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The bigger issue was his presence in my mental space. My mind couldn’t seem to turn around without running into an image of him, a recollection of him presenting or the way he’d held me close on the Ferris wheel. Or the way his face had cleared as he’d come, braced over me on my bed. I’d allowed him so far into my mind and my life that I couldn’t get a clear corner in which to think anymore.
Frustration hissed out of me in a sigh as I gathered my things and headed to work.
Once back at my desk, I paged through the notes I’d written in my spiral notebook from the last sales status meeting, looking for the action items from this morning’s meeting at MLB. In my almost illegible handwriting I’d jotted: CEO situation, potential acquisition? Trey had said this a couple weeks ago and I’d pushed it aside in my worry over my own goals and plans. My mind snapped to Oliver. In my anger about the lie of omission he’d told me, I’d managed to forget everything I knew about the CEO of my company prior to realizing he’d been in my bed. I’d managed to forget what had happened so recently to his parents. I dropped my head into my hands. Oh God. No wonder he flipped like a switch between arrogance and that unnamable sadness and vulnerability.
I tried to keep calm as my brain chased that reality down a rabbit hole, replaying every conversation I’d had with Hale in the context of this tragedy. It had been only a couple months since the accident when I’d met him, I thought, as I tried to remember everything. No wonder he had been a disaster. All the sadness and pain that haunted those deep eyes made sense now. And then I remembered the conversation we’d had at lunch: I was adopted, actually. But I’ve only found that out recently. When did he find out? Right before they died? Did he find out after they died?
Oh God. Poor Oliver. The anger I’d felt over his lie dissipated in the face of my sympathy for what he’d been going through.
I reached for the phone on my desk, but then thought better of it. I stood to go find him, but Trey stepped in front of my desk, a question on his lips.
“Where were you this morning?” he asked.
“Client call,” I replied automatically.
He crossed his arms, looking skeptical. “Holland. You were out Friday; you were out this morning. You’ve been out mentally for months.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve been a little bit distracted, I’ve been—”
“Look, Holl. What goes on in your personal life is your business. But it’s unprofessional to let it interfere with what’s happening here at work.” He seated himself on the edge of my desk and leaned over a bit, as if he were going to offer me some sage advice, or try to comfort me. “I know it’s hard to handle everything. If it’s too much for you, if maybe sales isn’t a good fit…”
I got the distinct impression that Trey was seconds away from making a comparison between men and women in sales, and I wanted to stop him before I had to leap across the desk and strangle him, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a deliveryman with an overlarge bouquet of lilies in his arms. “Holland O’Dell?” he said.
“Uh, yes. That’s me.” I stood.
The deliveryman placed the bouquet at the edge of my desk, forcing Trey to stand again. When the guy was gone, Trey and I both stared at the flowers for a long minute.
“Maybe whatever’s distracting you has resolved itself,” he suggested. “Looks like he’s pretty damned sorry.”
“It’s not guy problems, Trey,” I snapped.
He stepped back, raising his palms in a sign of surrender. “Just saying.” He took another step away and I thought maybe we were done, but then he turned back around. “Holland,” his voice was a low whisper now. “Miss any more work and we’ll be having this chat in my office, and there will be a very different outcome.” He indicated the flowers, and then walked away.
I pulled the card from the bouquet, ignoring the interested stares of those sitting around me.
You are amazing. —Oliver
I tucked the card into my pocket and sat back down, pulling out my phone to text Oliver.
Me: Can we talk?
Oliver: Tonight?
Me: Now?
Oliver: Did you get any deliveries over there yet?
Me: Thank you for the ridiculously oversized bouquet.
Oliver: Too much?
Me: A little. The queen might be underwhelmed, but anyone else…
Oliver: What about a duchess?
Me: Talk?
Oliver: Drink after work?
Me: Fine.
Oliver: Twisters?
Me: 6pm.
Oliver: See you then, duchess.
