Maid for Each Other(80)
I used my key and let myself in, ready to concentrate on work and nothing else. I was going to scrub surfaces without really seeing the place; that was the plan.
Eyes down, mops up.
But as soon as the door closed behind me, I heard Declan’s voice, and it shook me to my core. It felt like the worst déjà vu.
“Abi, is that you?”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t know what to do.
Part of me wanted to just run out the door like I hadn’t been there, yet there was another traitorous part of me that was hungry for the sight of him.
But I didn’t want him to see me, not like this.
Somehow the thought of him seeing me with a cartful of janitorial supplies, not to mention my bird’s-nest bun and I LOVE NEW YONK T-shirt and shredded jeans was too much.
“Abi.”
It wasn’t a question this time, and he walked out of the office, his unwavering gaze on me. He was wearing black slacks and a button-down with a tie, and my favorite watch.
He looked so beautiful it made me want to cry.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wishing I was anywhere else. “It looked like on my schedule you were going to be gone. I can clear out of here and just have them reschedule when you’re—”
“I’m here because of you,” he interrupted.
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you and couldn’t get a hold of you, so I lied to Masterkleen and said I was going to be out of town on the off chance you’d show up.”
“What do you want?” I asked, feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under me.
Did he need another weekend? I wanted to puke at the thought.
“I want you to tell me why you didn’t take the money.”
Oh, he’s here about the money.
“Because I realized it was ridiculous,” I said. “It was madness that someone would have to pay a small fortune for a weekend companion. It wasn’t difficult work, so it was ludicrous to take money like that.”
“Bullshit,” he said, his face unreadable.
“I’m sorry?” I managed, hating him for how much he’d made me like him, for how much I missed him.
For how much the memories hurt.
“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “It’s what we agreed upon and you knew it was going to be easy money; you said that the day we agreed upon it.”
“So you’re mad I didn’t take your money?” I asked, unsure of what exactly he seemed irritated with me about. “I’m not going to sue you if that’s what you’re—”
“Roman told me he saw you at Benny’s.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Yeah. He was buying supplements.”
“I know,” he said.
I waited for more, but he gave me nothing. He didn’t say a word, so finally I said, “We get wholesaler prices, so we’re able to sell them for way less than every—”
“I don’t care about Benny’s supplemental price points,” he said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I care that my friend stupidly suggested something that might’ve made you feel like a commodity.”
“He—” I stopped myself from saying more, because I didn’t know what to say to that. He’d just explained exactly how Roman had made me feel. “You didn’t know he was going to do that?”
“I would’ve fucking destroyed him for the proposition,” he growled, looking straight up pissed now. “And if you’d said yes, it would’ve destroyed me.”
I blinked fast as his words crashed into me, jump-starting the heartbeat that’d been frozen since I’d walked in. Suddenly my heart was racing and my face was hot and my hands might’ve been trembling because what did this mean?
“It, uh, it would’ve?” I asked, my voice coming out sort of husky. “Why, exactly?”
“You’re going to make me say it?” he asked, stepping closer, closing the space between us.
And suddenly, it was too much. I could smell his cologne and see his Adam’s apple and hear the ticking of his fancy watch and I couldn’t get sucked back in again, I couldn’t.
I wasn’t Daphne, goddammit.
I cleared my throat and shook my head, stepping back. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s cool.”
His eyebrows went up and he frowned. “It’s cool?”
I couldn’t do this. I was finally starting to not think about him incessantly, to throw myself into my writing, to force myself to find my own happiness. I needed to get away from him. I said, “It’s all water under the bridge and we’re good.”
“It’s ‘cool’ and now ‘we’re good.’？”
He was air-quoting me again, damn it.
“That’s right,” I said, nodding and giving him what I hoped was a carefree smart-ass smirk. “We’re ‘good.’？”
I air-quoted myself.
Or I was air-quoting him air-quoting me.
Whatever.
I said, “It was really good seeing you, but I’ve got to get to work before I get fired. Obviously they got it wrong and you’re in town, so just let me get my stuff out of here and I’ll be—”