Page 30 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
But the thing I can’t admit out loud is it feels like carrying all this shit to the top of the mountain might break me.
I’ll reach the summit, but how much of me will be left at the finish line?
Don’t stress. You’ll get a vacation soon. Very soon.
I turn to check my reflection in the mirrored wall panes as I pass the tenth floor. Adjusting my wide-legged tan pants and the color-matched silk top, I reach into my bag and apply a coat of my bright red lipstick.
When in doubt, bring the red lipstick out.
I need to get that on a mug or something.
“Get your head in the game,” I snap at my reflection, pushing down all the annoying emotions in my chest. There’s no time for this.
I’m weeks away from making the biggest business move of my career, and I’ll be damned if I let anything come in my way.
Especially thoughts of Storm Sandoval.
My phone chirps right as the elevator pings for the top floor and the doors slide open, but I ignore it because Melissa stands on the other side with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and her iPad in the other.
“You only have a few things on the agenda for this morning, Ms. Rivers,” she says, deftly grabbing my bag and handing me the coffee in a smooth movement. “The EMEA team sent over the Q2 reports this morning?—”
“Fucking finally,” I grumble, sipping my perfect coffee. I grin—not a full smile—and thank God for Melissa. “What was their excuse for the delay?”
I pick up the pace and target my corner office, not stopping to acknowledge or say hi to any of the employees filling the cubicles to my left and right.
Their heads are down anyway, engrossed in their work. Why would I interrupt that?
“Well,” Melissa says, “they didn’t exactly provide one.”
I halt and look at her where she stands to my left and raise an eyebrow. The skin around her eyes tightens, and she taps frantically on her tablet.
“I’ll get the answer to that this morning, Ms. Rivers,” she says.
Excellent.
I sniff, remaining silent, and continue my trek to my office.
“I received your email and coordinated your request. Your nine a.m. is here,” Melissa says when I cross the threshold into my office. I stop short, tuning Melissa out, because there are three dozen red roses in the center of my desk. I stare at them as if they might hop up and bite me.
“What isthat?” I rasp, taking cautious steps closer to the bouquet. When was the last time someone bought me flowers?
“…And I’ll guide them to the conference room for you to join them at the top of the hour. Oh! Those are from…um….”
I round my desk, placing my coffee on the coaster to the right of my keyboard.
A thick white envelope sticks out of the center of the arrangement, and for a second, I allow myself to be transported back to another time and place.
To a time when I thought I was in deep, unyielding love, and I was loved in return.
Turns out there’s no such thing. Feelings are as temporary as these blooms that are now cut from their bushes.
It dies. All of it, everything, dies.
I open the card and frown when I see Zane’s name at the bottom of a long missive that I won’t be reading, and that frown deepens when a knock sounds from my door.
Speak of the motherfuckin’ devil.
Zane’s smile is particularly broad this morning, and Melissa shifts in clear discomfort in my peripheral vision. I understand why she would be, given the fact that Zane’s given me a big-ass bundle of flowers.
