Page 14 of Love to Hate You

Okay, maybe Nash isn’t as bad as you remember,I try to convince myself. Thinking back over our interactions, the only things I can recall are bad. The fighting, constantly butting heads on everything from ways to approach a potential client to what kind of snacks and beverages we wanted stocked in the kitchen.

He always liked those damn disgusting dry power bars, and I liked the granola bars dipped in chocolate. And I still don’t look at Gatorade the same. He drank that crap like it was going out of style while I preferred my Diet Coke.

No doubt about it. Nash Beckett and I are like night and day. There is no possibility that we will be able to work together and not wind up killing each other.

It’s unfortunate, too, because if I take a step back and ignore all of the personal bullshit between us, I can almost admit that he’s good at his job. He just has a completely different style and approach than me and that’s why we don’t mesh.

As I watch my life slowly getting flushed down the toilet, my phone rings. I step back inside my apartment, pulling the balcony doors shut, and drop down on the couch. Grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I’m about to answer it when I freeze, eyes glued to the screen.

“Nash-hole” shows up on the caller ID.

I haven’t seen that pop up in two years and maybe I wasn’t in the best of moods when I programmed it in there like that. Still, I have no intention of answering his call. I’m not prepared to deal with him right now. I’d rather go up against a massive earthquake or giant tarantula from outer space set on destroying all of mankind.

Anything but Nash fucking Beckett.

After several rings, he gets dropped in voicemail. I wait to see if he leaves a message and just when I think he didn’t, an alert beeps.

Shit.I go straight into my voicemails and there it is: One new voicemail from Nash-hole. Unable to resist, I hit play and lift the phone up to my ear. I have no idea what to expect.

“Hi, Charlie,” that deep voice from my past says. The one I never wanted to hear again. “I figured I’d call and try to talk to you before the big meeting on Monday. I know it’s not going to be pleasant but I’m hoping we can act like civilized adults…”

I grind my jaw, fingers clenching hard around my phone, and my eyes narrow into slits.

“I’m assuming this is as big of a surprise for you as it is for me. And I know neither of us is happy about working with each other again. Despite our personal issues, I’m hoping we can try to get through the transition in a professional manner and without any drama. We’ll get enough of that from my siblings,” he adds in a low voice. “Anyway, can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t pick up.” There’s a brief hesitation, like he’s going to say something more but instead he signs off. “Okay, see you Monday. Leave the claws at home, will ‘ya?”

Click. If I thought my blood was boiling earlier, now it is molten lava flowing through my veins. He thinks I’m not going to be professional? Leave the claws at home? How the fuck is a comment like that professional? This is exactly what I hate– the double standards. Nash can say whatever the hell he wants and insult me and that’s just fine. But if I say one word, he doesn’t like then I’m being dramatic.Grrr.

He just reminded me why I can’t stand him.

Oh, God Almighty, grant me the patience to deal with him on Monday.And his siblings who he just warned me about are going to be drama. As if Nash and I don’t create enough drama on our own.

Suddenly I don’t feel nauseous anymore. I am so damn angry that my vision blurs. Who does he think he is? He left TB Tech in a juvenile fit and now he should be coming back with his tail between his legs. When he stands in front of me and the board, he’s the one who should feel like an idiot. Not me.

“I’m hoping we can try to get through the transition in a professional manner and without any drama.”

“Then don’t bring any drama, Nash!” I yell to the empty room.

But he’s already created it with that phone call. I’m on the defense and anticipating World War III when Monday morning rolls around. Suddenly I remember something my mom used to say: “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

I take a deep breath and think about it. If I go into the office all wound up and ready to fight, it won’t end well. But if I’m calm and collected then maybe we have half a chance at making this work.

Leaving TB Tech was never in my plans. I saw myself working there until I retired. I love the company that much. Now I’m so scared Nash and the rest of the Beckett brood are going to toss me out the door the first chance they get.

Maybe if I play nice that won’t happen.

Yeah, right. I may as well pack my desk up and face the music. Because it’s not going to be pretty or in my favor no matter how sweet I am. But maybe I’ll be able to find an ally with one of them. I distinctly remember Nash calling Tanner soft before so he may be the one to bond with. Something to keep in mind, anyway.

When Monday morning arrives, I get up earlier than usual and take my time getting ready. I need to look like a consummate professional and make an extremely good impression when I face the board today. Even if the Becketts want me gone, there’s a chance they could be overruled by the partners. I hadn’t even thought of that since I’d been so busy panicking most of the weekend.

And then I talked to Mark. He’s the one board member who has always shown me his full support and I can talk to him openly with my concerns more than anyone else.

“How’re you doing, Charlie-girl?” he asks.

“Oh, you know,” I say. “Kind of feels like the moment before the ax drops on the back of my neck.”

“Monday will definitely be interesting. That’s for sure. Except for Nash, those kids never wanted anything to do with their father or his business.”

“I have a feeling that’s about to change.”

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