Page 48 of Big Boss
It is, right? I’m going to talk to Erica, and we’ll sort out everything together. Honestly, this is like the third best idea I’ve ever had.
“Fine,” he says and hangs up on me. Honestly, he needs to deal with his own problems before he tries to act like he can solve mine. And speaking of which, it’s time for me to try a different approach with this mess with Erica.
If she won’t take my calls, I can still make her talk to me. I watched Ethan face his biggest fears and bare his soul to his now-wife Zoe, so surely I can figure out how to make Erica listen to me.
Because all I’ve been doing since she left is haunting the office like a ghost, hoping that she’ll reconsider and show up. And we can all see how well that’s working—about as well as me calling her and getting turfed to voicemail over and over again.
Fuck this. I’ve never been the kind of person to sit by idly and let life pass me by. If Erica won’t answer my calls, I’m going to go see her in person. At her place. Right now.
That’s exactly what Ethan did, facing down Zoe’s scary dad and her entire horde of football-playing brothers. The sheer audacity of my friends is stunning when I really think about how hard they push to get what they want.
And why didn’t I think of this earlier? I already know that Erica is a stay-at-home type like me. And I can tell she hasn’t dropped off the face of the earth or anything, because all the preparations for the gala have continued without a hitch, like they are being handled after hours by my now-invisible former assistant.
I’ve been to her house before plenty of times. I’m within my rights to head over there now and make sure she’s okay. Then I can explain to her about that whole mess with Bella, because it certainly wasn’t what it looked like.
Although I thought she knew me better than that. The thought that she might not aches, but I can’t get dragged down again by what I think about what Erica feels. There’s only one person’s behavior that I can control in this situation, and it’s mine.
I can’t make her care about me. And if she really does believe the lies that I’ve spent the last few decades cultivating about who I am, I don’t have anyone to blame for that result other than me.
I’ve changed, but all that matters to me is that she sees who I am now. I don’t want it to matter who I used to be, except insofar as it got me to where I am today: driving over to her place like a man with nothing left to lose.
I put on some SZA in my car because it’s an entire mood and perfect for the lingering ache in my chest that won’t seem to lighten. I thought I could trust Erica not to hurt me and especially not to believe everything she reads about me.
Before we ever slept together, I felt certain that she saw me for who I really am underneath all the things that peoplethinkI am. Erica’s never made me feel stupid or defective in the way that everyone else in my life—other than the guys—seems to love doing.
At least not until she acted like nothing had happened between us. The day where I had an awful panic attack outside the office building and then got groped by a pop princess who clearly doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.
The drive to Erica’s place feels like it takes forever, in part because I’m both second-guessing myself but also almost certain this is a great idea. She can’t exactly refuse to talk to me when I’m standing outside her front door, right?
But I grow less confident when I can’t get her to answer the intercom. Then a person goes in where I am lingering at the entryway. I consider following her in, but she gives me a look that definitely screams that I’d better not.
I put my hands up to show her how harmless I am, but this woman’s eyes narrow at me. She points her index finger at me and then turns her head a little to one side.
“Don’t I know you?” She’s giving me that look—the one that means she definitely does know me, but only in the way where I’m in newspaper articles or whatever.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m sure we’ve never met.” I paste on one of my best smiles. “But maybe you can help me. I’m looking for Miss Ridley. You know? Erica.”
Her mouth slides into a frown. “I don’t think you need to be bothering her. She’s a nice girl and doesn’t need you just coming by and stirring up trouble at her home and residence.”
I tense up at her tone. And okay, I know what this looks like, but this woman is a complete stranger and she’s absolutely wrong about me.
I keep my hands up. “Erica is a nice girl. Believe me, I know. I’m only here to talk to her, not cause problems.”
“Yeah, right,” she says. “Call her on the phone if you just want to talk to her.”
My shoulder blades pinch up. “She’s not exactly answering the phone when I call her.”
The woman stares at me and then closes the door in my face.
“I’m trying to fix things!” I yell at her, but also hoping that maybe Erica will hear me too.
The woman turns away from me, and I press the buzzer for Erica’s apartment again and again.
But finally I have to leave, because either she’s not here or I really am making things worse with her. And I definitely can’t afford to be seen like this, making an actual scene outside my assistant’s home.
Former assistant, I guess. It feels like Jackson was right, and she really doesn’t ever want to see me or talk to me again.
And with that thought shredding me into a million stupid pieces, I head back to my house alone. The same way I have been feeling for years now.
