More to the point, mybullshitwasn't in response to her claim about being the worst barista, but rather the burn that was glaringly obvious in spite of the pretty pink nail polish less than an inch away.
And yet, Ihadn'tnoticed – not the burnorthe polish, not until she'd made me look.
Now, I was ticked – not at Tessa, but at myself. Still, for Tessa's sake, I lowered my voice. "Yeah, well itisbullshit. That place sucks. You should quit."
It took me only a second to realize I'd said something not only blunt, but apparently rude.Ididn't see it that way. But from the look on Tessa's face,shesure as hell did.
And here was therealkicker.
What I'd just said – I didn't regret it.
52
Fort Fire, Minus the Flames
Tessa
I didn't say anything, not at first. But the sting was real, and it had nothing to do with the burn on my thumb. Perversely, we were still holding hands, which for some stupid reason, made everything worse.
Carefully, without yanking like a child, I freed my hand from his and turned to face him full-on. "I shouldwhat?"
And of course, he looked entirely unapologetic. "What, you want me to say it again?"
My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice calm. "Actually, I wish you hadn't said it the first time." But then I remembered. "Wait…you've said ittwicealready."
He shrugged. "So say the word, and we'll make it a third."
I fixed him with a look. "Youdoknow you're not the boss of me, right?"
"Sure," he said, annoyingly unconcerned. "And your boss isn't even the boss of you, so your point is…?"
I wasn't even sure why I was offended. The jobdidsuck. And just this morning, I'd pondered quitting on my own. But I didn't needhimto tell me. "Well, maybe I'm the boss of myself."
He moved closer. "Except you're not. The guy runs you ragged while he sleeps in the back."
"I know, but that's not the point."
His gaze locked on mine. "Alright. So tell me. Why stick around?"
He probably meant the job, but I was in no mood to take it that way. "Good question." And with that, I turned and stalked out of the historic bedroom and into the hall.
When I heard Ryder's footsteps behind me, I kept on going, heading for the stairway. Moving fast, I walked down the stairs, dodging a noisy group of tourists, heading up.
When I reached the main level, I bypassed another group and made for the front door. All this time, I could hear Ryder following – his footsteps steady as he said nothing to stop me.
This part, I actually appreciated, because the last thing I wanted was to argue in public. In truth, I didn't want to argue at all, not when our morning had been so perfect up until now.
By the time my feet hit the lawn, I felt nearly desperate to escape, not just the argument, but my own churning thoughts.
Outside, the air was crisp and clean, but I didn't stop to appreciate it. Instead, I started walking toward the fort's nearest exit, telling myself it wasn't only irritation propelling me forward.
I really did need to get back to work.
When Ryder fell in beside me, I didn't even look his way. Instead, I picked up the pace. And of course, he did, too. When I sped upagain, he did the same until soon, we were striding toward the exit like the whole fort was going up in flames.
Without looking at him, I said, "You don't have to follow me."
"Who's following?" he said. "I'm going faster."
