“Ah.” He raises his eyebrow with a knowing smile. “You like her.”
I say nothing, since I’ll be damned if he’s the first one to hear me say it, especially when I haven’t had a chance to tell her everything and ask forherforgiveness.
“Well.” He grins. “Good luck.” He places the framed paper on the table and stands.
I rise to my feet. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want it.”
“What? Why not?”
“If I had a bet like that involving Amy, I’d forfeit too. Your happiness means more than having a piece of paper from you saying I’m right. Besides, paper or no paper, we’ll both always know I was right.” He grins and walks out.
Looking at the framed paper on the table, I rub the back of my neck with a small smile. It’s surprising, but at the same time, so much like Emmett. But then, all my brothers are like that. Tight.
Optimism seeps through me. The bet’s resolved, and I just need to talk to Aspen. I check the time. She should be here any moment.
I put the framed paper in one of the drawers at my desk and wait for her to come in to brief me on the day’s agenda, mentally going over what I’m going to say. Nothing has ever mattered this much before in my life. Anxiety wells like a tsunami, but I master my nerves.
Failure is not an option.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Aspen
I feel like a disaster.
I don’t know what made me say what I’ve been bottling up all this time. But when I threw it in Grant’s face Saturday evening, it was like something broke inside me, and I couldn’t stop shaking. My body felt so cold, like somebody plunged me into icy water. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel my jaw trembling.
As surprised as he looked, I was more traumatized, like I’d dug into the old wound and wriggled my fingers around in it until the tissues that had finally begun to heal came apart again.
I had to leave before I did something humiliating. Like collapse. Or cry.
I’ll never, ever give Grant anything to attack me with. And showing emotional weakness to him would be akin to a doe baring her throat to a wolf.
I somehow managed to drive home without crashing. Then parked in a lot attached to the building next door because ours was full, and huddled under a blanket in my apartment to get warm. I covered my ears when Grant banged on the door and called my name.
Even if I’d wanted to answer, I couldn’t have, not when every muscle in my body was shaking uncontrollably.
I ran a high fever until Sunday night. Finally giving voice to the old bet and how much it hurt me, saying everything out loud, should’ve been liberating, but it wasn’t. I hate that I succumbed to fever—proof of the extreme stress I’ve been suffering for so long. Delirium set in. My body felt like a conflagration. Maybe it wanted to burn away all my embarrassment and humiliation over the fact that something so inconsequential that Grant doesn’t even remember has the power to hurt me still.
But by dawn on Monday, my fever breaks.
I shower, then run a bright red lipstick over my mouth to cover how pale I look. Nothing can hide the dark circles under my eyes or the ghostly pallor of my mildly hollowed cheeks, so I figure to hell with it. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch on Saturday, but I’m not particularly hungry.
I go to GrantEm early, since I’m done getting ready and don’t want to stay in my depressingly dingy apartment with its smell of sweat and illness. Morning traffic is light, which is nice, but I’m dreading the coming day. As much as I wish I could quit, I can’t. I need the money and the eldercare benefit.
Act calm. Act cool. You’ve handled Grant all this time. Nothing’s changed. He’s still the same dickhead.
If he brings up forgiving me again, I’ll just shrug. If he expects gratitude… Well, he’ll just be disappointed.
After work, I’ll drop by the bar and tell Jenna I’m quitting, if she hasn’t fired me already. I don’t want Zack to have to give up a job because of my conflict with Grant. I can find another part-time bartending position. Grant can’t buy up every bar in the city, and I don’t want another job where he’s my boss.
I grab a fresh mug of coffee from the breakroom and head to my desk. The floor’s empty on Grant’s side, which is weird. A lot of people should be here by now…
Oh, wait.Since he’s been working everyone hard for weeks, Grant made show-up time at ten today. The associates looked at him like he was the second coming of Christ.
His request slipped my mind, but even if I remembered, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Unlike his MBA people, I get paid hourly. I can’t afford to work fewer than forty hours, especially when I’ve lost the bartending income from the weekend.
