Chapter 27 - Day 9 Not a Date #3
"I mean it this time."
She looked toward Adrian's office.
His door was open.
He was at his desk.
Working.
Of course.
Maya looked back at me.
"You're not going to be alone anyway."
"I know."
"Goodnight, Angel."
"Goodnight."
She left.
The office slowly emptied.
Ethan stopped on his way out.
He pointed at the mug.
"Don't break that."
I looked at him.
"Are you worried I'll destroy evidence of your imaginary title?"
"Exactly."
I put the mug back beside my monitor.
It could stay there.
At least until my last day.
"Happy?"
"Deeply."
"Go home."
"Goodnight, favorite coworker."
"Goodnight, self-appointed favorite coworker."
He laughed and left.
By five-thirty, the office was quiet.
I finished one item.
Then another.
At 5:47, I sent the last email and closed the file.
Done.
Finally.
I leaned back and looked around.
Empty desks.
Dark monitors.
The low hum of the air conditioning.
And one office still lit across the room.
Adrian's.
Of course.
He never left before me.
I wasn't even sure whether that was intentional anymore.
Maybe it had become another one of those things neither of us acknowledged.
Coffee waiting in the morning.
His office light still on when I stayed late.
I looked at the clock.
5:48.
Five days.
There it was.
No more six including today.
Just five.
Five mornings of coffee.
Five days of arguments.
Five days of Ms. Stone.
Maybe fewer Angelicas.
Then I would walk out of Vale Architecture for the last time.
I shut down my computer.
Put my bag over my shoulder.
And stood.
Across the office, Adrian's light was still on.
My car did not start.
I stared at the dashboard.
"No."
I pressed the brake and pushed the start button again.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing.
The dashboard lit up.
The engine simply had no interest in participating.
I tried again.
"No, no, no."
My Mustang remained unimpressed.
I sat back.
This was fine.
Cars did things.
Sometimes stupid things.
I waited a few seconds and tried again.
Nothing.
I looked through the windshield at the nearly empty parking garage.
Great.
Exactly how I wanted to end Thursday.
I tried again.
And again.
Then I got out, stared at the car as though that might intimidate it into functioning, got back in, and tried one more time.
Still nothing.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twelve.
By fifteen, I was considering whether insulting a vehicle could constitute mechanical repair.
Footsteps sounded somewhere behind me.
I looked in the side mirror.
Adrian.
Of course.
He was walking toward his deep-blue Tesla, jacket nowhere in sight, burgundy sleeves still rolled neatly against his forearms.
Then he saw me.
He stopped.
His eyes moved from me to the Mustang.
Then back to me.
He changed direction immediately.
I lowered the window.
"What happened?"
"This is not starting."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"Why didn't you call me earlier?"
"I knew you'd be here in a few minutes."
He stared at me.
"How did you know? I might have a lot of work. I might not come down for another hour. Would you wait for me for another hour then?"
"No, you wouldn't."
His expression changed.
I continued.
"You always leave right after me."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Oh.
There it was.
That was a piece of information he had never wanted me to know.
But I knew it anyway.
I had known for a while.
His jaw shifted.
He looked at the car instead of me.
"If something like this happens again, never wait for me. Call me first and let me know."
I stared at him.
"Okay, Your Honor."
His eyes returned to mine.
"Come out and let me see what happened."
There it was again.
The tone.
The one that apparently expected the entire world to rearrange itself because Adrian Vale had spoken.
I unbuckled my seat belt.
"You know, in four days you won't be my boss anymore."
His jaw tightened.
"Yes. I know."
"Then why are you still being bossy? Can't you be a little nicer?"
"Because I'm still your boss. For four more days."
I opened the door.
"Will you be nice to me after I leave?"
Adrian went completely silent.
I looked up at him.
Nothing.
Not one word.
I stepped out of the driver's seat.
He ignored that.
Adrian got into my car.
I stood beside the open door while he pressed the brake and tried the ignition.
Nothing.
He waited.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
His expression darkened as if my Mustang had personally offended him.
I folded my arms.
"See?"
He looked at the dashboard.
Tried once more.
Nothing.
Then he got out.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"I'll drop you home."
I looked at my car.
"What about this?"
"I'll have it towed tomorrow."
I looked back at him.
"You'll have it towed?"
"Yes."
"Bossy."
"Angelica."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
He started walking.
Apparently that conversation was over.
I followed him.
His Tesla was parked several spaces away.
Deep blue.
Clean.
Immaculate.
Obviously.
I had seen it countless times.
I'd watched him arrive in it.
Watched him leave in it.
But I'd never actually been inside it.
Saturday had been the Corvette.
