10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Walking onto the lot, thoughts weigh heavy on my mind, waiting to be acknowledged. Everyone I pass seems to be thinking the same thing as they throw me looks. I try to ignore it all and focus on getting through the day, but fate seems determined not to let me.
Entering the wardrobe room, I find Errol sitting in my chair with his ankles crossed. His eyes are unfocused as he stares off into space, giving me a minute to study him. With his hands knitted together in perfect unison with his eyebrows, that full mouth of his is tilted downward, his square jaw flexing with the tension he’s holding on to. His locs are free, framing his neck and falling on to shoulders that are rigid and stiff. Sitting solemnly still with a heavy unease, he looks as bothered as me.
I expect to feel resentment when I look at him. Instead, pure exhaustion flows through my body as I get ready for a continuation of that night.
Clearing my throat to get his attention, I come in all the way and close the door behind me. As his eyes raise to meet mine, I look for the anger that was there just a few days ago. I don’t know what to do when I’m met with nothing but sorrow.
“Can we talk?” he asks, pointing to the chair across from him. He waits patiently while I move to sit. Not quite smiling, his expression eases into one of calm while he looks me over.
“If this is about the other night—”
“It is,” he cuts me off. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine against the chair, I put on my armor of a steely expression and gesture for him to continue.
“I have to apologize to you.”
His words knock the grimace off my face. Unsure of the sincerity, I wait for the other shoe to drop.
“The way I handled that whole situation was out of line and hostile. I shouldn’t have ever said what I said to you, and I’m truly sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I ask, seeing if he is going to take it back.
“I’m very sorry. More than I can possibly express in words alone, which is why I brought you this.” Leaning down, he pulls up a box that I didn’t notice until now.
Reaching across the space to take it from him, I flip it over to read the label.
It’s Dior, and based on the shape of the box, it’s either shoes or a really nice purse. I open it and see it’s the latter. A small handheld with pink knitted leather and gold accents. Dangling from one of the strap hoops are my initials. It’s exactly something I would choose for myself, only adding to the thoughtfulness of it. The expensive gift warms my cold indifference enough that I open up to hear him out.
“Thank you.” I put it down next to me, my hands reluctantly letting it go.
“I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually like this, but you—” He stops, rubbing his hands up and down his face.
“I what?”
“You didn’t deserve that.” I have a sinking feeling that’s not what he was going to say, but I let it go, not willing to reignite our beef by hearing what I do to him.
“About the script—” he starts.
“I didn’t make the change.” Determined to clear my name, my voice is surer than it was that night.
“I know.” He leans forward until his forearms are resting on his knees. “But even if you did, that is not the way to address it. I am really, really sorry Farrah.” He puts emphasis on each really , as his eyes widen with Disney-character innocence. Waiting for me to do what I want with the words, he lays his palms open as if offering the apology on a platter.
With the fury no longer burning in my gut, it’s easy to look at the evening through clearer eyes. While he was wrong, Mira also misled him, leaving us in an awkward position.
“Okay.” I exhale the last of my fight. “It’s fine.”
His dimples make an appearance.
“Just fine?”
I nod my head, looking up through my lashes.
“It will take a little time for me to forgive you, but I can forgive you for this.” The gift definitely helps.
He smiles wider and stands, his arms opening up. For a minute, I think he is looking for a hug, before he stretches a little more and brings them down to his sides.
“I hope this can be a new beginning for us,” he says.
Can it? Are we capable of starting over? While we have come to terms about that night, we have weeks of bickering still painted over our opinions of each other. How do we wipe that clean?
“Can I ask you a question?” I stand too, not liking the feeling of him hovering over me.
“Sure.” Stepping closer, he looks into my eyes, his face open.
“Why were you so rude that first day? I get why we fought so much after that, but I didn’t do anything to you at first.”
If we are going to have a new beginning, then I need to know what went so wrong with our first one.
His lips purse like the taste of my word’s don’t sit well on his tongue. When I start to think he won’t answer, he levels me with a look full of resignation.
“I was really nervous that day, and in a bad mood. I had just found out that I got passed over for another director on a project I helped write. I think I was looking to pick a fight with the first person I saw, and that happened to be you.”
“So it wasn’t personal?”
“Not entirely, but there was also a part of me that was jealous.”
My eyes widen as my mouth falls open.
“Why?”
He shrugs like he is unwilling to share, before releasing a heavy sigh.
“Standing alone in a coffee room, you still had such a presence about you. It was clear that you were worth noticing, and I wasn’t sure if I was. In a few minutes, I was expected to step in front of everyone and instill faith in them, and I didn’t know if I could do it.”
His raw and honest answer is more than I expected I would get. I respect the fact that he is laying his insecurity out there for me to examine.
I nod, accepting that he is as flawed as he is beautiful.
“I’m sorry, though. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, and then continued the back-and-forth after I didn’t get the reaction I wanted. I was really shitty to you, and I let my own ego and pride stop me from apologizing before now.”
He looks like he means it, and I’m grateful for finally getting a full explanation. Truthfully, I owe him one as well, but I hope mine will suffice since I’m the worst at admitting when I’m wrong.
“I’m sorry, too. I have been going through something these past few months, and I let the emotions from that fuel me on. You may have started it, but I had no problem continuing.”
He seems satisfied enough, giving me his wide smile.
“So are we good?” he asks.
“Yes, we can start over.”
Today will be a new beginning, and we’ll move on.
“In that case, it’s nice to meet you, Farrah Darby.” He offers me his hand.
I grab hold and give it a firm shake.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Errol Davis.”
This may be silly, but it seems right. We hold hands longer than we should, and the warmth of his palm heats my skin. I feel flushed by the time we pull away.
“Um, the receipt is in there if you don’t like the bag.” His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.
“No, you did good. I love it.”
“Okay, great.” Rocking back and forth on his heels, he looks around the room for a moment before glancing at the ground. For once, we are at a loss for words in each others’ presence. “Well, I should get going.”
“Okay.” I step out of his way, and try my hardest not to look at his ass as he walks by. I fail, and for the first time admire it without any conflicting feelings.
When he is gone, I take a big breath in and out and prepare for the next hard conversation I need to have. When Mira arrives, we’ll finally talk about the fact that she has continuously blamed me for her actions. With her being the one in charge, I don’t know if there is going to be any resolution, but hopefully, as my friend, I will at least get an apology.
I get to work on my tasks for the day, trying to stay busy until she shows up, but when a couple of hours pass, I text her for an ETA. She replies that she isn’t coming today, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s avoiding me. More relieved than upset, I leave this problem for another day. One where I’m not reeling from the sudden shift in another relationship.