Page 31 of Hate Mate

WILLOW

“Damn it. I should have been out of here ten minutes ago.”

“You're running around here like a chicken with your head cut off,” Sarah observes from the doorway to my office.

“And you aren't doing much to make me feel better.”

She pauses, then begins slowly clapping like we’re at a golf tournament. “Yay. You're doing great.”

“You're lucky I like you.” Finally, I find my phone under a pile of newspapers and magazines. I like to go through them to keep an eye out on current events, gossip, that sort of thing. I can always tell when a good PR specialist is on the job. It's sort of a superpower of mine. Years spent spinning stories in my client's favor have left me with a sharp eye.

“I didn't know he'd want so many hours, but then I guess he figures he's bought it.”

She's not kidding about Sawyer wanting my time. This has been the longest week of my life, and instead of being able to go home and unwind on a Friday night, I have to drive up to Somerset Harbor for a meeting with the handful of city council members who’ve reached out to Sawyer over the past several days. It took a little bit of sweet talking, but I managed to reach out to each of them individually and convince them to come to dinner at the club.

The idea of once again making the drive up and back leaves me feeling more tired than I already did. “I should rent a place up there. It would save on mileage.”

“Or you could stay with Sawyer.”

The hint of humor she can't hide leaves me glaring at her. “Don't even joke about that.”

“Sure, of course.” Still, her lips twitch like she's trying to hold back a laugh.

“It's not funny. I hate him, you know this.” I throw my phone into my bag with a grunt. “All week, it's been like managing a toddler. He always wants to go off on a whim without thinking things over.”

“He thinks he's being proactive.”

“He's being a pain in the ass,” I grumble. “I swear, if I get through this without killing him, it'll be a miracle.”

“Or kissing him.”

“One more wisecrack, and I swear...”

“Okay, fine. But let's not pretend you aren't wearing your hottest outfit for this meeting.”

I look down at my black sheath dress, biting my lip. I can’t pretend I didn’t deliberately choose the dress that leaves me feeling powerful and confident, but sexy? “You think it's my hottest outfit?”

“You look fantastic, and you know it. That's the dress you wear when you want to impress people.” She folds her arms, arching an eyebrow. “Add to that the pearl necklace and the Cartier watch, and it looks to me like you're pulling out all the stops.”

Her mention of my watch makes me check it, and I cringe harder than before. “I really need to go—or else he’ll end up doing something stupid before I get there.” I practically run for the door, and not only because I'm late. It's not that I'm trying to avoid Sarah's insightful jokes. It's just that I don't feel like listening to them.

She's got a talent for reading me like a book. She sees the difference in me this week. Sawyer is at the front of my mind all the time, every day, thanks to his talent for annoying me and almost screwing up everything I'm trying to put in place.

“Why do I have to hide in my office all the time?” That was my favorite question this week. The big baby. Acting like I'm locking him up.

“What do you mean, I have to host the city council at the club?” There I was, thinking he possessed a modicum of intelligence. If he did, he wouldn't have to ask me that.

“You mean I can't post anything to my Instagram?” That was when I was pretty convinced he's deliberately trolling, trying to get under my skin. I had to remind him of our conversation over the weekend when I told him in no uncertain terms to stay off social media. Not only in relation to the video, but in general. It's better for him to lay low until this blows over. That means no pictures of him on his yacht, or sitting in his office, or kissing up to the guests.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” I grumble to myself once I'm in my car, peeling out of the garage. I’d ask myself how he managed to get as far as he has while running on two good brain cells, but I know the answer. He happens to be a Cargill.

Because I'm running a little late, I call his secretary to let her know. It's safer that way. “Theresa, it's Willow Anderson.”

“As if I didn't know your voice by now,” she points out with a gentle laugh. I like her. After years of dealing with protective, gatekeeping assistants, she's a breath of fresh air. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to let Sawyer know I'm running a little late. Not terribly, and I'll be there on time for the dinner. Just in case he was wondering, though.”

“I'll let him know. Be careful out there. Don't worry about getting here on time. Just get here in one piece.”

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