CHAPTER ELEVEN | Penn #2
It doesn’t matter if she’s even more beautiful than she was the day she left.
Or that every time I’m in the same room with her, I have to fight my instinct to be close to her, my body and brain at complete odds.
My brain knows she’s not my London anymore.
My body, on the other hand, seems hell-bent on never accepting that reality.
She’s always wielded a power over me. The only woman who could ever bring me to my knees. The only one who could stop me dead in my tracks with a look. Who could calm me with a touch. Who could turn my world upside down with nothing more than a word.
It’s like I’m being operated by strings that she controls and yet she seems entirely oblivious to this fact. I’m not sure which is more maddening—the fact that I still feel this way about her after all this time or the fact that she seems completely unfazed where I’m concerned.
I pass several of my crewmen on my way to my office. Many raise their donuts in thanks; others say the actual words. I nod in acknowledgment because what else can I do?
By the time I push my way inside the small building, I’m not sure if I’m ready to apologize for being so shitty to her about her being a couple minutes late, or rip into her for... well, for what I don’t know.
The first thing I see is at least a dozen white boxes piled on my desk.
Some open, some not. The second is London, who’s sitting at her desk, nose in her laptop, like she hasn’t even noticed I’ve entered the room.
Or at least, that’s what she’d like me to believe.
I don’t miss the slight hitch of her breath when she feels my eyes on her.
“What the hell is this?” My voice is rougher than I intended.
“What the hell is what?” She looks up, meeting my gaze.
I stare into those familiar blue eyes for a long beat, so long that I damn near almost lose my train of thought.
“That.” I point behind me toward my desk.
“Donuts,” she states flatly.
She has her hair in those damn pigtails again. Her brown waves twisted in tight braids that fall over her shoulders. Every time I see her hair like that, all I can think about is twisting one around my fist as I...
I don’t allow myself to finish the thought.
“I can see that they are donuts. But why are there donuts?”
“Does a person need a reason to bring donuts into work?” She purses her lips.
“When that person is you, yes.”
“Because I’m incapable of doing something nice for others?”
“Because you’ve done nothing but make my life a living hell since you got here. You didn’t do this out of the kindness of your heart.”
“I’ve done nothing but make your life a living hell?” She squares her shoulders the way she always does when she’s putting her walls up. “Perhaps you should look in the mirror.”
“You’re the one who came storming back into my life, not the other way around.”
“You think I had a choice. You think I want to be here? You think it’s easy for me to come in here every day and deal with your dirty looks and snide comments? You can’t even look at me most days!”
“I wonder why that is.”
“Oh, please. You’re just angry because I got out and you got stuck.”
“You got out, did you?” I force out a laugh to drive the nail deeper. “Is that why you’re sitting here?”
“I don’t remember you being such an asshole.” Unshed tears fill her eyes and while it damn near guts me to see, I can’t stop myself from digging the hole deeper.
“Guess that’s what happens when the person who was supposed to love you the most up and leaves you.”
“You know what, I take it back. You’ve always been an asshole. And a crybaby. Always wallowing in your own self-pity when things don’t go your way. Perhaps if you’d start acting like a man and not a little boy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
“So I’m the problem?” I say like it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“You think I am?” She stands so abruptly that the action sends her chair barreling backward into the wall. “All I did was buy donuts for your employees and you think that’s justification to come in here and talk to me like this?”
“You said they were from me. Why?”
“Because they are from you. I paid for them using the company account.” She gives me that look, the one she does when she’s digging her heels in and letting me know that I’m not going to win.
“You did what?”
“Your men deserve a nice treat every now and again.”
“And you thought buying things for my men, spending my company’s money, would accomplish what, exactly?”
“I thought it would boost morale.”
“Boost morale?” I say in disbelief, finally seeing this for what it is. She’s goading me. She’s trying to provoke me.
“Well, I certainly didn’t think it’d hurt.”
“Were you even thinking about the morale of my employees at all or were you thinking of ways you could piss me off? I’m going to say it’s the latter.”
“Why do you always assume the worst in people?”
“Because generally that’s how it pans out.”
“Are you about done crying over a few donuts? Because I have actual work to do.”
“You’re right, you do, and you can start by working off all the donuts you just bought without clearing it with me first. Because make no mistake, that money will be coming out of your next paycheck.”
“What next paycheck? I won’t be here long enough to earn one.” She tugs open the desk drawer and retrieves her purse. Without a word, she stomps around her desk, making a beeline toward the door. I manage to cut her off just before she reaches it.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Get out of my way, Penn.”
“No,” I state flatly.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” She grits her teeth. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“So you’re just giving up? I’m sensing a theme here. You gave up on us. Gave up on dance. It would make sense that you’d give up on this too. You never were one to hack it when things got too hard.”
Her entire expression shifts as she steps back, looking at me like I’ve just run over her dog with my truck... That is, if she had a dog.
“Is that what you think? That I gave up on dance? That I couldn’t cut it, so I quit?”
“Seems the most reasonable explanation.” I struggle to keep my feet planted, the urge to pull her into my arms and soothe away the pained look on her face almost more than I can bear.
“Shows how little you ever really knew me if that’s what you think. Now please move. I’d like to leave.”
“Your shift is far from over.”
“I don’t care. I quit.”
“Quitting when things get too tough... And here you just said that I didn’t know you and yet you’re proving me right at every turn.”
“You know what, you win. I’m a quitter. I’m a horrible person. I deserve every bit of anger you throw at me. I deserve all of this. Does that make you happy?”
“You lost the ability to make me happy when you walked away.”
“You want me to say it? Fine, I’ll say it.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I left.
I’m sorry that you didn’t have the balls to ask me to stay.
I’m sorry that you’ve spent seven years holding onto this anger and sadness like a crutch because you were too afraid to face the world without me holding your hand.
And I’m sorry that I ever thought you were man enough to be able to have a professional, mature relationship with me. I’m. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I ever loved you.”
“Great.”
“Good,” I fire back.
“Perfect.”
“Awesome.” Now I’m just being immature.
“If you’re about done, I’d like to leave now.”
“If you leave, there’s no coming back,” I warn.
“After the way you’ve treated me, why would I ever want to come back here?” Her chin quivers like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears and damn if it doesn’t make me feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
I don’t know why I can’t stop myself. Why I feel the need to continue to punish her over a decision she made seven years ago. She’s right. I am a baby. A right git. And yet knowing that and being able to do something about it are two completely different things.
“Fine. Then go. You’re fired anyway.”
“Perfect.”
“Great.”
This time, when she moves toward the door, I let her, stepping out of her way to give her a clear path.
Part of me thinks maybe she won’t take it. That she took this job for a reason, which means she was desperate if the best option she had was to work for me. So maybe, just maybe, she’ll be desperate enough to stay.
I’m not sure which I want more. For her to walk out of my life and never look back, or for her to stomp back over to her desk, sit down, and continue to fill my life with misery every single day.
What does it say about me that I’m leaning toward the latter?
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else but then snaps it closed. Without another word, she closes the short distance between herself and the door.
Seconds later, I’m left standing alone, watching the open doorway that she just exited through, wondering what the hell I just did.