Page 62 of Juicy Pickle

“I thought I was masking it. But obviously not well enough.”

“Why would you mask it?”

“Because you seemed to be madly in love with this Maxwell.”

She bursts out laughing, and relief washes over me that we’re okay.

“Iammadly in love with Maxwell.” Now she looks me in the eye. “Are you telling me I endured two years of your absolute ogre-ness because youlikeme? Like we’re in third grade? Were you planning on pulling my braids?”

“You never wear braids, Bailey.”

“Rhett Armstrong!” Her tone is stern. “You owe me more of an explanation than that.”

She’s right. “I had to be the boss. And I was already in over my head. I got put in a role I wasn’t quite ready for. To get things done, I put on a lot of personalities trying to find the right fit.”

“The only personality anyone needs istheirpersonality.”

“You say that, but I wasn’t exactly known for my business decorum. Or my work ethic. Or even being on time.”

“No way. You were the warden, making everyone behave.”

“Mainly because I was making my inner slacker behave.”

She shakes her head. “I find this hard to believe. You set a standard that was impossible to live up to.”

I know she’s right. “This is what happens when you’re not cut out for a role you’ve been given.”

The ends of her hair are lit up from the fire. The shifting light dances across her skin. “Then why did you take the job if it’s so ill-suited to you?”

Yeah, this is dangerous. I want to tell her everything.

Do everything.

Now that I know there is nothing to hold us back, this conversation is difficult to focus on.

But I’ve learned discipline in the last two years. I hold onto the last shred of it.

“Let’s just say Dougherty was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.” No lie there.

Bailey may not be a part of the company anymore, but I still can’t reveal a secret as big as Uncle Sherman.

She holds out her arms, stretching. “That I can identify with. I know all about having to stay in a job where your boss makes you miserable because you don’t feel you have options.”

“I made you feel that way?”

“You were a brute. The worst. But I didn’t have a lot of opportunity when I graduated. I’d given up the dream.”

This is new. “What dream?”

She draws lines in the sand. “I was naïve about my major. I wasn’t cut out for politics. I figured it out.”

“I’m sorry that I made you miserable. It was never my intention.”

“I’m glad to see you know how to apologize.” She grins at me. “You are a human, after all.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Exoneration, maybe?”

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