Page 3 of The Write Off

“Why would I share it with you just to have you shit all over it?” The air between us is thick with hostility as we both try to incinerate the other with our glares. He looks away first, running a large hand through his perfect head of hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not being fair to you.”

Wait—what? He looks genuinely remorseful, but I’m not ready to take off my armor yet.

“Look,” he levels me with his blunt gaze. “The company loves your novel, but they won’t move forward with the release until they’re completely happy with it. And right now they’re not. They offered it to me because they think I can help you take it from good to great. But in order to do that, we need to learn how to work together. Can you work with me, Rilla?”

A swell of heat starts in my stomach and travels south when he says my name. I squeeze my thighs together in a vain attempt to make it go away.

“I can try.”

He considers me for a long moment before giving me the slightest of nods. “It’s a start.” Without breaking eye contact, he leans back in his chair. “Why don’t you take the weekend to work on the points outlined in my last email. We’ll meet first thing next week and tackle each issue, one at a time until we can come up with an outcome we’re both happy with. Agreed?”

Why do I feel like I’m making a deal with the devil?

“Agreed.”

“Great.” He pushes himself back from the desk and we both stand. God, he’s even bigger than I thought. I’m five foot eight and he towers over me as he hands me my coat on the way to the door. “You can make an appointment with Ingrid on your way out.”

“Will do.” I linger in the doorway, trying to think of a witty one-liner to exit on. I’ve got nothing. “I will see you next week.” I turn and start to walk down the hallway.

“See you then. And Rilla?” I turn to see him leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “Try to be on time?” The first glimpse of his sense of humor flashes momentarily in his eyes before he disappears back into his office.

I retrace my steps back down the long hallway, putting on my coat as I go. He’s somehow not what I expected and exactly what I expected at the same time. As I’m rounding the corner, I realize I don’t have my scarf. Shit. I walk quickly back to Logan’s office, pausing before I get there at the sound of his voice.

“I’ve got another meeting in ten minutes and then I’m done for the day.” Silence. “Yes, I can work that in early next week. I’ll put it on my schedule now.” He must be speaking to someone on the phone. Maybe I should just get my scarf another day. “No, I just finished meeting with Rilla Pine.” My ears perk up at my name and I linger outside his office, unable to help myself. “She’s…” He pauses before letting out a heavy sigh. I stop breathing entirely. “She’s a bit of a mess.”

I don’t stay to eavesdrop on the rest of his conversation. I storm down the hallway breezing right by Ingrid’s desk, and head straight for the elevator. I can’t believe I was even considering making compromises for that asshole. I hit the button for the lobby with more force than necessary.

The rickety bridge that we just built is officially on fire and I won’t rest until it’s nothing but smoke and ash.

I’m a mess? Oh, Logan. You have no fucking idea.

Chapter 2

Logan

My arms tremble slightly as my fingers grip the floor for stability. The burn starts to intensify in my core, and I concentrate on my breathing.

Inhale, two, three, four.

Exhale, two, three, four.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been holding the plank, but I would guess only a minute or so which means I have approximately two to go. I focus on maintaining proper form, keeping my body in a straight line from head to heels.

I don’t count the seconds, instead focusing on my heartbeats. Strong, steady pulses that vibrate in my chest, reminding me I’m alive.

The urge to drop to the ground grows stronger but I push through, determined to meet my goal. Time seems to slow down as I hold this position, every muscle engaged in a power struggle with gravity. As beads of sweat form on my forehead, I go back to my breath.

Inhale, two, three, four.

Exhale, two, three, four.

The timer on my watch fills the otherwise quiet weight room and I sink to the floor, allowing myself to stay in my prone position for a few moments. After a few beats, I push myself up to stand, grabbing my phone and water bottle from a nearby bench and heading past the treadmills and stationary bikes on my way to the exit.

One of the reasons I chose this condo was the workout facility. It’s small, but it has everything I need, and the realtor assured me it was almost never used. I’ve had to share the room with very few people in the years I’ve lived here, mostly due to my early morning workouts.

Even this evening when I showed up just after six o’clock it was completely deserted. I’ve been increasingly irritable at the office as of late and I needed to work out some frustrations. While it’s not unusual for me to get overwhelmed with work from time to time, I find myself getting more worked up than normal and I’m painfully aware of the cause.

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