Page 44 of Big Boss
I hear his call switch over to the Bluetooth in his car. “Thanks. I really needed this.”
“You know I’ve got you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay,” I manage. I glance at the knot of people, but at least they’re not coming any closer to me. “I’m okay.”
Jackson sighs. “You will be. Everyone feels better after some time passes, right?”
I rub my hand along my brow, carrying away some of the sweat. “I don’t know if that’s really true.”
Jackson sighs. “Well, it better be. Because this sucks.”
“You can say that again.”
He almost laughs, but not in the way where he thinks anything is actually funny. “Yeah, this part really, really sucks.”
I wince at his tone, but it’s going to have to wait. Right now we’re dealing with my problem. The one that has made me this completely panicked, weeping mess on a public sidewalk outside the building where I work.
I’m hunched over trying not to vomit on the sidewalk in front of the building where the business I grew is thriving. And I did all of this myself, without help from any of the people who were supposed to love me.
“Can you just stay on the phone with me until you arrive?” I feel ridiculous asking. I’m not supposed to feel anything other than rich and powerful and successful. I worked for years to become impervious to what people were saying about me.
And now my entire armor of Zero Fucks Given has failed. Because of another person who I trusted and let into my life who didn’t even want to be this close to me.
I’m sure she didn’t mean it. One of the reasons I trust Erica is because she is never mean or dishonest. She probably wasn’t even trying to hurt me. She did tell me that she values our friendship, and wasn’t that the most important thing?
I’ve been friend-zoned so hard that it’s making me have a mini breakdown. After so long building up my reputation to be unapproachable and remote, I find myself worrying that maybe I’m turning out to be this damaged creature despite my best intentions.
Maybe I am just like my father after all. Monstrous. Irredeemable.
15
Erica
When Tate doesn’t come backto work, I finally give up and head home to spend the entire restless night wondering what exactly I did to make him lose his composure like that. I have so much difficulty figuring out what to say to people normally, but I’ve never had anything blow up quite like it did with Tate.
Mister Bossy is usually the epitome of calm, cool, and collected, and having him get upset with me was absolutely unnerving. I’d briefly debated staying home this morning, but I needed the money and it was probably going to be better for both me and Tate if I came in and pretended like nothing weird had happened yesterday.
Or the night before. Depending on when you think all the problems started between us.
But as the morning drags on with him still being a no-show, I have to consider that maybe he isn’t going to come into the office today, either. I blow out a long breath and stare accusatorily at the elevator doors.
How long is this standoff going to last? Honestly, we were doing better than this with each other when I was introducing myself as his babysitter, way back before we ever became friends.
At half past four in the afternoon, I’m debating about calling it a day when the phone rings. The sudden noise is startling after a long day of dead silence, but I manage to answer and try to sound somewhat normal when I state the company name.
“Miss Ridley,” the man says coolly. Okay, so he obviously knows who I am, but the question is who is he?
“Yes, it is. Can I help you?” Good job, me. I managed to sound polite and helpful instead of suspicious and mildly creeped out. Well done, me.
“This is an emergency, and I need to speak with Tate.”
I wait for more words, but when nothing is forthcoming, I have no choice but to respond. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mister—”
“Cut the crap, Erica. It’s Jackson. I’m Tate’s best friend, remember?”
I bristle at the tone he’s taking with me. And while I remember Tate warning me about his mean friend Sebastian Davenport, the infamous trial attorney, I don’t remember anything about any of his other friends being nasty. They’ve all seemed mostly harmless from my limited interactions with them. So why is this man acting like I’ve done something wrong already?
“Okay,” I manage, drawing the word out long enough to try to sort through my recollection. There’s Sebastian, and Ethan (the one with the new wife and the cute little girl), and then this guy. Sharp dresser who does some kind of public relations thing that possibly involves Tate.
