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I’m about to say no but decide otherwise.
“Sure.”
Which is how I end up sitting alone, watching a restaurant full of people and the few brave souls scurrying by outside, bundled up against the cold.
You know what? I’m done for the night. The budget approvals can wait until morning.
Hayden doesn’t seem concerned about them. Instead, he’s with the love of his life, enjoying a night out. But I really don’t begrudge him that. I never do. Hayden works hard in his own way, and no matter what his dad says, Angel, Inc. would never be what it is today without my partner.
So why do you begrudge yourself the same happiness?
I shove the thought away.
Only for it to be replaced with another.
I’ve never seen that expression on your face before.
And my least favorite:Cornell?I’m so sorry, sweetie, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible.
I’ve hated the word “sweetie” my entire life.
Certainly I don’t work too much because of Mrs. Forsythe or any of the other teachers or adult figures who have doubted me because of my learning disability. That would be giving them too much power over my destiny.
I do this because . . .
I’mproud of what we’ve built. Of how far we’ve come. And the possibilities are so exciting that I can’t help but push further, faster. Want to go further yet.
Being competitive isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength. One I shouldn’t have to apologize for.
Right?
“More wine?”
The waitress looks at me curiously. I don’t usually stay for long after Hayden leaves, and never for this long. “No, thank you,” I say. “Just the check please.”
She shakes her head. “On the house. See you next week, Mr. DeLuca.”
“Good night, Julia.”
But I still don’t want to leave. My apartment is the last place I want to be, because everything in it reminds me of Chari. I see her everywhere. Standing by the windows, looking out at the view. In my bed, on my couch . . .
But it’s not just my apartment.
I see her in the office, the glass frog she gave me staring at me in judgment all day long because I can’t bring myself to move him.
I see her when I close my eyes, and in my dreams and daydreams, she’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, coffee mug in hand, with the Swiss Alps rising behind her.
How could she ever think she’s anything but magnificent? A country bumpkin indeed.
I don’t want a woman who’s coolly sophisticated, like Giovanna. Or fake, like so many of the people I meet on a daily basis.
I want Chari Atwood just as she is. Or was, until I slammed the door on what could have been, in favor of my own ambition.
I’ve never seen that expression on your face before.
Because I’d never been in love before.
Until now.
