I want to send her a thank you for the tickets.
I forward over the contact info and then scroll back through the few messages between me and Blair. If I sent her a text asking about her weekend, I wonder if she would leave me delivered or on read—or tell me to fuck off.
“What’s got you smiling? Or who?” Jakes asks.
“Nothing. Just Sophia.”
“Listen, man, I know there’s unfinished history with Blair, and the idea of opening up again probably scares the hell out of you. Love means being vulnerable, but I’m telling you it’s worth it. I know things are complicated, but if there’s a chance to reignite that spark, why not take it? Don’t live with a second round of regret. Love is worth it, my friend, every single time.”
He’s only heard me talk about her a few times, yet he knows how much she meant to me. He also knows how much I regret not fighting for her, for us. I shared with him what I went through with my father. My passion for golf, my interest in something other than following in his footsteps. How he blamed Blair, and I didn’t defend her.
I shut down after the blowout with my father and focused on school. I know I pulled away from her, but it was too painful to be around her and listen to her tell me how all my dreams could come true, because they wouldn’t.
When it happened, everything felt so impossible. But then, a year later—and what felt like a lifetime of emotion later—everything seemed like no big deal. Insignificant. I couldn’t believe what a coward I had been. Jake wanted me to call her and tell her what had happened. But I never did. I didn’t even know what I would say to her. There’s no way she would have understood, and by the time my head was in the right place, too much time had passed.
“I don’t think this is exactly a second chance, but I hear you. I just think right now, the best thing I can do for both of us is stay professional and keep us focused on work.”
“Right. Work.” He raises his eyebrow with a look that says bullshit.
Thankfully, he drops it, and we get our drinks just in time to see the first punch. I’d been looking forward to the fight for a few weeks, but now my attention was miles away. About 120 miles, to be exact.
fifteen
. . .
BLAIR
The breeze blowsthrough my hair as I walk to the front doors of TWA’s offices. June gloom is officially in full effect. At least it’s warm. Some people complain about not getting four seasons, but I find immense joy in perfect temperatures year-round.
As I’m peeking at my reflection in the window and running my fingers through my hair one last time, I see Wyatt walk up behind me.
I haven’t seen him since his declaration of professionalism over a professional dinner he probably put on his very professional corporate card.
“Hey, let me get that for you,” Wyatt says.
I can feel the warmth from his breath on my cheek as we reach for the door at the same time. There’s a flutter in my chest at just the idea of his arms around me, and I try to shake it off. That excitement quickly turns to frustration since all I can hear is the replay of his adamant protest about professionalism.
I’ll show him professional.
“Thanks.”
My pace picks up as I cross the lobby. It’s as if the faster I walk, the faster I can outrun any feelings for him. It’s not working because I can hear him right behind me and my memory didn’t get the memo that we’re not reminiscing about this guy.
If I thought the front door was painful, then the elevator ride is excruciating. We’re the only ones in the small enclosure, and as much as I try to keep my eyes on the display showing the passing floors, I can’t help but steal a glance or two at his blurred reflection in the metal doors. He’s staring at me, and I look away as if my eyes just committed a felony.
The way he looks is a felony.
Just as he’s turning toward me, the doors open and reveal Lance waiting for the elevator. I introduce him to Wyatt, and awareness flits across his eyes as guilt flashes on his face. At least, I think it’s guilt because that’s not an emotion I see much from Lance. As I move to excuse myself, I hear Lance mention that I’ll be working with Wyatt.
“I’m sorry, what?” I say, confused.
“We talked about this,” Lance says. “Remember? Visibility.”
What we talked about was a thinly veiled threat that I may or may not make it through this merger. And how he might do me a favor by including me in the meetings, but I haven’t received any invites. I’m guessing he forgot he was supposed to meet with Wyatt, so now I’m conveniently invited to participate.
“Right. Happy to help,” I say with my best fake smile.
“Great. My assistant can show you where meetings are today and pass along any info you need. It was great to meet you, Wyatt. Blair is an incredible resource and here to make sure you have everything you need. I’ll catch up with you both later. I’ve got to run.”
