Page 77 of Selfie

“I don’t understand.”

“If you’re pulling a stunt like this, it’s because you’re angry. Go ahead and take it out on me, Spencer. I can handle it. But I need to know at the end of this, when you’re done acting out, you’ll come back to me.”

His words break the haze and only infuriate me further. I push against his hard chest, savoring the split second where my hands were on his body. Where they should be. Where we could’ve been had he not tossed me aside like a dirty dish rag. I don’t push him hard enough to move him, but he backpedals, understanding my request for space.

“You can’t go back to something you never had. Quite frankly, Nathan, I’m sick of being played hot and cold. I don’t know what you want, I just know it’s not me. Leave me alone and let me do my job in peace.”

“Then why are you still here? If you’re so done with me, why haven’t you quit?”

“Quit the job that gave me a car, home, health and dental insurance, and a year’s salary up front? Use your common sense. Not all of us have a bank vault like Scrooge McDuck’s. If you think I’m still here to get your attention, your ego is steering you wrong.”

There’s unmistakable hurt in his eyes. “Spencer, I’m really sorry.” He folds his arms over his chest, but it doesn’t look authoritative like it normally does. It looks more defensive than anything. “I meant what I said. I wanted to take you out but…”

“But what?” I’ve been craving this answer for over a week now. Nathan obliterated my feelings when he went cold and put an end to our brief entanglement. All I can think of is he spent the night, held me, touched me—even if it were only PG. Then the next day he wanted nothing to do with me. He got a taste, and realized he didn’t want me after all. There’s no other plausible explanation.

“I’m sorting out some stuff. Can you give me some time?”

Is this because of Elise? I want to believe him. I really do. The way his eyes look soft and light today, more blue than green. There’s heavy drops of sadness in them, and I’m dying to know why. But I also know how this ends. I’m tired of trying to see past his concrete-hard exterior. I don’t have time for these games.

“You can have all the time you need, because whatever you’re sorting out has nothing to do with me. Let’s keep it professional, likeyourequested.” Shaking my head and forcing out a sharp exhale, I fight off the glimmer of hope. I’m sure whatever excuses Nathan has in his arsenal would probably have me weak-kneed and ready to forgive him. Which is exactly why I don’t want to hear them.

“Fine,” he murmurs.

“Fine,” I parrot back.

I walk purposefully to the elevator to retrieve my lost guinea pig. I find him ramming himself into the elevator doors over and over, like a Roomba that’s malfunctioning.

“Spike, you goofball,” I say, scooping him up. I look into his little black eyes and he settles down, finding my gaze. “You do recognize your name, don’t you? You’re smarter than most people think.”

He sniffs the air, lifting his head and showing me a peek of his overbite and his pouty bottom lip. “So what’s your opinion?” I ask quietly as we make our way back to my desk. “Was I too hard on him?”

Arms secured around the plastic ball, I clamp my lids shut briefly, trying to shake off my feelings of guilt. It’s not my fault. I didn’t start all this. So how come when I close my eyes, all I can see is the cloudy look of sorrow on Nathan’s face?

And why do I feel responsible?

25

Nathan

After two hours of punishing my body in the pool, my arms ache as I hoist myself out. Water soaks the concrete ledge as I shut my eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning.I need water. Forcing my legs to move is like walking through Jell-O. I’m trying to take my sexual frustration out in the pool. It’s futile. I could go and find a one-night stand, but let’s be honest. Only one woman can scratch the itch I have.

I make my way to the outdoor kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the beverage cooler. It’s barely cold. My lies are catching up to me. I told my dad I couldn’t travel this weekend because I was getting this fridge replaced, turns out it actually does need to be replaced.

Halfway done with my water, I glance at my phone sitting on the granite countertop by the sink. I catch the tail end of a call notification but miss the actual call.

Snatching up my phone, I’m horrified to see I have thirteen missed calls from Spencer. I don’t give myself enough time to thoroughly run through scenarios in my mind. Is she hurt? Where’s Charlie? Did they get into an accident? I dial her backas the sobering reality settles over my body, making my legs feel bionic. I’ll run to her if she needs me.

“Spencer?” I ask as soon as the ringing stops and the line connects. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Your front gate,” she says, clipped. Her tone both does and doesn’t surprise me. I thought she was calling with an emergency, so the annoyed edge in her voice makes me relax. It’s nice to know she’s her normal self. Obviously she’s fine. “Your security guard won’t let me through. Why haven’t you been answering?”

“I was swimming. I’m back by the pool. How do you know where I live?”

“I’m your assistant. Your home is the billing address for my corporate card.”

“Oh, well, I’m flattered you’re borderline stalking me.” I mean for it to be flirty, but I think I’ve pissed her off further.

“Real funny, Nathan. Are you going to let me in?”

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