from making the biggest mistake of our lives.” I’m surprised with how calm my voice is despite what I’m feeling inside.
I pull my arm away from his grasp and grab hold of the handle on the door. Michael comes up behind me and crowds my space, not allowing me to open it by putting his arm above my head and leaning down into my body.
I can feel his hard, sinewy length against mine. His face moves to my neck as he breathes me in. The ache for his touch is almost too much to bear.
“God, you smell so good.”
His lips brush up against my skin and in less than a second I’m longing for him.
“Please,” I practically beg and can feel his body tense up behind mine. He moves his hand around my waist and forcibly turns me around so that I have no other choice but to look up at him.
To see the desire in his eyes.
To feel it hard against my stomach.
His hands move up the waist of my dress and lightly skim over my nipples, and I moan in longing.
Literally, moan.
But when he tries to bring his lips down to mine I turn away.
“Please. Just let me go,” I whisper.
And he does.
Just like that.
***
“Here you go. Two Pinot Grigios and a bottle of flat water,” the waiter says to Danielle and me as he sets our drinks down at the table.
Once my drink is set down, I pick it up and take a long, satisfying sip.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened between you and Michael or am I just going to have to guess and come up with my own deductions?” Danielle asks as we sit across from each other at an Italian restaurant close by the office. “And just so you know, I have a really overactive imagination.”
I lift my finger up indicating I need another second to swallow another sip of wine before I answer.
“Careful or you’ll be smashed in no time,” she warns, picking up her glass of wine.
“And?” I ask her.
“You’ll get sacked.”
I pick the glass up again and chug the contents before motioning to the waiter that I’d like another.
“Abby!” Danielle cries out in horror.
She pushes a glass of water in my hand.
“Drink this!” she orders me. “And answer my question.”
I slump over the table and put my head in my hands. I think about lying, making up some story but then to what end? What’s the point?
“I’ve been in love with Michael my whole life,” I confide, wrapping my arms around myself. “And I’ve just realized this job might be equivalent to Chinese water torture for me. So I need to quit.”
Danielle is suspiciously silent, so I look up and find that she doesn’t seem at all surprised to hear my words.
“There’s more to this story. And I want to hear it all.”
So I tell her. Everything. Every detail. Everything.
She knows more than Georgie now.
After I’m done, she watches me with contemplation.
“Well first off, you can’t quit.”
“I’ve given him my one month’s notice because he said that’s what was in my contract.”
“That’s total rubbish, Abby!” Danielle rolls her eyes. “One month? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“What?!”
“He’s lying to you.” Danielle shakes her head. “But I’d bet my life, he’s probably gone in now and added some stipulation in your contract, after the fact, so you’ll never know. Did you get a hard copy of it?”
I shake my head in shame.
“He—I just didn’t,” I tell her lamely. “I told Mrs. Lions to mail it to me sometime. I had no idea I’d ever be in a situation like this. Trust me, the lesson is learned.”
“Even if you could find a way out, I wouldn’t let you go,” Danielle says. “Selfishly, I need you… I’m getting married in three months time for fuck’s sake. You can’t leave me.”
It’s hard not to smile at Danielle’s indignant face.
“I mean, honestly,” Danielle mutters. “How could you think to leave me like this? I’m already a nervous wreck as it is, this would only turn me into more of a bridezilla and then Tom might decide to leave me.”
“That would never happen.”
“Every single time I open one of my wedding folders around him, he leaves the room and says that I’m giving him hives,” Danielle says seriously. “I think he might be catching on to how crazy I really am.”
I burst out laughing and it doesn’t take long before Danielle joins me.
“Okay,” she says when she catches her breath. “And it’s not just about me, I promise you.”
I roll my eyes.
“Too late.”
“I’m serious.” Danielle laughs. “From everything you’ve just told me, I think you might be reading this all wrong. With Michael, that is.”
“How so?” I ask, picking up my second glass of wine. Danielle’s withering look makes me put it right back down.
“Abby, I swear to you… I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that. Like ever. He’s so cool. Even in school. He’s never lost it. And over a woman? I never thought it would be possible and honestly, I was starting to worry about him. And with you of all people? You couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Maybe I just bring out the worst in him,” I mutter.
“No way.” She shakes her head. “You know that’s not true. There’s something between you guys. I swear I’ve noticed it, but you get so shy and nervous that I didn’t want to bring it up to you.”
Danielle’s words give me hope.
But then I remember Friday night and I quickly squash that emotion.
“Look.” I sigh. “It doesn’t matter what you think or what I want. He told me what he wants—which is nothing. He basically told me that what happened between us was a mistake.”
“That’s just boys being stupid.”
“Michael is not a boy,” I say with another sigh.
Danielle lifts her brow.
“Abby,” she says calmly. “All men are boys.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“That might be the case, but it still doesn’t change anything.”
“Just give it a minute, Abby,” Danielle urges me. “Play it cool. And don’t rush into any hasty decisions. You like your job. You like the work and it’s a great company. This situation between you two will pass.”
Maybe it will pass for him, but I’m another story altogether. I don’t voice my thoughts to Danielle because I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s successfully guilted me into not leaving her right before the wedding.
I’ll just have to wait and suffer through my feelings.
“We’ll see,” I finally say. “I’ll stay until you’re back from your honeymoon. It will give me time to look for a new job and just give me more experience.”
“I’ll fight that battle later,” Danielle says triumphantly.
She lifts her glass up.
“I have a feeling things are going to get very interesting around the office.”
When we get back to the office after our long lunch, I’m relieved to find out that Michael has left.
There is a sticky note on my computer with the following message:
Cancel everything for the week. I’m going offline and can’t be reached.
– Michael
I take the note and show Danielle who seems to think that Michael disappearing is a good sign— that he must be confused about what happened between us. I don’t know if I believe her, but I am grateful I won’t have to face him for a few days.
With Michael’s absence, I fall into a rhythm at work. After spilling the beans and revealing my secret crush to Danielle, the two of us have grown closer. We have lunch together every day and go to drinks after work a few times. I like her a lot. She’s easy to talk to and carefree and she makes me laugh. Georgie joins us at lunch on one occasion and he and Danielle quickly bond.
Michael doesn’t check in with me at all.
I know he’s reached out to Danielle a few times because she told me he’s been calling in, but he’s avoided me at all costs. I’ve forwarded messages and sent daily email updates, but he hasn’t responded. I can’t say it doesn’t hurt. Danielle thinks he took off to his home in Africa, but she’s not sure. He hasn’t offered up any information, and she doesn’t ask.
I should be happy to have space from him. But I find myself staring at his office door and wishing he was inside to torment me. I find myself longing for our flirtations, for those looks of his that make my heart catch on fire. I find myself craving his energy. Michael’s a force of nature, and even though he drives me crazy, I realize how much I like just being in his space. His world.
And at night…
At night I wonder if he’s alone.
If he’s with a woman.
If he’s okay.
And if he misses me as much as I miss him.