Sunday had been the Corvette.
This was different.
This was the car Adrian drove every day.
The car that belonged to the version of him I knew first.
He unlocked it.
I stopped beside the passenger door.
Adrian looked across the roof at me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
I opened the door.
Adrian was driving.
I sat in the passenger seat, watching Miami slide past the window.
The Tesla was exactly what I expected.
Clean.
Quiet.
Immaculate.
There was absolutely nothing unnecessary inside it.
No wrappers.
No random receipts.
No sunglasses abandoned in a cup holder.
Nothing that suggested a human being actually used the car.
Basically Adrian Vale in vehicle form.
I looked at him.
Both hands on the wheel.
Eyes on the road.
Deep burgundy sleeves against the black interior.
"Adrian."
"What?"
"Have you had dinner yet?"
"No."
A beat.
"Why?"
"Because I'm very hungry."
His eyes stayed on the road.
"If you're not getting late, can we stop by Chick-fil-A or Taco Bell on the way?"
He was quiet for a second.
"Okay."
That was surprisingly easy.
Ten minutes later, Adrian drove straight past a Taco Bell.
I turned my head and watched it disappear behind us.
"Adrian."
"What?"
"That was Taco Bell."
"I saw it."
"You didn't stop."
"No."
I stared at him.
"There is a Chick-fil-A a little farther."
"I know."
Apparently he had a plan.
Fine.
I leaned back.
Several minutes later, he turned.
I looked through the windshield.
Then at him.
Then back outside.
This was not Chick-fil-A.
This was not Taco Bell.
This was the kind of restaurant that had valet parking, enormous glass doors, and lighting specifically designed to make everyone entering look wealthier.
"Adrian."
He pulled up to the entrance.
"What?"
"What is this?"
"A restaurant."
"Thank you. I recognized the general concept."
He unbuckled his seat belt.
"I thought we were getting fast food."
"I changed my mind."
"You changed my dinner."
"I'm hungry."
I stared at him.
"You weren't hungry ten minutes ago."
"I am now."
Sure.
Absolutely.
Completely believable.
He got out.
I looked at the restaurant again.
I had asked for a chicken sandwich.
Somehow Adrian Vale had turned that into valet parking.
Of course he had.
I got out.
Twenty minutes later, I was staring at a menu that had approximately four things I could pronounce confidently and no prices I wanted to acknowledge.
Adrian looked completely unbothered.
Obviously.
The server came over.
I looked at the menu one last time.
"I'll have the steak with mashed potatoes and green beans."
The server nodded.
I closed my menu.
Simple.
Done.
Then Adrian started ordering.
Salmon.
Popcorn shrimp.
Onion rings.
Caesar salad.
Bread.
More sides.
Something involving vegetables I had already forgotten the name of.
Another appetizer.
Then-
"A chocolate milkshake."
I slowly turned my head toward him.
The server nodded.
"Anything else?"
Adrian looked at the menu.
I stared at him.
There were two of us.
Two.
Finally-
"No."
The server left.
I continued staring.
Adrian picked up his water.
"What?"
"There are two of us."
"I'm aware."
"I already ordered steak."
"Yes."
"With mashed potatoes."
"Yes."
"And green beans."
"Yes."
"And then you ordered salmon."
"Yes."
"And popcorn shrimp."
"Correct."
"And onion rings. And Caesar salad. And approximately half the remaining menu."
He took a sip of water.
"And why is there a milkshake?"
"I wanted one."
I stared at him.
Adrian Vale.
Black-coffee-no-sugar Adrian Vale.
Apparently wanted a chocolate milkshake.
"You're lying."
His eyes lifted to mine.
"About being hungry?"
"About approximately half this table."
His expression didn't change.
"Eat, Angelica."
"The food isn't here yet."
"Then wait."
I stared at him.
"You suddenly became extremely hungry."
"Yes."
"Right after I told you I was hungry."
"Yes."
"And completely coincidentally decided we needed enough food to survive a natural disaster."
"Yes."
I narrowed my eyes.
He took another sip of water.
Absolutely shameless.
"You know I would've been perfectly happy with Taco Bell."
"I know."
"Then why are we here?"
"Because I wanted proper food."
There it was.
I.
Not me.
Him.
Of course.
"You could've said that before driving past my tacos."
"You survived."
I pointed at him.
"There. You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Making me sound like you."
"You're responsible for your own vocabulary."
"That is deeply unfair."
"It usually is when you're wrong."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Still Adrian.
Definitely.
The food started arriving.
And kept arriving.
And kept arriving.
At one point, I genuinely wondered whether another table's order had accidentally been included.
It hadn't.