“Leave, Trey,” he bites out.
“Can we just talk?” I ask. “Please…” I try. “It doesn’t have to be here. Maybe we can hang out later, grab something to eat or have a drink and—”
His hand shoves against my chest. He pushes me back with enough force that I stumble into a guy walking behind me and nearly knock him over.
“What the fuck, Hudson?” the guy says, looking between us. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kelly, you’ll have to excuse Hudson. He doesn’t always watch where the hell he’s going. Right, Hudson?”
I look at Hudson, who looks like he’s about to go nuclear. I swear, if looks could murder, I’d be dead.
I don’t understand—Mandy said this would be better, but this doesn’t feel good.
Not one bit.
I think I fucked up.
“It’s fine,” I say as I take in his watery eyes. His balled fists.
All I want to do is comfort him. Tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to apologizefor.
I thought he’d be happy to see me, but he’s not.
“Are you sure?” The guy I can only assume is Mick asks, his voice stern. “Because we don’t tolerate—”
“I said it’s fine,” I say more sternly.
And that’s when I hear a darker, deeper voice.
“Is there a problem here?” I turn to see a large, burly man in a suit looking at me.
“No, Mr. Thompson. Everything’s under control,” Hudson says.
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” the big guy says.
“I just, uh… had some samples to drop off,” I say, trying to hold my resolve, but I know the minute I look in his eyes, I’m fucked. “I got lost.”
“Then drop them off and go,” the big guy says. I do as he says and pull my backpack off, open it up and pull out an unopened box and take five steps forward to hand it to the guy. I do my best to channel my usual persona. Fortunately, it’s like flipping a switch and I straighten my stance, smile and hand over the box.
“Trey Kelly, Regional Sales, Nutri-Go. I’m vending tomorrow atStars and Stripes, and thought I’d stop by to introduce myself and share some Nutri-Goodness.”
Mr. Thompson narrows his gaze at me as he takes the box.
“Those are our bestsellers, but if you’d like to stop by the convention tomorrow, I’ll have some samples of our new line that hasn’t been announced yet.” I give him the fakest smile I can muster, before I turn to look at Hudson, noticing his tight jaw.
“Thanks,” I say, and with that, I tighten my jaw, straighten my shoulders, and walk out feeling like the worst friend on the fucking planet.
When I get to my car, I hit the steering wheel and scream in frustration. The horn blares as I curse. I debate texting Hudson. Telling him I’m sorry. Asking him if he’s okay.
But I get the feeling that doing that will only make things worse.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this…
I turn the key and start the car, just as my phone dings. My room is ready. My heart races a mile a minute.
I text him anyway, even though it probably won’t do any good.
Me
Sorry
