Page 18 of Here & There

“I thought I’d have a few days to figure this out,” I say, fighting the burn in my throat and nose.

“Can you just tell them you’re not going with them?”

Thump-thump-thump.

I laugh bitterly. “They’re not great listeners.” I rub my hands over my face, knowing I can’t hide in here forever. “I just wish I could have some time. That’s all I want. Time away from them. Away from my job, away from everything. Just until I figure things out.”

“I could tell them to come back later?”

I open my mouth to laugh. He has no idea who he’s dealing with. But with the next call from my mother, a thought tickles the back of my mind. A spark that feels dangerously hopeful.

I meet those seawater blue eyes. “What if I had a reason I couldn’t go back to my life at home for a while?” I drop my suit on the counter and grip his giant arms. I hardly even notice my hands don’t get anywhere near wrapping around his biceps. “You’re a genius.”

“What?”

“That’s the only way they’ll leave without me. If I have a good reason. I need…” I hesitate, but only for a second. “I need you to tell them you’ve offered me a job.”

Mac’s eyes bulge. He lets out a chuckle. Then he immediately sobers. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely! It’s perfect.” I step back, tapping my chin as I think. “They’re very big on being true to your word. I can tell them you’re in dire need of help and I promised I’d help you out.”

He looks slightly insulted. “I’m not indireneed of help.”

They’ll think he is, but I bite my lip not to say that. Instead I say, “Really? Because I swear I saw a help wanted sign on that bulletin board out there when I was getting changed.”

He scowls. “That’s for a server.”

“I can serve.”

He full-on laughs this time. “Right.”

Irritation flares in my chest. “Just because I’ve never done it before doesn’t mean I can’t learn and be amazing at it.”

The door rattles under more thudding. “Mac?”

That must be Fred.

Thump-thump-thump.“Bryony, we know you’re in there,” Mom’s voice calls. I can picture it now, Mom banging on the door, Dad standing back on his phone, maybe talking to his lawyer to see about the implications of hiring someone to break down the door.

“Okay, fine, something else!” I say, knowing I sound a little desperate now. “But if I don’t hand my mother something concrete, she’s going to whittle away at me and then worse—usetearsto get what she wants. And my resolve will fold like a cheap lawn chair.”

The thumping continues.

“Give us a minute!” Mac booms.

It stops. A little thrill goes through me at how powerful those four words were coming from this man. I let myself draw strength from the heat radiating off a person who has no problem telling people exactly where they can go.

But he still doesn’t look convinced. And why would he? This man has standards. The bar is impeccable, if not a little tired looking. That sandwich was the best thing—I snap my gaze back to Mac.

I’ve got it.

“That club sandwich isn’t even on the menu, is it?” I ask. “Or maybe it was, but nobody ordered it. Or they did, and they didn’tlike it. They asked when the regular club sandwich was coming back.”

Mac’s nostrils flare. I’m right. My heart picks up speed the same way it does at work when I know I’ve clicked onto the perfect vision of the client’s business. Or when I used to do that.

“I can tell you love food. You love serving food and seeing people enjoy food, and you’re sick of making the same old stuff, but nobody wants to buy the good stuff you’re making either.” I’m shooting in the dark on this part, but the look on his face tells me I’m hitting the bullseye. “Mac, do you know what I do for a living?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “I build brands. I make little ideas turn into big, explosive, money-making ventures. I didn’t run away from my job because I’m bad at it. I’m the fucking best at it.”

Ilikeit too, under all the stress. Or I used to. This is the raw, thrilling energy I’ve been missing since things got so busy I stopped doing direct client work.

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