God dammit. "Hi, Brooke."
"Uh, hi. I wanted to, um, apologize. For how I treated you yesterday," Brooke mumbles. "It wasn't fair. And, uh, if you want me to declare our past… you know… to HR? I've got it drafted already."
I sit back down and gesture to the chair on the other end of this ridiculous post-modern conference table. I bet it costs as much as my mortgage every month, if not more. "Please, sit."
She slumps into the chair and looks at me with guilty eyes. "I can send it—"
"—Not necessary," I cut her off, raising a hand. "That was over a decade ago. And, technically, I am not your boss. I am here to seamlessly fit DropTop intoAtmosphere. We do not have a conflict of interest—unless you want to sabotage my work. Do you?"
"No!" Brooke blurts out immediately. "I mean, no, of course not. I just… yeah. I wanted to apologize. So, like, sorry."
"Apology accepted."
She's silent for a beat, staring at me expectantly. Unsure of what she wants, I rise again and head toward the glass door.
"Don't you have anything to say to me, too?"
What?"No. Apology accepted. Let's move on, please. Have a good night."
"Ugh, seriously?" She stands as well and cocks out her hip, deep lines forming between her brows.
"Yes, seriously. Please enjoy your evening." I quickly exit the room and walk with purpose down the hall. She follows me, her sneakers squeaking on the trendy concrete floor.
"You're not going to apologize?" She overtakes me and plants herself firmly in my way.
"For what?" I shake my head.
"For stealing my cupcake!" Brooke pokes me in the chest with a perfectly manicured light pink fingernail. I take a step back and clench my jaw.
"Absolutely not. You started it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like toleave," I grit out.
"Oh, my god. You're such an asshole.Youstarted it, andyoustole my cupcake!"
Pushing past her, I scoff. The elevator is so close, and the studio apartment is only a few blocks away. I can stop at a bodega and grab a sandwich for dinner. This is a ridiculous argument, and I refuse to participate. She storms after me, sputtering and fuming.
I make it to the elevator, and miraculously, it opens immediately. I slam the "close door" button over and over, trying to keep her from entering, but she's a force of nature just like she always has been.
"You stole from me, asshole," she snarls as the doors close us into the metal box. "You—of all people on this Earth—you show up inmyfriend's shop and then atmyjob. You stole from me and I was the bigger person—I apologized to you! Why are you so allergic to saying you're sorry?"
"Allergic?" I sputter. "Oh,I'm sorry. So sorry that your shitty cupcakes didn't sell outimmediately—what do you even use? Box mix? Fucking unbelievable."
Her eyes flash with fury, and she stomps over to the corner. I can't quite make out what she's saying under her breath, but I imagine it's unpleasant.
I tried, you know? I really tried to put our past behind us and move forward—professionally—by sticking to my job. My dentist is going to be irate at the pressure I'm putting on my molars by grinding my teeth. She refuses to playnice; she refuses to leave well enough alone. She pokes, and she prods, and she makes demands—just like she used to.
I used to love that about her. Now? She's the most irritating woman on the face of the planet. With her stupid ponytail and hoop earrings and that adorable up-turned nose that I used to kiss as often as she'd let me. And the smattering of freckles all over her cheeks. Disgusting. Absolutely not attractive. Not in the slightest.
The doors slowly slide open when we reach the ground floor. Brooke storms out and I reluctantly follow her. I mean, I'm notfollowingher. I am simply returning to the apartment and she's in my way. She hasn't said another word to me, which is good, because I'm in no fucking mood to chat after her little hissy fit.
My stomach growls, and I remember Istillhaven't had a real meal. I slip my phone out of my pocket and try to find something nearby. I'm in New York City, for fuck's sake, there justhasto be a salad in the vicinity.
Whump.
My phone clatters along the floor as I collide with a somewhat short, warm body with a furious face. Fucking unbelievable. Losing my balance, I grab at anything to break my fall. Unfortunately, the "anything" turned out to be Brooke. She topples over and pins me to the floor, both of us groaning in pain.
This is the worst day. The absolute worst day. I don'tcarethat her soft curves are pressing me into the floor. I don'tcarethat she smells like the world's best bakery. I don'tcarethat she matured into an absolutely gorgeous woman.
But I very much care that her face is turning red as she winds up to yell at me some more. "Why thefuckdon't you watch where you're going?"
