Page 14 of Give Me a Chance
Each BYC employee has a desk with a couple of chairs in front of it in an open office space. Kiara’s the only one with her own office. Though, there is one more separate office we all use when necessary. Matt’s desk is four desks to the right of mine, but I don’t want to make a scene in front of everyone, so I decide to wait until he leaves the room.
At eleven sharp, he gets up and heads to our small break room. Almost immediately, I follow him there.
He’s drinking a healthy concoction of sorts and doesn’t look surprised when he notices me.
“Took you long enough.” He has the nerve to provoke.
“You didn’t think to tell me you were going to work here?”
“When would I tell you? It’s not like we talk to each other.” I know he hadn’t known in Croatia; the job didn’t exist back then. But still...
“Maybe that was something you should have disclosed to me?” I’m trying to keep my voice low, but it gets higher by the word.
“Why?” He gets up from the chair, towering over me. “You made it clear we’re not friends, and we certainly aren’t more than that.” His tone slices through me, and by the time I’m able to answer, he already left the room.
“URGH.”Fuck, why do I have the communication skills of a toddler today?
The workday couldn’t finish fast enough,and I rush directly to my favorite yoga studio, in desperate need of some Zen. I’vebeen doing yoga for a few years now, sometimes at home, but mostly here, at a studio named Blissful Balance. Ironically, I’m neither blissful nor balanced walking into it today.
Currently, there’s a beginner’s level yoga class going on, so I join in. My yoga level is more intermediate, but I’ll take what I can get. The practice comes easy, the poses natural to my body. The breathing helps me calm down, but the intensity level is too light for my brain to fully concentrate on the movements alone.
Why did I get so mad?
A therapist I had after college used to tell me our triggers are usually our own. They stem from our past, rather than the event in the present which triggered us.
Matt’s right, we’re not friends, but he still should’ve told me. It would be the nice thing to do. And he likes to play the nice guy. I guess it’s just the persona he plays. Typical.
He hid it on purpose. He was mad I bounced after our night in Croatia, but I was nothing but honest with him. I don’t owe him a date—or a friendship. I don’t owe him anything. But if he wants war, he’s going to get it.
10
MATT
The first day didn’t go terrific, so what?The sound of my thoughts blends with the sound of the treadmill in the otherwise silent gym.
I’ve been looking forward to this ever since Connor sent me the BYC’s job ad for a lawyer. Not a big believer in destiny, I still felt this was some sort of sign.
I was done with my soul sucking job. I was done waking up each day to count the hours before I could go do something I actually like, like teach kids hockey.
Also, I’ve been envious listening to Anne and the girls talk about their job. Even Connor, who was a bottomless pit of despair only a year ago, found purpose in their cause and now focuses his projects on building rent-controlled buildings for the BYC’s proteges.
Starting a relationship with the love of his life certainly hadn’t hurt, but finding a career he could dedicate himself to had a big impact as well.
So, it was a no brainer. This job was meant for me.
Mitigating circumstances were numerous. I was volunteering with them for over a year, and I was good friends with the HRrep. Not that I wasn’t the best candidate—there isn’t a surplus of lawyers trying to climb their way up the non-profit ladder.
There was only one dilemma I had during the whole process. Natalie Barnett.
5’7” of fire wrapped in a captivating package. A package you can’t look away from even when she’s spitting the fire directly at you. If she could, she would have burned me down on the spot.
After forty minutes on the treadmill, my calves start to burn. I welcome the pain, as well as any distraction fromher.It’s short-term, unfortunately, as my brain races back to Natalie. Next to her, I lose all decorum, becoming an angry, horny teenager, unable to get a grasp on my temper.
I hate it.
I hate the way she makes me lose my hard-earned control. I hate the way she thinks she’s always right, even when she’s dead wrong. I hate the way she thinks she deserves my friendliness when she made it clear she doesn’t want to be friends.
She’s used to the world bowing at her feet, but I won’t be one of them.
