"Have a good evening, Sebastian." Her voice is measured, professional, and completely devoid of emotion.
The elevator doors open to the lobby, and she walks out without a backward glance. I follow a few steps behind, watching as she nods to the security guard and pushes through the revolving door into the chilly evening air.
I've royally fucked up.
In my car, I sit for a moment before starting the engine. The parking garage is mostly empty now. I watch as Charlotte gets into a silver Audi and pulls out of her parking space.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. What did I expect? That she'd fall into my arms, forgive me for sneaking out without a word? That we'd laugh off the coincidence of ending up as colleagues?
The truth is, I don't know what I expected. I just know I didn't expect to feel this hollow watching her walk away.
My phone buzzes.
Survived day one or do I need to organize a funeral?
Ty
Survived. Barely.
Meet for a beer?
Usual place in 20.
Ty
"You should have seen her face," I tell Tyler thirty minutes later, nursing my second beer at The Watering Hole. The dim lighting and worn leather booths of our usual spot feel familiar, comforting after the sterile corporate atmosphere I've been navigating all day. "Like I was something she scraped off her shoe and couldn't wait to dispose of."
Tyler leans back in the booth, clearly amused by my predicament. He's got that knowing smirk that's been irritating me since college. The one that says he saw this disaster coming from a mile away. "Can you blame her? You slept with her and ghosted. Now you're invading her workplace like some kind of corporate stalker."
"I didn't ghost," I protest, though the words sound weak even to my own ears. "It was a one-night stand. People leave after one-night stands. That's literally the definition."
"Sometimes people leave notes after one-night stands they actually like," Tyler counters, gesturing with his beer bottle for emphasis. "You left like she had bedbugs or the plague. Hell, like the building was on fire."
I wince at his bluntness, but he's not wrong. "It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like?" He settles back, clearly prepared to hear the full confession. This is Tyler in therapist mode being patient, persistent, and annoyingly perceptive.
I take a long pull of my beer, the bitter taste mixing with the memory of that morning. I can still remember how it felt waking up next to her. The waythe early morning sunlight streamed through her bedroom window, catching in her auburn hair and making it glow like burnished copper. The peaceful expression on her face was so different from the guarded, defensive looks she'd been shooting me all day at work. In sleep, all her walls were down, and I could see the woman who'd laughed at my terrible jokes and traced patterns on my chest while we talked until three in the morning.
"I panicked," I admit finally, the words scraping against my throat. "I woke up, and she was there next to me, and I just... it felt too good. Too right. Like I could wake up like that every morning for the rest of my life."
Tyler stares at me for a long moment, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "So naturally, you ran away like a scared teenager."
"I moved to town for a job. My life was completely up in the air." I pick at the damp label on my beer bottle, peeling off small strips. "It didn't seem like the time to start something serious with someone I'd just met."
"And then boom plot twist worthy of a bad romcom, she's your coworker."
"Not just any coworker." The irony isn't lost on me, and I can't keep the frustration out of my voice. "She's the one I'm supposed to collaborate with on all the major accounts. Amelia's got us working side by side for the foreseeable future. Partnership meetings, client presentations, strategy sessions. The works."
He whistles low, shaking his head. "The universe has a sick sense of humor, my friend."
"Tell me about it." I drain the last of my beer. "So what do I do? How do I fix this?"
"The way I see it, you've got two options." He counts them off on his fingers, ever the pragmatist. "One: maintain professional distance, do your job well, and accept that you royally messed up a potentially good thing. Chalk it up to experience and move on. Two: find a way to genuinely apologize and see if she's willing to start fresh, either as colleagues or something more."
"She won't even let me apologize," I say, remembering the way she'd cut me off every time I tried to approach the subject. "Every time I get close to bringing it up, she shuts me down or finds an excuse to leave."
"Then find another way dude. Women appreciate effort and sincerity, especially when you've screwed up this spectacularly." He signals the waitress for another round, raising two fingers. "Plus, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be this pissed if she didn't care. Indifference is the opposite of love, not anger."
