After she’d left, I slumped back in my chair and let the anger go with a long exhale.Instead of any kind of relief, I felt guilt and regret.
The right thing to do would be to apologize.And I wanted to, but Tiffany could likely use some time to cool off, so I focused instead on reviewing the liquor contracts that were up for renewal.
Except, I found myself reading the same paragraph a few times over before understanding that I wasn’t getting anywhere.If only she didn’t push my buttons so effortlessly, I wouldn’t be in this position.If she understood the stakes, would she back off?
Tiffany might be able to treat the consequences flippantly, but I couldn’t.This meant too much to me.If it didn’t work out, she could get another job, but what would I be left with?A ruined reputation and a lifetime of guilt for choosing work over everything else.
No.I had to make this work.
Being around Tiffany made me feel alive.Wildly present.Daring.The exact opposite of what I needed to be to save my career.
My shoulder twinged painfullya few hours later as I was lifting a box onto a shelf before opening.
The box lurched in my hands, but I regained my hold and pushed through the pain to put it on the shelf.Tiffany unfortunately noticed.“You ok?”
“Yes.”It was the curtest I’d been with her, even when we’d been fighting.
She immediately backed off, a hurt look in her eyes.
I felt awful, but I didn’t want to explain why it happened.
“I have to finalize next week’s schedule,” I lied.
“Ok.”
I turned and walked back to my office so that I didn’t have to see her expression, but the sad turn of her gaze was already burned into my mind.
The last thing I heard before closing the office door was Tiffany asking Devon to finish unpacking the boxes I’d left behind.
Damn.I hated letting the pain get to me.It honestly wasn’t even that bad, a dull ache that I’d grown accustomed to.
Pride was the problem.
I needed a distraction.From my shoulder, from Tiffany.From the bar.
Harry picked up just as I was preparing to leave a voicemail.“Sorry!Gracie hasn’t eaten in four hours, and Imogen is beside herself.”He sounded harried, and I couldn’t blame him.
“Do you want me to call back later?”
“No.She’s just gone down for a nap, and we’re going to try a bottle soon.How are you?”
“Fine.”Liar.
“How are you really?”
“Awful.I have half a mind to give up and retire to the countryside.”
He barked out a laugh.“You’d hate it before the first day was over.”
“True.But at least I wouldn’t have to spend another minute thinking about the benefits of matte vs.low sheen paint.”
“Riveting.”He chuckled.
“Come to think of it; I have a question for you that’s been bothering me all week.Is there a reason you would want to keep the inane rubbish that’s decorating the ceiling?”
“What?”He asked, then burst out laughing.“Oh, damn, I’d forgotten,” more laughter, “about that.”
When he finally collected himself, he explained.“I may have told a little white lie.I’d originally put it up on a whim, saw how ridiculous it looked, and went to take it down, but a certain headstrong bartender—”
