Chapter Eight
Carver
“I’ll be ready.”
“I hope so.” Salvo stands, grabbing his briefcase from the floor. “The Board is interested in hearing both of your plans, and from what we’ve heard so far, it seems you both have very different visions for the future of Jones + Gallum.”
“I bet we do,” I say, following him to the door. “But we both know I have the experience and dedication to this company. My ideas don’t come from some textbook I learned in California. Mine come from real life, hard data, and years following the trends in this sector specifically.”
He nods, stepping out into the hallway. “I know that. That’s why I’m interested to see what you put together.” With a tight smile, he makes his way down past Marissa and into the elevator.
She waits until the elevator descends before she looks at me. “You okay, sir?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I can see that. Anything I can do to help?”
Get me some coffee, talk some sense into Salvo and the Board, and get Amity naked and into my office to relieve these blue balls.
“No,” I say instead. “I’m going to grab something to drink.”
“Would you like me to get it for you?”
Shaking my head, I head by her. “I need a change of scenery, but thanks.”
Taking a right towards the break room, the roundabout way to get there, I intentionally walk by Amity’s office. She’s sitting at her desk, a pair of glasses over her eyes, as she studies a piece of paper in front of her. Like a stalker, I stand in the hallway and look at her through the window.
Her hair is pulled into a tight knot on top of her head, her features stern. A black top hangs loosely off her shoulders and there’s no jewelry, nothing sparkling like usual.
Leaving her on Friday night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—both for me and my cock. I’ve picked up my phone to call her a hundred times, but I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not coming in and fucking your brains out when you basically asked me to? I’m sorry for not taking advantage of you? I don’t normally get myself in these positions with women, so I’m not sure how to handle it. I considered asking Noah, but knew he’d just laugh at me.
Just before I begin to step away, she looks up. Her features remain impassive. She just takes me in like she’s trying to decide whether to scowl or just ignore me altogether.
“Can I come in?” I mouth, pointing to the door.
She shakes her head no and goes back to the paper.
Fuck. That.
I step inside her office, shutting the door behind me.
“I said no,” she says, resting the paper on her desk.
“Actually, you said yes. You asked me to come in and I didn’t because I was afraid you’d regret it in the morning.”
“You were right,” she glares. “I did.”
Looking at the ceiling, I sigh. It’s filled with every bit of frustration I’ve kept bottled up all weekend. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
“I don’t think you have to say anything. I want to thank you for helping get me home the other night. That was nice of you.”
“You know I didn’t stop here for a thank you.”
“Then why did you, Carver? Why do this?” she sighs. “In a few days, this whole rigmarole will be over and one of us will be here and one of us won’t.”
“Are you leaving when I take the CEO position?”
“Go to hell,” she challenges, getting to her feet.
Instead of leaving, I make my way farther inside the room. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this any more . . .”
“Awkward?”
“You think this is awkward?’
“Of course I think this is awkward,” she protests. “For whatever reason you show up at a bar I’m at with my friend and end up helping me home. While that’s all gentlemanly of you, it’s, once again, a little embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Really?”
“Yes, fucking really,” I say, looking at her like she’s crazy. “I was supposed to meet Sterling at the bar, in case you were wondering. That fell through. But when I saw you there, I couldn’t leave without talking to you. It was kismet.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Hold up,” I say, my hands coming in front of me. “You just said ‘once again.’”
“What?”
“You said it’s ‘once again’ embarrassing.”
“So?”
It all starts clicking together. She lifts her chin as I start drawing parallels between situations spread out over a decade.
“Just forget about it,” she says quietly, picking up a pen. “We both have a presentation to prepare for.”
“Amity, listen to me—”
“No.”
“I’m going to say what I have to say and you’ll either hear it or you won’t.”
“Want me to call security?”
“Go ahead,” I laugh. “Do you forget who the President of this company is?”
“I hate you,” she spews.
“While I’m very aware your mouth says that, I’m also just as aware you don’t believe it.”
She storms around her desk, pen in hand. She jabs the end in the center of my chest. “You are the most arrogant, self-centered, self-indulgent—”
“Man that’s ever not taken advantage of you?”
We stand chest-to-chest, our breathing ragged. I reach out and brush a lock of hair out of her face. She flinches as the pad of my thumb swipes against her cheek, but doesn’t move.
“Touch me again. I dare you,” she warns.
Bending down so we’re at eye level, I grin. “I don’t take dares anymore.”
Her pupils dilate enough to confirm my suspicion.
“Every time I’ve thought of you over the last fifteen years, I’ve kicked myself for taking you into the closet that night,” I admit.
“I’m sure you do.”
“I do. Want to know why?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway, sweetheart.”
She starts to object to the term of endearment, but I lay my finger over her lips to quiet her. She’s so shocked at my audacity that she doesn’t speak.
“I’ve wished time and time again I could have kissed you without all of our friends waiting outside the door. I’ve wished it was somewhere quiet, somewhere else where I could’ve told you afterwards how pretty you looked and how I thought your yellow fingernail polish reminded me of your hair in the sunlight at the beach.”
I drop my finger and watch her suck in a quick, surprised breath.
“I know I was an asshole. I betrayed you that night in a way, and I didn’t even realize it until I looked for you later and you were gone.”
She surprises me by not looking away, not turning around. She stands her ground and looks me in the eye. “Did you know that, when I left, the other girls were in a corner giggling at me? Those girls that I thought were my friends were laughing that I came out of that closet with red cheeks like I was star-struck.”
“I’m sorry, Amity.”
“You should be,” I fire back. “I had to listen to you and Noah talk about me like I was some kind of gag-reel. Like, ‘Oh, I managed to get through leading on my friend.’”
“We were stupid, idiotic boys. What do you want me to say? I’ll raise my sons someday to be a better man than I was at that age. I can’t fix it. I can’t take it back or God knows I would.”
“As stupid as this sounds, that night has been a monkey on my back for a very long time. It was my first kiss, my first encounter with a boy that wasn’t me and you eating brownies in our blanket fort, and you ruined that for me. Every time a man asks me on a date or I think someone is looking at me, I get this complex. My head starts going through a hundred different ways of wondering if they’re making fun of me or if they’re thinking I have food on my face or whatever it is. That’s something I’ve dealt with while you’ve barreled your way through Manhattan.”
“Half of Manhattan,” I wink, trying to lighten the conversation. She doesn’t react. “Look, I should’ve called you and apologized then. Knowing this has affected you all these years makes me feel like shit. I take full responsibility.” I pause, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”
Searching my eyes, she clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and walking back to her desk. “Apology accepted.”
She sits in her chair, picking up the discarded pen from earlier, and goes back to work.
“Amity?” I say after standing in place, searching for a reaction for a few minutes.
She looks up from the paper in her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, Carver. You can go now.”
My mouth hangs open and I sort of chuckle. “Fine,” I say because I have nothing else to go on. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Gallum.”
She doesn’t humor me with a response.