I nod, letting her talk. This is a side of her I haven’t seen before—open, raw. It makes me realize how much pressure she’s been carrying on her shoulders.

She takes a shaky breath, her eyes glistening. “I know we have different approaches to things, it's just, I hate feeling stuck. And right now, that’s all I feel. Stuck in this hotel, stuck in this storm, stuck watching this account, this huge opportunity, slip through my fingers. I can’t let that happen.”

She doesn't say stuck with me but I have a hunch that is part of her frustration.

For a second, I don’t know what to say. I’ve always seen her as this driven, almost unstoppable force. Now I sense there is more to it. I'm not sure exactly, but something has her feeling like she has something to prove beyond kicking ass at her job.

I lean back in my chair, staring at her for a moment. “I get it,” I finally say. “I do. And I wasn’t fair to you earlier. I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”

She laughs, a soft, humorless sound. “You think? Par for the course, no offense.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling a little sheepish. “Look, we’re both under a lot of pressure. But maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. Maybe instead of pushing harder, we need to figure out how to make this work together. And I'll promise to rein in some of my asshole-ishness.”

She looks up at me, her expression softening. “Are you capable of that? Just kidding—I meant to say, do you think we can?”

I nod, and for the first time today, I feel like we’re on the same page. “Funny. Yeah, I do. We’re both stubborn as hell, but we both want the same thing. And if we can figure out how to work together instead of fighting, I think we can both find a way to do the best thing in a shitty situation.”

For a moment, we sit there in the quiet of the lobby, the soft glow of the Christmas lights surrounding us. There’s still a storm outside, still chaos swirling around us, we’re still stuck in this hotel far away from our homes, but at least we can try to find some common ground. I consider that a nugget of hope that we will survive this.

ELEVEN

Woodley

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas / Just like the ones I used to know.

6:49 am

I scroll through my phone,looking for any news on the bombing. Strangely, all I’ve found so far is a mention of it from the AP and a few Tennessee local news outlets, but not a ton of coverage.

The media love to jump on anything salacious. So I find it is bizarre that information on it has been so sparse. Besides that there was an explosion, the thing has not been covered. I’m guessing it’s because of the holiday?

I sit across from Thorne, my fingers tapping restlessly against the table. The early morning lobby is still quiet, save for the Christmas music playing softly in the background. Outside, thesnowstorm shows no sign of letting up, and neither does my complete annoyance with him.

Or, maybe the annoyance is with myself for sleeping with the prick. Or, could it be that I'm actually attracted to him even though he is a prick?

All of the above.

Thorne has surprisingly apologized in more ways than one. I should probably let up just a little. But, he should apologize! He was a smug jerk, even if I was admittedly overreacting.

The more I wait, the more my anxiety ramps up. We have to do something. I think this is him waving an olive branch but I'm not ready to concede.

Thorne’s phone rings, the sound sharp amidst the familiar Christmas tunes. I look over and see a flicker of stress cross his face as he glances at the screen. He presses his lips together and stands, sliding the phone out of his pocket.

“I’ve got to take this,” he mutters, excusing himself and walking away toward a quieter corner of the lobby.

I watch him go, the frustration easing somewhat. He does have a cute little ass, even though I hate him.

Pressing hard, I rub my temples, trying to ease the headache that’s been building since we got the text at the butt crack of dawn.

Maybe he’s right. I'm sure there’s a middle ground that I'm unwilling to see…since I'm so certain I'm in the right and he's a hanger-on with no real skin in the game. He has the level head, I have the drive. Together that should be a winning combination.

I glance up as Thorne returns, slipping his phone into his pocket. He looks a little more rattled but seems a bit more focused than he did before he took the call.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

He nods. “Yeah, just my dad.”

“Look,” Thorne starts, leaning forward slightly, “I get that you want to push for today. And I see where you’re coming from. What do you say to exploring it without pushing it? I'm thinking we reply to Thom’s text and ask him to jump on a call with us to feel out the options.”