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All in all, it should be good news.
Then why in the world does it feel so bad?
I hate the only answer I have to that question: Declan. If possible, he’s been even colder to me since I teased him with the story about my hottest hookup. When he’s not ignoring me, he’s actively picking at me. Snapping.
Doing everything he can to make this a hostile workplace.
I get it. He hates me. Whatever. But this little tidbit is almost unfair, encouraging me to hold on to just a tiny speck of hope that … what? That he’ll actually like me? I don’t know if I want that either.
“Keep up the good work, Sophie,” Carol says, and I stand automatically. My supervisor isn’t one for goodbyes, so I really have to listen to figure out when I’m dismissed.
“Thank you so much for the feedback,” I tell her, backing away from her desk. “I’m excited to have the opportunity to move forward with this.”
“Don’t leave just yet,” Carol says, looking up from her screen at me, and I wince. Dammit. I’ve misjudged again.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, but she waves my apology away.
“Since you seem to have your finger on the pulse of the new direction Mr. Wright wants to pursue, I think that it’s only fair for you to be the one to create the pitch.”
I swallow hard. “Me? Really?”
“Who in the world else? Make it clear. Make it concise. Make us believe in the kinder, gentler Dynasty.”
“I will. I mean, I’ll try—no. I will.”
This is what I want. This is my one and only mission—to make an impact with my work. I’m going to make this happen.
“That a girl,” Carol says. “Now get out of here.”
I’m beaming when I leave her office, but I immediately lose my smile as Declan passes by, sweeping past me as if I’m not even standing here. There’s nothing. No flash of recognition. No simple, polite nod. He looks through me as though I’m a mass-produced painting on the wall of a crappy hotel room.
Bland. Forgettable.
Well, forget him too.
If only I could.
It was cruel of him to show me who he really could be—the person beyond the wild success and delicious sex. Because that person? I really like him. There was a real connection between us, out on that balcony at the launch party, and I can’t forget it, try as I might.
I know we’re not supposed to have sex with each other, and I know how close it came to a disaster on that promise the other night. But we could at least be friends. Declan’s funny. Wry and witty.
He feels like someone I’d really like to have in my life in some capacity.
Even though it feels like he wants the exact opposite.
* * *
I’m reciting my pitch in my head in line at Common Grounds, fixated on the idea of just how lucky a lavender latte would be right now, when my phone buzzes.
REAGAN: Where was the fire this morning?
ME: Fire?
REAGAN: You slammed your door and ran down the hall. Was something wrong?
I grimace. If Reagan could hear me, that means I probably gave a rude awakening to the rest of the residents on our floor.
ME: Sorry. The pitch is just right around the corner, and I wanted to try to get to work a little early, before anyone else was there to distract me.
