Chapter 34
34
Juni
His office has been empty for the past week.
I successfully avoided it until this morning when I had to put a letter on his desk. The sad little ivy on the corner of his console caught my eye, and even though I was ready to hightail it out of there, I returned to check on it. When I rubbed a leaf between my fingers, my heart ached. Not for the plant, though that did as well until I touched the dirt and found it still had some moisture. No, it was this office, the belongings, the smell. The man. I closed my eyes, and his scent, like his aura, filled the room.
Although there was a brief debate about leaving the plant alone since it had a corner office full of natural sunlight, I knew I needed to take care of it. I retrieved my watering can and let it drink up. Like me, it doesn’t take much to make it happy.
Though lately, I haven’t felt like myself. I stood in the middle of Drew —Andrew’s office and let the memories wash over me. I didn’t know then, but I think I fell for him the night I saw him drunk. He was just so cute and at ease in his own skin. Charming and a little goofy. It took a few whiskeys to get him to loosen up. That changed when he was with me. It took catching him off guard. Shrugging even though no one can see me, I try to justify it to myself.
There wasn’t a smirk, but a smile that came from seeing me. He’d probably fib and tell people he doesn’t remember that night. But I do. It’s when I decided I’d judged him all wrong. I mean, sure, I totally nailed his personality, but I didn’t expect to see the change in him. My affection only bloomed after that.
Where did that leave me?
In his office with him gone, now nursing the plant he left behind. Another thing I seem to have in common with the ivy.
I decide this is the best place for it to live and grow. Maybe visiting and watering it in here, being present in this space without Drew, will do the same for me.
When I walk out, Mary glances up from her desk. She says nothing and doesn’t ask anything of me. She just lets me return to my desk in peace.
She’s a good person, and he’s lucky to have her. Even though her duties have lightened due to him having an assistant in Seattle, she keeps busy but not so stuck to her desk. I’ve seen more of her lately—in the break room or passing through reception at lunch—and sometimes, when I work late to organize the different stations around the office, she checks on me before she leaves.
She pops into reception around two, and asks, “Want to grab a coffee downstairs?”
Pointing at the headset on my head, I reply, “I’m not sure I can leave.”
Laurie comes in behind her and punches the elevator button. “Ready to go?” She’s looking at me. This is different and exciting to leave the office. “Send it to the service,” she adds. “We’ll only be gone fifteen minutes.”
Remembering my calculations from before, fifteen is usually forty-five, but who’s counting. I’ve been invited to join the cool kids for coffee. I grab my purse and send the calls to the answering service. “Ready.”
We score an elevator ride by ourselves. Only a few seconds tick by before I’m rethinking my decision to come along. Mary asks, “How are you doing, Juni?”
“I’m good. I’m fine .”
She laughs with a kind smile. “Andrew always says that.”
I hate that my own smile falls from the mere mention of him, but my heart currently feels a little battered. “It’s cliché.”
Laurie nods, not like she’s judging my word choice, but more sympathetic to my plight. What that plight is exactly, I’m not sure. In the softest voice, she says, “It’s not against company policy.”
And this was clearly an opportunity taken advantage of. Why did I choose to stand in the middle of them?
I eye the open doors button wondering how far I’d be willing to plummet to avoid this conversation. The elevator is on ten. That’s death level. I’m probably wanting more broken leg or mild concussion outcomes from the second or third floors. “You don’t have to whisper,” I say, not whispering at all. “It was a terribly kept secret. Everyone knew?—”
“I didn’t,” replies Laurie. “I actually don’t think many people did know until that weasel Justin tried to get fifteen minutes of fame by leaking it to the press.”
Deciding it’s best if I don’t try to escape, I’m resolved to the fact that I’m currently the hot story for office gossip. I’ve been down this road before with my parents. It will pass in time when something else more exciting or tragic happens.
The doors open, and we stand in a line that weaves a fair distance through the lobby. That means more time to talk about me and Drew. Yay! Not . . .
