Chapter 16
THERE’S A GENTLE knock at my hotel door. Hannah? Are you there?
I’m sitting in the love seat by the window and for the past two hours, I’ve been going over and over every possible scenario for how a love affair with Val could play out.
Every single one brought me to the same conclusion: I need to end this.
A fling with a life expectancy of a few months at best just isn’t worth putting my entire career on the line.
I slowly rise up from my seat and make my way to the door.
His bright eyes are beaming at me. He’s wearing yet another suit that hugs his body just right in all the right places. The same body I’m now all too familiar with in its unclothed state.
Dammit.
I’m almost tempted to abandon everything I just decided. Almost. I swallow.
Do you want to go out for a bite? Henry recommended a place in Westminster. He says their Irish stew is delicious. He lets a hopeful gaze glide over my outfit. You might want to change, though. I don’t think pyjama pants will pass the dress code.
For just a moment, I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh.
The problem is, I would love to go with him.
I want to sit across from him and tell him about my day.
I want to tell him what Ronald said to me.
And most of all, I want to spend time with him.
I figure it’s kind of like going on a diet: if you want the results—an unsullied career in this case—you need to say no to all the delicious stuff—meaning Val in this scenario. No matter how hard that might be.
Hannah? he asks when I still haven't responded. He gives me a concerned look and frowns. What's wrong?
I bite my lip, looking every which way except directly into his eyes.
I, uh . . . I don’t feel so great right now. I’m not lying, technically. I really don’t feel great at all.
His worried eyes dart across my face. Oh shit, I’m sorry.
Maybe they do takeout? We can just have a movie night in instead, he says with an accommodating smile.
You get to pick the movie, obviously, he adds, recognizing the doubt written on my face.
As if that would make a difference. Let’s not make it a habit, though.
I’m not sure how much Bridget Jones and Notting Hill I can handle.
My tolerance for Hugh Grant is limited, I’m afraid.
I’d appreciate a bit of Die Hard and James Bond now and again.
It sounds so tempting: hanging out in the love seat with Val, eating pizza, likely missing the better part of the movie . . . I shake my head in an attempt to clear that vision from my mind, then give him an apologetic look.
I, uh . . . I’d like to just be alone tonight, I finally reply.
You bitch. Why can’t I just give it to him straight? Rip off the bandaid.
The furrow on his brow deepens and his cheerful expression makes way for uncertainty. I notice his jaw tighten as the hand he was using to lean against the door frame falls down to his side.
Hannah? What’s going on? he asks.
I drop my gaze and stare at the fluffy bunny slippers on my feet. I’m just not feeling very well, I finally respond.
Looking up, I find his eyes narrowed, a look of suspicion on his face. He obviously doesn’t believe me. Even so, he seems to accept my word for it with a nod.
Okay. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.
Before I can stop him, he presses a quick kiss to my lips and leaves. As soon as I hear his door close, I squeeze my eyes shut.
The following morning, I sneak out of the hotel without Val. It’s become our habit to walk to the office together in the mornings, so when he arrives one minute late to find a boardroom full of people waiting for him, he shoots me an insulted look.
I lower my gaze, link my laptop to the projector, and launch the PowerPoint presentation I prepared for today’s meeting. While Val goes through the slides, adding context to each of them, I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
When it’s time to break for lunch, everyone rushes to be first in line for the tastiest options in the cafeteria. Val slams the door shut as soon as Henry is out.
I look up, startled. We’re the last two people in the conference room and the look on his face does not bode well for this conversation. He walks over to me, slowly, his dress shoes clacking on the laminate floors.
You left without me this morning, he states flatly.
Averting my eyes again, I stare resolutely at my laptop screen instead.
That’s right . . . I wanted to put some finishing touches on the PowerPoint, I lie—I finished the presentation two days ago.
I let my gaze shift around the room, looking for something, anything in my field of vision that isn’t Val. The reprieve doesn’t last long.
He slams a hand down on the table so hard that my teacup nearly tumbles off its saucer. Shocked, I stare at his hand before looking up at his face. His nostrils are flared and there’s anger in his eyes.
Thank you for summoning the decency to look me in the eye, he says in a sarcastic tone as he stands up straight again. What on earth is going on with you, Hannah?
I blink a few times. I know he’s right. I’m acting like a child.
What happened between us only lasted for a weekend.
Why is it so hard, then, to just tell him that I want us to go back to the way things were before?
I heave a deep sigh, close my laptop, and stand, so I can look him straight in the eye.
There’s a mixture of anger, doubt, and slight panic in his eyes, and I hate myself for doing this to him.
I want to keep our relationship professional, I finally reply.
For a quiet moment, Val seems to be processing that information. A storm of emotions rolls over his face before he gives me an incredulous look. Why? he eventually manages to utter. Did I do something wrong? Something you didn’t want?
My heart is beating in my throat when I realize what my words are doing to him and I give him a pained look. No, not at all. Everything that happened this weekend, happened with my full consent.
He looks bewildered. But, why then?
I pull in a huge breath and gaze at him with sadness.
I’m only in the early days of my career.
I really want to keep growing professionally, keep developing and learning new things.
Whenever I reach new milestones, I never want people to wonder whether I got there on my own merits, or because I’m sleeping with my boss.
He blinks a few times as hurt appears on his face. No one would ever think that, he protests, shaking his head incredulously. Anyone can see your qualities plain as day. If they were to think anything at all, it would be tha—
Except I don’t want to wonder either, I say, cutting him off.
It’s easy to say you’ll stay neutral through it all, but how objective could you really be if we were in a personal relationship alongside our professional one?
I want to get promoted because I deserve it, not because you know what I look like naked.
I track the shift of emotions on Val’s face one step at a time: over the course of a few seconds, he goes from confused and wounded all the way to a mixture of anger and offense.
Alright, he finally says. If you honestly think so little of me and of yourself that you’d believe any promotion would be directly linked to the fact that I’ve seen you without clothes on, it really does seem for the best to keep our relationship strictly business.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he scrambles his papers together and tucks them in his briefcase. And then he strides out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.
I watch him through the glass wall as he stalks away, clearly shaken. My eyes go damp with tears as I sink back into my chair.