Page 112 of Corkscrew You
“So you asked JP for more money knowing our orders were still low?” she says.
“Yep.” I screw up my face. “I’ve hadoneidea, but you probably won’t like that, either.”
“Is it a done deal?” she asks.
“Not entirely…”
Shelby sits back in her chair, contemplates me for a good half-minute. The sword blade is skimming the top of my head, now.
All of a sudden, she hops up. “Wait here.” And scoots out the door.
I’m alone with Cam.
“I owe you an apology,” I tell him. “For being a jerk.”
“Had things on your mind,” is, I guess, his way of accepting it.
Shelby’s back. She stands by my chair and slides a few stapled sheets of paper in front of me. I recognize this. It’s the customer list. Or, more accurately, the not-customers-any-more list.
“I wanted to help,” she says. “So I snitched this off your desk, and called them again.”
“You … what?” My brain is fried.
She taps her finger on the list. “I called them. All the ones you ruled a line through. They’ve placed orders!”
I need a moment to process, because I’m experiencing both confusion and conflict. Shelby called the customersI’dcalled, but somehow they said yes to her and not to me? I can’t help feeling like chopped liver. What doesshehave that I don’t?
Jesus, Nate, chill with the competitiveness. This isgreatnews.
“You’re sure?” I have to ask.
“No, I’m a delusional idiot,” she replies. “Yes. I’m sure. I even noted the orders in the book.”
“What book?”
“The – oh…” Her gleeful look turns into guilt. “I may have forgotten to give it to you. Dad always kept it in the house, on the shelf with the photo albums, because he said our customers were like family.”
Cam’s running his thumb up the bridge of his nose, but I can see his mouth twitching.
“And then I didn’t get a chance to tell you because we weren’t on speaking terms,” Shelby adds.
I nod. Makes perfect sense. Apart from the photo albums, but I’ll let that go.
“Are we on speaking terms now?” I ask her.
She stares at me, solemn faced. I think the sword just sliced into my scalp.
“I should have let you explain this morning,” she says. “I shouldn’t have flown off the handle. I’m sorry.”
And like that, the last of my already iron-depleted energy deserts me, and I slump forward onto the table, so I can rest my head on my folded arms.
“Nate?”
Shelby sounds alarmed, so I inhale deeply and sit up again.
“I’m great,” I say. “Truly. It’s just been averylong day.”
Of course, my phone chooses that moment to ring. It’s Ava. Has to be important; she’d text if it was day-to-day communication.