Rocking back on my heels, I point out the art I’d never seen in the lobby before. I’m usually rushing to get to the car. I miss the car rides with him. We gave up dropping me off, and now I just ran like the wind and ducked in the back. Pent-up sexual tension soon fogged the windows, and steamy make-out sessions behind the privacy glass became a regular thing.
I can afford a private car to drive me places, but it wasn’t the car that was fun. It was the man.
The man.
The man.
. . . The man.
I’m not sure what’s coming over me. I haven’t cried once this week. There’s pride found in controlling your emotions. But my heart starts racing, and my eyes are burning. “I have to get him out of my system.”
Mary gives my hand a squeeze. “It’s only been a week.”
“A week of hell.” My hand trembles, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Oh no, not here. “I need to go.” I rush back to the bank of elevators and hop on one that was just about to close.
As soon as I’m deposited back in CWM, I rush to the office, the one I won’t name. I open the door and am hit with his scent again. Pain sinks as I go to get the ivy. I’m not leaving it here any longer.
I only make it to the doorway before I see Mary staring at me. I take control of my emotions again, cuddle the plant to my stomach, and raise my chin. “I’m taking it with me.”
She nods.
And just when I’m about to pass her desk, she says, “If you ever need anyone to talk to, it will stay between us.”
My lip wobbles, but I nod, taking my broken heart and the plant to my desk.
I finally found the perfect spot for the ivy on the table in the waiting area. At least until I take it home later. “Hi, Juni, how’s it going?” Nick asks.
Gesturing to the microphone on the headset I’m wearing, I mouth, “Sorry. Got a call.”
Leaning over the counter, he points at the phone on the desk. “No lights.”
“Dammit.”
He rests his arms on the counter like he’s going to stay a while. “Nice try. Are you avoiding me?”
Am I avoiding him and every other human with the last name of Christiansen? It’s probably a safe bet, but he’s still one of the company owners, which makes it hard to figure out how to play this hand. Mental gymnastics are rough when your heart is yelling louder. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Yes.”
He smiles, earning the Christiansen name. I blame Cookie for her sons’ good looks. Of course, I haven’t met Corbin yet. Yet? Probably never. Definitely never. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m good. I’m fine.”
He’s staring at me, and when I realize why, I snap, “Drew doesn’t own that phrase. Anyone can use it.”
Maybe it’s my bite on the last comment, but he takes a step back. “Absolutely, use away.” He taps the counter, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him nervous. “He didn’t go willingly.”
“He still went.” I stand, disconnecting my headset, ready to finish my coffee in the break room.
“One of us had to. Natalie’s job is here?—”
“I appreciate the effort, Nick, but there was no compromise or talk of a long-distance relationship.” I swallow hard, the pain of him leaving me still stuck in my throat. “He told me what he was doing, and then he left.”
“I heard a different version. I’m not here to defend my brother, but?—”
“But you’re here to defend him?”
“Pretty much. He likes you, Juni, and I know he can be a real grumpy asshole. But you know he’s all heart on the inside. He’d do anything for his family and friends. I know he’d do anything he can if you asked him.”
“Except stay.”
Straightening upright, he looks down with a laugh, but it lacks its usual joyous sound. “I know you’re hurt and mad, but I’m asking you to hold off judgment until you two can talk things through.”
I’m getting it from all sides today, it seems. “We’re not communicating at all. That’s how breakups work.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It is, but that’s reality.”
Shifting toward the door, he says, “Interesting. Andrew was always the realist. I pegged you for more the dreamer.”
“As fun as this banter is, you’ve delivered your message, and I need to get back to work.”
He chuckles. “You sound like my brother.”
“Apparently, we have more in common than we realized.”
“You do, did .” He stumbles through the right word to choose. “I’m just gonna go before I screw this up even more.” He leaves.
And I don’t know why I do it, but I hop up and run to the door. “Nick?”
Turning back, he looks at me. I say, “Thank you,” and receive just a nod, but it’s enough.
The last few hours of work are uneventful. Thank goodness. And when it’s time to go, I take the ivy with me and ride the subway.
