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I consider stopping to say something —anything— but the words choke in my throat. So I follow her lead and look straight ahead, pretending like I’ve barely noticed her. As I disappear down the staircase, I swear I see her head twitch in my direction. But when I turn around, she’s back to glaring at her laptop.
Between the call with Ernest and the catastrophe that is my current working relationship with Amber, the tightness in my chest doesn’t surprise me. I need to relax, take my mind off the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in my mind.
I need toeat.
Aside from a croissant I swiped from the hotel breakfast bar on my way out this morning, I’ve not eaten today. I decide to blame my foul mood on that and not the ever-growing list of things that just keep going wrong.
Has Amber eaten?
The question jumps to the front of my mind without my permission.
Buthasshe eaten? I didn’t hear her leave and I’m pretty sure I didn’t see any signs of a home lunch in her bag. An idea pops into my head, and I feel my mood start to lift slightly as I change direction. I’m on the hunt for the small, cosy café I’d stumbled into a few days ago. The wrap I’d ordered had been delicious, and I’m in the mood for it again.
I find the café quickly enough and order two wraps to go. One for me, and one for Amber.
I’m not sure how it happens, but I end up getting lost on my way back to the club. I think I must have taken a left when it should have been a right and soon enough, I don’t recognise any of the buildings near me. As I work my way down the street, trying to find anything that sparks some recognition in my memory, a store catches my eye.
It’s a furniture store — a little blip of colour among a sea of cream buildings. Couches, coffee tables, lamps, and dressers spill out of the large double doors, creating a haphazard display on the street outside. I take a few steps past the entrance and then double back. Piled high in the middle of the store just beyond the entrance is a large stack of colourful beanbags.
And that’s when I have my second Amber-related idea of the day.
If the owner of the store is confused as to why a six-foot-three businessman is buying two colourful beanbags on a weekday, he doesn’t let it show. He happily swipes my credit card and allows me to pluck two large beanbags off the floor.
They’re big, but light enough that I have no problem carrying them back to the club. I ask the owner for directions and am happy to learn I’m only a block or two away. It only takes me five minutes or so to make it back to the club.
I make my presence known by stomping loudly up the stairs, but when I reach the second floor, Amber pretends like she hasn’t even noticed me.
She’s still staring determinedly at her laptop like she can’t sense me looming over her. I stop just in front of her and wait until she reluctantly glances up at me.
Her eyes, deep brown and incredibly expressive, rake over my body. They linger for a second on the beanbags, but then she apparently decides that’s not the most pressing issue. She nods toward the wrap I’m holding out. “What’s this?”
“A peace offering.”
She narrows her eyes slightly.
“It’s not poisonous,” I say, biting down the urge to laugh. She looks so suspicious, like she’s half-expecting it to explode in her face.
There’s another beat of hesitation before she reaches out and takes the wrap. “Thanks. And those?” She tilts her chin at the bean bags. “Are they a peace offering too?”
“Absolutely.”
Her eyes brighten and she reaches out with her free hand to grab one. I take a step backward so the beanbag is just out of reach.
“Itisa peace offering,” I say. “But one that can only be used in the office.”
“A gift with strings attached,” she says, brow arched. “Why doesn’t this surprise me?”
I can tell she’s trying to sound irritated, but there’s a curve to her lips that betrays her and spurs me on.
“Think what you’d like, but the requirement still stands.” I take another step backward. “No office. No beanbag.”
She glares at me for several long seconds. I’m not the kind of person to back down easily, but I can’t deny I feel slightly relieved when she eventually rolls her eyes and breaks the connection. A few seconds longer and I think I would’ve caved and given her everything she wanted.
I still might.
“Fine,” she says with a nonchalant shrug.
“Fine, as in you’ll come back up to the office?”
