Maybe it made my chest ache just a little to see him each week, but it wasn’t that bad. Not like it had been two years ago.
I could manage being in the same room once a week. Besides, he’d most likely get tired of this little game sooner rather than later and leave me be.
Movement flickered in my periphery as someone entered. “Paul told me you were in here. What gives?”
Tore clicked his mouse harder than necessary. “I needed a change of scenery.”
A dry laugh followed. “What? Are you serious? You’re allergic to change.”
I kept my eyes on my task, my ears perked. I was pretty sure the voice belonged to Sam Patel, Tore’s partner—the same Sam I’d managed to avoid until now.
“That’s an overstatement,” Tore stated flatly. “What do you need from me?”
“I CC’d you on my email with marketing, but I’m assuming you didn’t read it. Am I right?”
“You’re correct.”
Sam sighed. “I know you’re not interested in the business side of Nox, but you could at least pretend.”
“Here I am, pretending. Why don’t you tell me what was in the emails?” There was a pause, then, “Unless it needs to wait until we’re alone.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I was suggesting softening the language of our risk disclosure.”
I could almost hear Tore’s molars grinding with how tightly he replied. “We’re not in thebusinessof softening risk. We mitigate and take ownership of it.”
Fingers drummed on the table, and one of them grunted. I was careful to continue setting up so they wouldn’t think I was listening. Though, to be fair, I had no clue what they were discussing.
Sam inhaled slowly. His tone, when he spoke, was painfully measured. “This is why you need to read the email instead of jumping to conclusions. Can you at least look over the revisions I asked for?”
“Take me off the chain. Send me the revisions separately. I’ll get to them before the end of the day. But I can almost promise I won’t agree. It’ll be a waste of both our time.”
Poor Sam.
If this was what it was like to work with Tore, it was a wonder he’d lasted this long. If I were him, I would have taken my sack of gold and moved on to fairer pastures.
“Tore, I—”
“No. We both know the only reason you’d want to soften the language, and that’s a nonstarter. If we’re unable to be fully honest with our clients, we should not be offering them security. You know exactly where I stand here, so I’m unclear why we’re even having this conversation. But, like I said, I’ll read the revisions.”
A long silence stretched between them, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then Tore’s mouse clicked, and steady taps started from his keyboard. Maybe he wasn’t having trouble breathing through the soupy air. He’d already moved on.
A chair scraped hard on the floor, followed by shuffling. “The email will be in your inbox in a few minutes,” Sam muttered.
As he passed me, he paused, doing a double take. “You’re not Rachel.”
I turned my head, meeting his narrowed gaze. “Nope, I’m not.”
Recognition lit his dark eyes, and his mouth fell open. “You’re—we’ve met.”
I nodded. “We have. I’m Bea, the caterer.”
He snapped his fingers. “You were Bea the waitress a few years ago, weren’t you?” He swiveled to look at Tore tapping on his keyboard, ignoring us both. “Ah. I get it now,” he mumbled to himself.
“Nice to see you again, Sam.”
A line carved between his brows as he nodded. “Sure. You too.”
Then he left without another word, scratching the back of his head.
