I waited patiently as the clock struck the hour, knowing she had to be in the building. Probably coming up in the elevator. I waited for her to discover that her door was locked and go to my secretary to ask about it. Then she’d be told that she'd have to come into my office and speak to me about getting the key.
Then, there it was: a knock on my door. My pulse quickened.
“Come in,” I called out.
She walked through the door. I locked a cool stare with her eyes and held it.
“Lilah,” I said nonchalantly, “I hope you had a good weekend.”
She looked away, unable to hold my gaze. Guilt practically tattooed across her face.
“I . . . It wasn’t too bad,” she answered softly.
“Oh, really? Did you go anywhere? Meet up with anyone? Try out any new places?”
“Can I just get the spare key, please?”
“You don't want to tell me about your weekend?”
She looked down at the floor in silence for a few moments. Eventually, she looked up, and her face now wore a strange expression.
“You saw the picture in The Times, didn't you?”
“I did.”
She nodded. “I thought so. And yet you didn't message me even once over the weekend.”
“Message you? Whatever for? I mean, I saw with my own eyes who you're choosing to spend your time with these days. What would have been the point in messaging you? You’ve been avoiding me for days.”
Anger heated my blood. I hadn't wanted to argue, but it appeared that’s where the conversation was heading. Like an avalanche crashing down a mountainside: if it began, there would be no stopping it. I could almost feel Lilah's temper heating up from across the room, as well. I knew things could get explosive but despite realizing that, I couldn't stop myself.
“If you actually cared, you would have called me up. You would have messaged me and asked me about it. But you didn't, you waited to ambush me this morning. And that silence told me more than your words and this ambush ever could.”
“What?! How . . . How dare you? You go out on the town with my biggest rival—whom, I might add, is the prime suspect behind the break-in at this company—and don't say a word about it to me, leaving it for me, and everyone else in this city, to discover by opening up Saturday's issue of The Times. Now you're trying to turn it around and make it all about how I'm the bad guy here?! Like I'm the one who was at fault? I can't believe this! I can't believe you'd have the audacity to even try to pull that sort of bullshit on me!”
She stared at the ground again in silence.
“You're right,” she said softly.
I was shocked. I'd been expecting a vengeful, angry response yelled at me at full volume. Not that. I didn't know what to say.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you that Brendan was after me. And when I say that, yes, I mean romantically and professionally, as well. I had no right to keep it from you. It's just that . . .” her voice trailed off as if she was trying to maintain her composure, trying not to cry.
“Just what, Lilah?” I asked, my tone calm.
“It’s just that I've been so confused, so uncertain about everything . . . about this job, about my career, about you and me . . .” Her eyes met mine, and I just wanted to jump across the desk and hold her. Tell her it would be okay. But, I wasn’t so sure it would be.
She exhaled hard before she began again. “And now this. This . . . It's all so . . . It's just been too much to handle, too much to process, all right?
“Jesus, couldn't you just cut me a little slack? I've been thrown into the deep end from the start, and it's just gotten deeper and deeper! And now I'm at the point where I just don't know what's going on anymore.”
“I'm sorry,” I murmured. “I don't know what to say.”
“I don't, either,” she replied softly. “I don't, either.”
And with that, she turned on her heels, walked out, and closed the door behind her. Without the key.
Chapter Twenty-Eight