Okay, that’s not the only reason I need to apologize.
Pacing is mind-numbing, and that’s probably what I need right now, but I hate waiting. I deserve the wait.
Back in our suite, I open the calendar and screw around, hoping she’ll text me. Or show up. She doesn’t.
I sit in the office and stare at the door, and hate myself for making the thing I hate. The label pushed, and I pushed down. I don’t do that.
But I did it.
The door opens. Houston steps in, closes it behind him, and leans on the frame. “You going to keep hiding in here.”
“Tried the hallway for a while, but she wasn’t responding. So, I’m figuring out a plan.”
“You broke a person today. Not a plan.”
“I know I fucked up, Houston.”
“Say it out loud. How did you fuck up?”
“I talked to her like she worked for me and notwithme. I made her the lever for label fear. I acted like command fixes everything. It doesn’t.”
He nods once. “Good. Now what?”
“I drafted a statement for the site. Don’t look at me like that. I deleted it. I realized how stupid that was before anything happened.” I sigh. “I need to fix myself, not the optics.”
“Correct.”
“I’m sorry I screwed this up.”
He looks at me for a long second. “It’s not me you owe an apology to.”
27
HOUSTON
It’s late,which makes Sagebrush’s lights stand out in the dark.
She’s in the live room with the door half shut, hunched over her laptop. The projectors are off. The room is quiet. She has her hair up, pencil behind her ear. Work mode.
I don’t say her name. I sit on the piano bench across from her and wait until she looks up.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
She sits back, taking a deep breath. “Good. Because I’m not in the mood to be managed.”
“I’m not here to manage you. You do that fine on your own.”
She closes the laptop halfway and rests her forearms on it. “Your brother is unpredictable,” she says. “Which is cute until it breaks something. The fight in Seattle wasn’t the end of the world, but the way the internet spun it into me being a Yoko? I’m the one who gets the death threats. He knows that and still mouths off toa ghost from his old life who he doesn’t even care about. That’s a liability.”
“I hear you.”
“Knox is too bossy,” she continues. “He forgets I’m a hire and a partner, not a junior designer out of college. He barked orders like I was a servant, not a partner of any kind. I know he’s under pressure.” She pauses. “So am I. Pressure is not an excuse to be rude.”
“I hear you,” I say again.
“And you,” she says, looking straight at me. “You hover like a shield. Which I like. Until it feels like pressure. You text all the time, track my hotel badge to make sure I’m safe… It’s sweet,andit’s a lot.” She shifts in her seat like those words were hard to say. “I like aspects of all of it. But each of you takes it to extremes. I’m tired, Houston. You’re fielding the needs of one partner. I’m handling the needs of three. Along with a very busy new job. And triple the death threats.”