If I were wearing my Louboutins, like I did for Drew, I wouldn’t dare take the subway, but my flats are fine on a train. I haven’t worn my heels all week. Originally, Mr. Fancypants inspired me to step up my work attire. When I saw how he reacted, I thought it would be fun to tease him. Looking down, I stare at the ivy in my hands, stroking the leaves and keeping it protected from others. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you now.”
When I reach my block, the door is opened before I reach the awning. It’s Mike’s night. He’s fine, but he’s no Gil.
I could really use a strawberry donut right now . . . and some of Gil’s great advice. If I texted or called him, he’d be here, but it’s his day off, and I need to give him a break. I’ll just have to wait to see him tomorrow.
Comfy clothes are my sole mission as I hurry upstairs. I shouldn’t, but just to torture myself a little more, I pull on a pair of his sweatpants, tightening the strings at the waist so they don’t hang low on my hips, and tug my NYU sweatshirt over my head.
Twisting my hair into a knot on my head, I pad back into the kitchen to see what I can find to eat. It’s not from lack of food, though. I started the week fully stocked. But for the fifth night in a row, I look in my pantry and fridge, and nothing inspires me. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve lost my motivation. Did Drew take my joy of cooking with him too?
I check my phone, a bad habit I’ve picked up, but there’s nothing new. No messages. No calls. So I set it back down on the counter. It’s been hard not to text Drew when we used to have so much contact, to tell him about my day, to spend the night in bed together.
I’m still so confused. There were no other offers. Every decision he made was based on the business. What about me? I thought we were closer since we had just talked about moving in together. What a mistake that would have been. Bullet dodged.
Why wouldn’t he even offer to split his time between the two cities? Am I supposed to pack my bags and leave indefinitely? I would have. If he’d asked again.
Although, for me to leave, I’d need to find a replacement, and that’s not that easy. I could have contacted the temp agency to help find the proper fit.
I have a good reputation with them, and companies request me on a regular basis. CWM has put me out of commission for a minimum of eight weeks, and it sounds like Melissa was taking the extra two Drew gave her.
If there had been an offer from him to travel along, would I now be seen as a flake? It doesn’t matter. If he would have asked me to go with him, I would have found a replacement. If he’d wanted me by his side, maybe there could have been a temp job in the Seattle office. Doesn’t matter if I was working or not. I would have gone. I hate that I wasn’t a thought—personally or professionally. I hate that I didn’t get the choice at all.
But did Drew? As CEO?
My grandmother told me never to drink to comfort your emotions. I pour a glass of wine anyway. I’m angry, sad, frustrated . . . lonely. I drink half of it fairly fast and then pull up Drew’s text chat.
A few sips more and the tears begin to fall. Seeing the photos we took and the memes we shared, the inside jokes we had, and the flirtations exchanged. Every emotion I restrained for the past week surfaces all at once.
It doesn’t matter what I feel. It all comes back to him and the choice he made.
Am I looking at this all wrong? Did he leave because he didn’t have a choice? Logically, that makes sense. He runs the company, and that branch needed his attention. But that doesn’t help my heart. I trusted Drew and let him in to my tightly controlled world, proving Gil was wrong. It wasn’t good to open my heart. It fucking hurts.
Why didn’t Drew just leave me alone?
With wine clouding my rational thoughts, I get angry, remembering it was me pushing to be friends. Friends. Fucking friends. Nothing more has ever worked out for me, and I just proved it again. But the anger doesn’t fill the hole in my chest.
Only he can.
Looking at the screen again, I type: I miss you.
But I don’t send it. I’m confused. Why’d I type that? The lights are dim in here. Maybe I’m seeing it wrong. I click on the lamp, and yep, I typed that. Thank God I didn’t send because Drew hurt me, and even worse, he continues to. I reach to delete, not willing to give Andrew Christiansen the satisfaction that I contacted him first.
I’m about to delete, but when I’m startled by a knock on the door, I accidentally hit send. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
What have I done?