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“Go... ” Katherine ushers me to the devil. I might like thrills but not this kind. Not the kind of being treated as if I’m dirt.
I step inside his office. “Yes, Mr. Dreygon?” I ask politely, my eyes scanning around his office.
It’s neat, sleek and modern.
It has an environmental feel to it, glossy white everywhere mixed with a caramelized brown desk. Like the entrance of this floor, a green plant wall hangs over one of his office walls.
“I sent you an email to draft a letter ASAP. I take it you know the alphabet—you know how to spell?”
Is he serious?
I frown. “Sure, sure.” I mean it more like a question.
“Good, then don’t make mistakes.” A dismissive look isgiven my way, and I narrow my eyes at him when he returns to his desk to continue typing on his laptop.
I guess he’s giving me a taste of what’s to come. He’s the type of boss to warn me of mistakes before they even happen. And I don’t like it. Rather, a finger of worry begins to snake through my mind at how the future might look like working for him.
Besides, who acts like this a few hours before the weekend starts? I’m not a heavy drinker, but now I need a beer.
Katherine looks at me with sympathy in her glasses-covered eyes and tells me she’ll see me on Monday. It’s already past five by the time I’m done drafting his letter. I go over it with a fine-tooth comb, making sure it’s free of grammatical mistakes. Then I send off the email and check the time on my computer.
It's almost five-thirty.
I want to go home and change into a T-shirt. I turn off my computer and knock on Damon’s door.
“I’m heading off for the day. Was there anything else you needed?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Okay . . . well, have a nice weekend.”
“You as well, Ms. Ackerman.”
“It’s Gemma,” I test the waters.
“No, it’s Ackerman for me. Close the door behind you.” His eyes meet the papers on his desk again, and he signs a document, my presence no longer welcomed.
I jerk back as if he’d slapped me in the face. Being dismissed this way makes me feel like a chastised child. When I finally close the door and walk back to my desk, I take in a few breaths to relax.
I refuse to let his indifference bother me.
I’ve been close to death and remained unbroken. I wasn’t about to let this man bother me.
“I made pancakes,” I tell Harv as he wheels himself in. The smallest of smiles touches his lips, and I know I made the right decision—blueberry pancakes are his favorite. Hope rises in my chest at the massive victory.
Thisis why I stay. I stay for the day he wakes up smiling likemyHarvey again. I stay for what we once were and what we are now.
Because despite the silences, we get each other. I also believe that what we experienced so young was extremely hard to overcome as a couple and that we might just need time to readjust, to adapt, to build this new life together.
“Thanks. I’m starving.”
I smile and settle our plates at the table, filling up two glasses of orange juice. I feel rested today. We slept in because his physical therapy isn’t until eleven o’clock. We had a relaxing night in last night, too, watching a horror movie.
We eat and head to his appointment not too far from home. Stefan greets both of us, with a level of energy that Harvey himself used to have, before they head over to the other side of theroom. I take a seat and take out my book when I get a call from Henrik.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, you know—escaping a bartender’s apartment, nothing new.”
