Chapter 17 #3
“It should be,” Joel cries, then turns to me. “We should keep her, boss. She’s already more useful than half the team.”
This guy has never irritated me as much as he's doing right now. I look at him and then at her. The right thing to do would be to make a joke. To say, “Sure, maybe.” Or “We'll see.”
To say something normal and calm. But I’m in no mood for normal and calm.
“Elizabeth is here on a short-term contract, only. She’s not joining the team.”
The table goes quiet for a few painful seconds and I know I’ve fucked up. I've let my emotions get the better of me. From my periphery, Elizabeth looks down at her lap, before taking a sip of her drink.
“I'm only here for the audit,” Elizabeth says quietly.
More awkward silence follows, until Joel raises his hands slightly. “I was just saying we like her.”
“I’m sure Elizabeth doesn’t need a job offer from you. She has her own company,” I remind him.
My voice is cold and devoid of emotion. I catch Elizabeth looking at me. It's not anger or hurt I see on her face, just a detachment, like she's put up a shield between us, and nothing I say can hurt her.
Joel shrugs, looking confused. “I was trying to be friendly, that’s all. Make conversation.”
“And she was being polite,” I retort.
Elizabeth sets her beer bottle down a little too carefully. “I can speak for myself, Matteo.”
I hear the annoyance in her voice. She's pissed. “I’m sure you can.”
The table turns silent again, and the programmers excuse themselves and leave. Sonny raises his glass and turns to me. “Thanks.”
I nod. “You're welcome, and congrats, again.”
Alex clears his throat. “Before this turns into a tech department civil war, can we remember this is about Sonny? The guy’s getting married, and that's why we're here.”
Everyone laughs again, and the tension oozes away. But not for me. I've made a fool of myself. Elizabeth looks somber. Nothing like the woman I saw when I walked in.
I've fucking messed up.
She checks her phone, and stands up. “I’m going to head off now.”
“Already?” Joel looks and sounds disappointed. The pathetic wimp.
“See you all tomorrow.” She picks up her bag, says goodbye to everyone, but when her eyes meet mine, she hesitates. “Goodnight.” It's brief and cold and exactly what I deserve.
“Goodnight.” I consider telling her to get an Uber on the company, but I've already done enough damage. She walks out before I can overthink it. Before I can decide to even apologize.
It doesn’t matter that the conversation’s still going on behind me, or that someone laughs at something Sonny says.
I’m already up.
“What was that all about?” Alex asks quietly.
I don’t answer him. I just drain the rest of my beer and slam it down harder than I meant to. “Back in a minute.”
I walk out, hoping I catch her in time. It’s colder than it should be.
The noise of the bar drops away the second the door shuts behind me.
I’m immediately hit by the noise of traffic.
I see her immediately. She’s standing near the curb under a streetlight, with her her bag slung over her shoulder, her attention fixed on her phone.
Waiting, all alone.
Something in my chest pinches at the sight of her like this.
I stride over to her without thinking too hard about it. She looks up when she hears my footsteps, her gaze colliding with mine, sharp enough to stop me in my tracks.
I stop a few feet away first.
Give her space.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I just wanted to make sure you get home safe.”
She blinks, caught off guard. “I’m quite capable of getting an Uber,” she says automatically.
“I know.” I glance down the street once, then back at her. “I’m staying until it arrives.”
Her mouth twitches, and I wait for the rebuke, but it doesn't come.
She looks back at her phone, ignoring me. I'm okay with it. I don't need to have a conversation. I just need to know that she's okay.
We stand in silence as cars pass, and light shifts across the pavement.
Close enough that I can see the loose strands of hair she keeps tucking behind her ear. Close enough that it would be easy to close the distance between us.
But I manage to restrain myself.
“You don’t have to keep watch over me,” she says eventually, not looking up.
“I know.”
“I’m not fragile,” she insists, her voice firm but dropping lower.
I exhale once through my nose. Almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t say you were.” I know she's tough. I have a sense of what she's gone through in her life, a tiny sense, but enough to tell me she's not a delicate flower. I admire her and still want to protect her, despite what she says.
She lifts her face, and looks at me again. The silence between us feels precariously thin and fragile. Neither of us moves.
Her Uber pulls up, and I step forward and open the door for her instinctively. She narrows her eyes at me, but her expression suddenly softens, and then she gets in. My heart sinks, because I was so sure she was going to say something.
Before she closes the door, she looks at me again, and I realize I still haven’t moved away.