Page 78 of Catfish

Other than that, that’s all we can be on the same level about. We can’t even agree on the same baseball team or the fact that she thinks my alter ego, Chase, is a complete dickhead for bailing on her so suddenly.

When I hit my office, the urge to grab my phone hits my fingertips. I've stared at the phone number for days, one that I won't text or call, and I can't get myself to delete it either, just convincing myself that if I need it, it'll be there.

For what, shit, no idea. Reagan is the key to the life I wish I sometimes had. The career I chose as a child and was raised into, it became more than what I bargained for. I didn’t realize the sacrifices that came with it or the people that would play me to gain their own personal vendettas. The pain and emotional strain it’d put on me.

It's the reason why I'm closed off. The reason why I can't bring myself to have a normal conversation because it's too much for me to do. It's too risky, and I don't feel like free falling into a bunch of unnecessary bullshit.

The door to my office suddenly opens, revealing a huffy Emmy, while I take a seat, preparing myself for one of her fits.

“What the heck was that?” she snaps, walking inside and gesturing for the door.

I grab a manilla folder on a school budget I was working on and lean back in my chair. “What do you want, Em?”

“You ruined the interview.”

“I didn’t do shit.” I open the folder. I have more important shit to do than—

“She doesn’t want to work with you,” she rebukes, throwing her hands in the air while holding her notebook.

I peer up, suddenly interested. “Did she say that?”

Her eyes squint in on me. “She didn’t need to.” She juts out one of her hips “I told you I wanted to work with someone who had half a brain, Wade. I don’t ask a lot from you.”

You’re asking for A LOT right now.

“I don’t like her,” I deadpan.

I don’t like that I want to hire her just to fuck her.

I don't like that she has an opaque mask, and I can't work on figuring her out anymore since we don't speak through text.

I don’t like a lot of shit going on in my life right now.

“You only spoke to her for two minutes,” Em retorts. “If you wanted to be in there for the interview, I would’ve made sure you were. I thought you didn’t care about—”

"Well, you've been up my ass about being more involved in the small shit," I reply. "So, I did."

She takes a step forward, dropping her notebook with a thud on my desk. “She’s all I got.”

I lift a brow. “You should’ve had options. You know better than to only have one.”

Small hands land on the edge of the desk as Em leans over it with her small frame. “I’m going to pick one way to just quit, Lockwood.”

I smirk. “You’d never leave me, Em.”

Her eyes slit. “Don’t be so damn sure.”

“I’m like an older brother that you let order you around.”

“You’re like a pain in my ass.”

"See." I shrug. "It's like we're related except I pay you." A hush falls between us, and I let out a heavy sigh. "What's so good about her? I've never seen you so adamant about anything besides my eating habits and how much I scowl at the staff."

“She’s revolutionary.” Her voice going a pitch higher. She truly believes that. And I can’t hire her because I’ve already dug myself in way too far with the dark-haired bombshell.

I can’t help the frown that exhibits off my face, which doesn’t go unnoticed. She rolls her eyes and takes a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk.

I’d give anything to Em but not this—I can’t.

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