Chapter 27. Micah
MICAH
I text Meredith for the address, expletives flying under my breath. I turn toward Thirty-Eighth Street. I ride the Hotel Hendricks’s elevator to the twenty-ninth floor, reciting in my head my teachers’ names, starting in kindergarten and continuing all the way through online high school.
I pass through a pink and green fog of velvet seating occupied by happy hour attendees, their elbows propped on their tables, libations in hand.
I spot the top of Josie’s hair first, then see the rest of the team on Daintree’s rooftop terrace under strands of white lights.
I stride toward Donovan, forcing him to step backward.
“What’s up, boss man?” He smiles, lips tight.
I invade his personal space the same way he did Brynn’s. “Cut the crap. And lay off our interns for once.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He holds up his hands like a scolded child.
“I bet you do: Maia, Celeste . . . do I need to go on?”
“What did Brynn tell you?”
“I didn’t have to ask. Her face said it all.”
“Just helping her with some copy ideas. She seems a bit confused. I’m not sure how well she’s working out. Also, I don’t trust her.”
“Not your call to make. If I see you harassing her or anyone else again, you’re done. Got it?” I glance at his T-shirt and shake my head. “We’ll see who bleeds.”
He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth.
I don’t wait to hear it.
Priya and Lucius move out of my way as I stride off, their jaws scraping the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Josie grinning.
On the street, I uncurl my hands and consume a deep breath, the veins in my neck pulsating. Looking for a way to distract myself from losing it out here, I attempt to conjure up a pop culture reference, but one escapes me. Instead, I imagine Brynn’s face.
I start from the beginning: In the elevator the morning of her interview, when she helped the old lady, and then moments later, when we formally met.
How she wouldn’t look at me, her knees bouncing all over the place, until she sold me on giving her a try.
The way she threw herself in front of her friend on the subway. Always saving people.
I see her pissed-off face when she’s dealing with Donovan or pressured into another team bonding night. How her amber eyes catch fire when she smiles. The baby carrots she pulls out every day, snapping them in her teeth at her desk.
The way her bow lips move when she edits copy.
My cantering heart slows to a trot. I breathe deeper; my shoulders relax.
I picture her lying in bed, stressing over whatever Donovan said.
I pore over the rest of the snapshots in my head of her face as I walk downtown toward home. She travels with me and into the night. She’s become the last thing on my mind as I drift off to sleep and the person I picture when I wake.
In the morning I shower, dress, hop on the subway, and grab my double espresso from the new guy on the corner. I search for her when I get into the office, scanning the floor and conference rooms.
I find her at last, laughing with Meredith. She doesn’t see me and I don’t want her to. My face would reveal too much.
I walk away and wait.
Kevin, Joe, and Nick Jonas . . . Brynn, Brynn, Brynn.