Chapter 4
Chapter Four
SAbrINA
Y our first response is to say no, and you’re angry? Like what the hell, man? No to what? To just seeing me? I’m the one hurt here, not you, so this no doesn’t make sense.
I smiled, showing him his words hadn’t bothered me. When I’d told Morgan I didn’t recognize this guy, I’d been right. Whoever this guy was, he was not a happy person.
I pointed at his face and made small circles with my finger. “What happened there?” He didn’t need to know I knew.
“I was shot and had to apprehend the suspect single-handedly. He didn’t go willingly.” He pressed his lips together and gave me a quick scan.
Then he pointed to me, then pointed to the door—the universal sign for get out. I considered showing him a universal sign I knew.
Another guy, one with wire-rimmed glasses and a day’s worth of facial hair, came in behind him. “She’s our matchmaker. She’s here to help. Cal, this is?—”
“I know who she is, and she needs to leave.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. By the bulk they made, I knew they were fisted. “Sabrina, you can’t be here,” he said curtly.
That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I’d wanted him to be more shocked. Or surprised. Or embarrassed. Instead, he was angry.
Well, guess what, bucko? I’m angry too. I narrowed my eyes.
He stepped back to the door and yelled down the hallway. “Citra, get Michael to take Ms. Holloway back to… wherever it was that he picked her up from, and make sure she isn’t seen.”
Make sure she isn’t seen? What the actual…? There was so much to unpack that I didn’t even know where to start.
Cal looked back at me. “You’re leaving, and you’re leaving now.”
Just one stinking minute, buddy. This was supposed to be my moment. I was in charge of when I left, and I hadn’t gotten what I’d come for. Plus, I was being paid to be here.
I was about to tell him so when the glasses guy ushered Cal out of the room and slammed the door behind them. I glared at the door. He hadn’t seen me in ten years, and he couldn’t even muster a civil response to my presence. He jilted me. What right does he have to be angry?
I fumed, my mind racing with the many ways I could murder him. Morgan Barker had said he wasn’t easy to get along with, so maybe his staff wouldn’t care if I took him out. But not before I gave him a piece of my mind.
The odds of getting that chance looked slim, the odds of getting paid even slimmer. Shoot. Now I was disappointed.
Cal was nothing if not stubborn. That clearly hadn’t changed over time. He was not going to let me keep this job.
I pushed off the desk and went to grab my purse. I was a step away when I turned back to his desk, a lovely old heavy mahogany piece with a glass top. It had been put there to protect the wood surface, but I knew the glass had another purpose.
There was really one thing left for me to do before I was whisked away. I wanted this job more than I wanted closure. From my purse, I retrieved an erasable white liquid chalk marker. I uncapped the tip as I moved to stand behind the desk, pushing his office chair out of the way.
Then, on his desk, I wrote the reasons he should keep me for the job. I listed three things I’d observed about him, none of them flattering. Each would be a hindrance to building customer trust.
Because I knew it would challenge him, I wrote, You can behave one of two ways. Your choice. I drew a picture of a donkey with an arrow from the words, and then I drew a rocket for the launch with money signs and stars all around it. I finished it with an arrow to the words.
Outside the door, the men whispered in heated tones. The doorknob jiggled as if someone had placed their hand on it to open but hesitated—a cue that my time was up. I recapped my marker as I moved away from the desk. As the door opened, I dropped onto the couch, stuffing the marker in my pocket.
The glasses guy entered first and smiled at me. Cal stalked in behind him and, without making eye contact, went to his desk. I watched his every step.
He grabbed the back of his office chair to pull it up to the desk and met my gaze, his expression devoid of emotion. “You need to go.” He was like a broken record.
The glasses guy sighed. “Cal, we need her, and we just agreed out there that you would shut up and let me do the talking, remember?”
I grinned.
Cal plopped into his chair and mumbled. “You agreed. I said nothing.”
My anger ignited like a quickly lit flare. He was knee-deep in trying to save a part of his business but would rather act like this than ask for or accept my help. The nerve. I made sure my smile never wavered.
The glasses guy stared at Cal. “Are you done?”
Cal waved a dismissive hand.
“Good.” He stepped up to me, blocking my view of Cal, and offered his hand. “I apologize. I’m Paul Runyon. I’m the PR exec for Optium. Please don’t stand,” he said as I moved to get up.
I sank back into the couch but took his hand. “Paul Runyon? Did your parents do that on purpose?” A name like that meant he had to have a good sense of humor.
“Yep.”
“Do you still speak to them?”
He looked like a straight-laced guy, but the deep laugh lines around his eyes told me a different story. “They’re schoolteachers. They thought it was clever. And having a name like Paul Runyon gave me lots of early practice with handling PR.”
I chuckled. “I suppose it would. Sabrina Holloway. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Did you write on my desk?” Cal barked from behind Paul.
Paul turned toward Cal, and I once again had a view of him. He was tapping the picture of the donkey.
“I am not a…” His finger slid down to the corner of his desk.
“I didn’t say you were. I said you had a choice to be one or the other. It’s your call.”
His cheeks turned pink. Not going to lie, I found that rewarding.
Paul wandered over to the desk and started to read. He covered his mouth as he tried to disguise a laugh with a cough. “She’s got you there.” He tapped the desk.
Cal looked straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. “I am not standoffish.”
“We all tell ourselves lies, Calvin.” I stood and picked up my purse. “Like, I told myself that maybe we could help each other out. But this isn’t going to work.” I focused my attention on Paul. “I can’t help soften someone’s image when there is nothing soft about them.” Then I threw in a zinger for funsies. “Never mind trying to find potential compatible matches.” I moved to the coat-tree to get my jacket.
Cal shot up from his chair. “You’re honestly here to help me date?” He turned to Paul. “You all hired her to match me?”
“Isn’t that what you need a love expert for?” I shrugged.
Paul said, “You know you have to try the app, and if something more were to come of it, then what’s wrong with that?” He shrugged.
I looked at Paul but pointed to Cal. “I’m very good at what I do, but that? I’m not that good. Meeting people and getting to know them is hard. Relaxing around them takes time and willingness.” I shifted my attention to Cal. “Relaxing, for you, is unobtainable.” So long as you have that stick shoved up your ass. “Admit it. You don’t relax often.”
We glared at each other. There was nothing in Cal’s look to indicate we had a past, much less one that could have resulted in a happily ever after. It was hard to believe that the shell of the man before me had been my great love. And how was I supposed to work two weeks with him when we couldn’t do two minutes? My money goal burst in front of me and was whisked away in the wind. I had to get out of there before my facade cracked.