Is he going to saybring her back? My anger comes to a boil like the kettle I used to make the Cup Noodles.
“Yougo home!” I slam my hands against the keys, and a long string of characters pops up on the screen. “You clearly don’t get it!”
“I saw what you saw at my mom’s shop! I think I get it,” Greg shoots back in a sharp whisper. “But you can’t just make everything happen by force of will.”
Mom’s voice bounces between my ears.Greg lacks initiative! He’ll never get anywhere!
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because that’s not how things work!” He sounds so incensed suddenly, voice raised.
So this is the rare moment I make him lose his cool. I’m more intrigued than mad now.
“Why, exactly,” I say slowly, “isn’t that how things work?”
Greg runs a hand over his face. “Because so much of life is shaped by forces outside your control—whatever the market is doing, and corporate bullshit way over your head. Companies will be humming along, profitable, everyone working hard, and then,bam,layoffs. Just to give shareholders that extra juice and executives a fatter payday.”
So this must be what he reads about these days. It’s been a while since I heard him rant.
His words pick up speed, like they’re just tumbling out of him now. “And everything isn’t happening the way it is because of some small thing you did or didn’t do wrong—because capitalism isn’t a meritocracy, and we’re not exactly in control, andthings don’t really make sense! And Erica is just Erica, not a barometer of how worthy you are! And it’s not worth…”
“What,killing yourself over?” I’m barely doing a fraction of what Mom used to do. He really has no clue.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg says, careful, level again. “I just—” He shakes his head. “I hate seeing you like this.”
A distant, muted part of me knows he’s expressing concern, but all I hear is criticism. Mom telling me it’s unattractive to let the sadness show on your face. To indulge it for too long.
You think I can do that? I’d never get anything done, if I started.
Greg gives me a long stare, dry as tinder. The air between us feels dangerous, like the whole thing would go up if someone lit a match.
“Come on, Ruby.” He reaches for my hands, tugging me out of my seat. And for some reason, I don’t fight him—I let him pull me to my feet, and for a second I’m standing too close to him, both hands clasped in his before he takes a step backward and looks away. “You can try again tomorrow.”
Chapter
22
My leg jiggles as I ride the elevator up to the eighth floor the next morning.Come on, come on, can’t this thing go any faster?I need to finish Erica’s deck as quickly as I possibly can. I understand the data, finally. I worked on it a bit more after I got home, nodding off in front of the screen, waking up to find the curve of my laptop imprinted on my cheek.
But when I get to my desk, there’s something strange waiting for me. An unmarked shoebox.
My face heats as I open it, and I have to stifle a gasp.
I don’t know shoes, but even I know the red bottom on these sleek beige pumps means they’re expensive. This is Mark Winterson’sreplacementfor my $50 TKMART heels?
He must have changed the box because he wanted to be discreet. Or he asked whoever does his shopping for him to change it. Not that I don’t feel molten with embarrassment anyway.
“Hellooo!” Morgan trills, stopping short as she passes my desk and backing up. “And what have we here?”
Oh no, now everyone in a ten-mile radius will hear about this!
I snatch the box away and stuff it in my work tote, even though it’s too wide to slide in easily.
“It’s nothing!” I muster my most innocent smile.
“Ah ah ah.” Morgan wags a finger at me. “I know a secret admirer gift when I see one.”
Sarah appears behind her, forehead wrinkled. “Everything all right?”
