‘You’re insufferable.’
‘That makes two of us.’
His eyes say ‘move’. Mine say ‘make me’ as I press my back further into the door. He has one of two options: give in now or give in later. Either way he gets out of here past five o’clock.
His shoulders sink slowly and he gives a low exhale as he skulks back to his seat. I can feel the silent rage that overcomes him from the moment he reopens his laptop. It should be worrying, or sad, or guilt-inducing, I guess, but all it does is fill me with intrigue. In all my years with him I’ve seen every possible shade of indifference, but I’ve never actually seen him angry. I’ve never seen him display anything towards me that requires passion, but here it is, burning bright as he clicks his mouse.
‘About time,’ I say, eager to push it further.
His mind is racing– I can tell by the creases in his forehead and the clench of his jaw. I dare not imagine what’s brewing, begging to get out and eviscerate me in the way I know he wants to. He keeps it to himself, though, the only sounds in the room our shaky, recovering breaths and synchronous typing. The fog of the conflict shrouds the room in a damp, sticky heat that fills my lungs with discomfort and makes my whole body tense.
After ten minutes of agonising silence, it is he who finally breaks it. ‘You don’t like me.’
It’s plain, unfeeling.
‘Neither do you,’ I retort. ‘Like me, I mean.’
I’ve known it for years and yet the words still sting as they come to the surface. But he doesn’t react, eyes fixed on the peeling motivational poster behind my head.
‘I think today’s proven that this doesn’t work, despite our best efforts,’ he continues.
He’s right. I vowed that I’d be professional, and I’ve tried, but the truth is that we just can’t work with each other. Two weeks into the project and the knives are already drawn. . . Six months down the line and one of us will be on life support.
‘So, what do we do?’ I ask bitterly.
I want him out of my life more than almost anything, but my stomach drops at the thought of where this might be headed. At the end of the day, he’s the one with the strong tie to Evie. . . The way he’s sitting here makes it clear that he has more control than I could’ve summoned for a moment. Of course he let me win the battle. He already knew that he had the war in hand.
He cocks his head. ‘I’ll do this presentation, stay late for today, but after tomorrow I’m telling Evie I’m off the project.’
‘You’re giving it up?’ I ask in disbelief.
He shrugs it off like it’s as simple as who has the last slice of pizza.
‘We can’t do this together and I don’t even work in events.’
I’m speechless. I simply can’t relate. There is nothing on this earth that would make me drop something like this. If he’s willing to throw it away over two weeks together, I severely underestimated just how much he hates me.
‘But Evie said she wanted us both to do this,’ I say.
He waves me off. ‘Evie’s word isn’t law. She listens to reason and I’ll give her a good one.’
My mind runs wild with the string of ‘reasons’ he’ll throw Evie’s way, all of which I have no doubt will reflect poorly on me. I know how he sees me and soon Evie will feel the same, marring any chance I had of winning her over.
He looks up at me, squinting at my scrunched features, and sees my apprehension instantly. ‘It’ll be calm. We’ll present and then I’ll chat to Evie straight after. Tell her you’ve got it covered and I’d be better spent somewhere else.’
My jaw remains tense. ‘You mean it?’
It’s childish. I’m back in primary school, forcing a pinky promise with a boy who wouldn’t even take my hand.
He nods firmly. ‘One more day and we’re done.’
The words, deep in delivery, echo across the walls as the low vibrato shakes all the way to my core. It’s too spine-chillingly good to be true, but, if I want to be free, then I have no choice but to believe him.
‘Thank you,’ I mumble.
‘No problem.’
Then he goes back to typing without another word.
