I push off the counter and skirt around him to my desk.Every word burns my throat, but I force myself to say the only thing that’ll end the discussion as I pack up for the evening.
“If you truly want me in your life, then don’t talk about this again.Let me work in peace.Don’t ruin our friendship.”
I grab my purse and walk to the main elevator as fast as my legs will carry me.After punching the button for the lobby, I keep my gaze on the floor until the doors close.
By the time I reach my room, exhaustion outweighs the urge to cry.I shower and plop onto my beanbag.
Nightmares rule the darkness.
It isn’t until I stand in front of my desk the next morning when my emotions return.Beside my keyboard as though conjured from my freshman year of high school is an orange juice and an oatmeal raisin cookie.
I don’t need to ask who they’re from.Only one person has ever surprised me with these.
Sebastian Sterling.
The one time I bought these for myself was because I was still heartsick and hopeful he’d remember me.It was the second day of school my sophomore year.Queasiness grips my stomach as memories haunt me.
My heart aches.This hurts.I want him even though I can’t have him.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive this new form of torture.
Chapter 8
Sebastian Sterling
My heart sinks when Penelopeignores the two items I placed on her desk.She acts as though they don’t exist as she sets her purse on her desk and her bag on her chair.
Even after greeting her coworkers and reorganizing her space to include the few items she brought with her, she doesn’t acknowledge my gifts.
I swallow my ego and sip my morning tea.Replaying yesterday in my mind leaves me with more questions than answers, but at least I won’t land in jail for murdering my PA.
Hope sharpens my senses as Penelope lifts the cookie and juice off her desk.She stares at them in her hands for a moment before rising and placing the cookie on the kitchen counter and the juice in the fridge with the other communal snacks and drinks.
Despite my disappointment, I cling to my hope.
If she were truly mad at me, she’d have tossed them in the trash.
Or maybe she doesn’t like wasting food.
It doesn’t matter.Nothing will deter me from courting her.
She says she wants to be friends.That’s a good start.If I can get back to the amicable comradery we had in school, then I’ll have more chances to get closer to her.
I pause with my mug halfway to my lips.The earthy smell wafting from my cup gives me an idea.
I didn’t discover herbal teas until late in my college career.After years of way too much coffee and energy drinks, my stomach demanded I cut back, so I found alternatives.
If my preferences have changed, maybe hers have as well.
I watch her throughout the morning and note her choice of beverages, then make like a creep and watch her on the security feeds as she visits the canteen with her new coworkers.Before my lunch meeting with a few board members—which is at a hotel restaurant a few blocks away—I trek across the street to a convenience store and buy an orange soda and cinnamon roll, neither of which is stocked on the executive floor.
They probably aren’t her favorites, but these seem the best options considering what she’s chosen throughout the morning.
If she turns these down, I’ll try something else.Every morning and afternoon.Even evenings when she stays late.Over and over again until she accepts.
I rush back up to the office, place them on her desk, and acknowledge the workers eating in the break area with a nod before disappearing into the elevator.
The luncheon drags on.Colors and sounds seem muted without Penelope nearby, but I pour my focus into the discussion and thank the board members for their time.
