Page 36 of The Relationship Clause

I’m thinking too much about this. The reality is, it’s going to be neither of those things. He wants to do our weekly briefing. It will be a meeting like every other meeting.

End of story.

CHAPTER 11

OWEN

From the time I hit send on the email to Junie until the clock strikes five, I get zero work done.

My brain feels like it’s been scrambled in a pan then left on the burner for too long. All I can do is watch the clock as the seconds tick by. Junie responded to my email promptly, but it was a short, curt reply, like all of our interactions have been today.

This isn’t what I should be worried about right now, I tell myself.

I have a laundry list of things to otherwise occupy my thoughts and time. The mole, our investors, the lawsuit we’re preparing, the so-far-unanswered email I sent to the author of that article, not to mention my normal work, my frighteningly silent mother, or the last cryptic text from my dad saying he’d “see me before our trip to Vail.”

See? Laundry list. The last thing I should be worrying about is Junie.

And yet…I am.

All morning Junie and the last thing she said to me have been stuck in my head like the world’s catchiest pop song.

I’m not like Mom at all, I tell myself for the millionth time today. I’m not like either of my parents. I’ve made sure of that over the years. All of their worst qualities on full display my whole life? Mother’s coldness and Father’s manipulative tendencies. I’d never let myself become them.

“People often glimpse hints of the truth on the path they take to avoid it.”

My therapist’s words from my most recent session with her come back to me, hitting me like a dagger to the heart. It’s enough to make me wish I could call out sick for the rest of the day.

Maybe…maybe I have unwittingly let some of them rub off on me. I sigh and scrub my face with my hands.

Five o’clock finally strikes, and employees start trickling out of the office. I keep stealing little glances at Junie, but she never looks my way. She keeps typing on her computer, back straight, working on who knows what. I, on the other hand, am so wound up at this point, I can’t even pretend to work anymore. I’m counting down my employees, watching each and every one of them until they disappear inside the elevator. Five, four, three, two…

One.

When Junie finally walks into my office at 5:22, I’m more wound up than I’ve been all day.

She sits across from me, and suddenly, the speech I’ve so carefully prepared in my head is gone. Poof. Vanished. I go on autopilot.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Of course,” she says.

“Have you found out anything new over the last week?”

She pauses for half a beat. “Actually, yes. Nothing solid, but I did hear through the grapevine that Erica is still upset about a promotion she was passed up for and Michael has been extra cranky ever since his idea for the software didn’t get picked up. Could be motive for why someone would suddenly want to give away company secrets. I’ll do some more digging this week and see what else I can find out.”

“Good, good.” Idiot. This isn’t what I wanted to talk to her about. Still, it’s good information, so I tuck it away to examine later and clear my throat. “Um, Miss Cousins, what I wanted to say to you was that I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry.”

We speak the words simultaneously. Our gazes collide for what feels like the first time in a lifetime of minutes. Her mesmerizing, blue eyes draw me in, and I sense rather than see that there’s a whole lot more behind her words. As shocking as her apology is, I’m more surprised by the relief I feel to have those words out. I can’t stop now.

“Please, let me finish. This morning, I was out of line. I have no excuse other than my own selfish tendencies. It was wrong of me to speak to you that way.”

Junie pulls her chair around to the side of my desk. There’s an earnestness about her that makes her somehow even more attractive. “I’m sorry too. I was upset so I said hurtful things. I don’t know you well, and I know your mother even less, but I’ve spent enough time around you to know that you’re nothing like her.”

Her words are like a balm to my troubled soul. I don’t fully believe them, but they help ease the sting. I’ve been examining every single one of my interactions that I can remember in and out of the office from the last couple of months, taking a microscope to them to try to figure out if they were the actions of a good boss or if they were things Cynthia Burton or Frederick Ferguson would have done. Most of my actions, I feel good to say, I can stand by. But some of them…

“From now on,” I say, “I promise to show you more respect, no matter what. Who you flirt with or don’t flirt with isn’t any of my business.”

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