My phone rings for the seventh time in two hours. I don’t need to check the caller ID. It’s Quinton. It’s always Quinton.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he whispers, head hung low. “I tried, but…”
“But what?” I grind my teeth. “Where is he? Where did he go?”
He swallows. “I think he needs some space. Some time. He’ll come back… He’ll?—”
I slam my hand hard on the stack of transition documents.
No!
Don’t you dare fucking cry. Not in front of Helen. Not in front of fucking anyone. Tears don’t solve problems. Tears don’t turn back time and fix every single thing that shattered along the way, leaving us broken and busted.
I knew the truth would destroy him. I knew that Damon couldn't handle it. I should’ve left him alone. I should’ve pushed him away even further. If I stood my ground, if I didn’t let him in, if I didn’t choose love over loyalty to his well-being, he wouldn’t know. He would be fine. He’d get over me and move on. But that’s not reality. That’s not the plot of this tragedy. It’s fiction. Complete and utter bullshit.
My phone rings again, and this time, I can’t stiflethe anger. “Fuck. Off!” I grab my phone and chuck it across poor Helen’s new office. She jerks in her seat, tea spilling on her crisp magenta blouse. She stares at me, aghast. And I stare back, mortified.
I blink rapidly at Helen who looks at me like I’ve lost every single one of my marbles. And maybe I have. Maybe this is the last fucking straw.
“Oh my God. I’m?—”
A cough sounds from behind me, and I whip my head around to find Amir leaning against the door. His unreadable gaze flicks from me to Helen to my cracked phone on the floor.
“We have a meeting, remember?” He casually strolls into the office, picks up my phone, and holds it out. “Ready?”
I frown at him. “We don’t have a?—”
“After you, Miss Jones.” He nods toward the exit, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”
I sigh, inwardly wincing as I hear Helen mumbling something likeGod help heras we leave.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, unable to look anywhere but at my feet as Amir guides us to his office. “I don’t know what came over me. That was incredibly unprofessional and…”
I close my stupid mouth as Amir opens the door to his office and ushers me inside. God, how embarrassing. Is he going to call security on me?
When the door shuts behind us, he cocks his head, and a slow, amused grin spreads on his face. “That was…kind of attractive.”
My jaw sets. “Amir?—”
He chuckles. “Calm down. I’m not hitting on you, Emery, just stating an objective fact. It’s not every day that you see a woman who’s usually quite pulled together completely lose her shit.” He nods to a potted plant on his desk. “If you still feel like throwing something, I’m not particularly attached to that succulent.”
I glower at him. “I’m going to leave now.”
He perks a brow, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Or…” His gaze flicks to the loveseat tucked against the back wall. “Or you can sit down, take a breath, and tell me what’s going on.” He glances back at me. “Your choice.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “I choose to leave.”
He sighs. “Why are women so difficult?” Amir pushes himself off the desk, glaring down at me as he strides forward. “Either you sit and talk to me, Emery, as a friend, or I send you down to HR and you can explain to them why our interim CFO is suddenly terrified of her predecessor.”
“I’m sure Helen is?—”
Amir points to the loveseat. “Sit.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” I huff, flapping my arms as I aggressively fling myself onto the soft cushions. “There. I’m sitting. Happy?”
Amir rolls his eyes and strides toward the bar. “Would you like something to drink?” He quickly fixes himself a cocktail and turns around holding a tea bag. “Peppermint, perhaps?”
I tip my jaw at him. “I’m fine.”
