Page 31 of Middle Ground
I pinch the bridge of my nose as another sigh falls out of me. “I’m notdestroyinganything.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
It seems no matter what I do, Meyer is always going to have this idea of me in her head. This role I’m meant to play. As long as she keeps this wall between us, we aren’t going to get very far, and I only have a limited amount of time here.
“Ashley called in sick, so if you need me, I’ll be covering in the restaurant,” she says. She does a little condescending finger wave. “Happy reading.”
She leaves the room with a flourish, and then it’s just me and all the boxes.
When I settle into the chair she just vacated, it makes a slow descent to the lowest setting, as if it, too, is mad at me. Instead of sitting comfortably at the desk, all I can manage is to rest my chin on the surface.
I huff out a frustrated breath as I stand again, pushing the broken chair to the side. Then I drag one of the other chairs around to sit behind the desk.
Number one on my to-do list: order a new fucking chair.
As I sit and contemplate all the boxes surrounding me, I realize something. The key to getting her to cooperate is understanding why she’s so reluctant in the first place.
It’s not the town I have to study—it’s Meyer. And I happen to be a very good student.
Hours pass, and I make them count. I don’t touch the town history like she wanted me to, but I do succumb to my curiosity and flip through her old diary. I normally wouldn’t, but the temptation was too great, and she left it right there on the desk.
Teenage Meyer was exactly as I expected. The perfect blend of angst and rage at the world, mixed with a certain kind of vulnerability that comes with trying to find your place in it. If I had to guess, the adult version of her isn’t as different as she wants everyone to believe.
When Meyer enters the office, I don’t even have to look up. Partially because I can smell her intoxicating floral perfume, but also because I have begrudgingly developed a sixth sense for her. Since that first day, my body has become finely attuned to her presence.
“You’re kind of a workaholic, Vaughan.”
For the first time in my life, that sounds like a bad thing.
I set aside the book I was holding and lean back in my chair. “You’re one to talk.”
She crosses her arm, cocking a hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t taken a single day off since I got here.”
“How would you know?”
I hesitate. The real answer is something I’m not sure I should divulge.I’ve been watching youadmittedly sounds a bit creepy. But I can’t help it. She intrigues me.
“All my staff interviews have one thing in common,” I say instead. “They literally all mentioned your inability to relax.”
This makes her tense. “You talked about me?”
I study her. Her posture is rigid, but something a lot like worry flashes in her gaze. She’s quick to mask it, but it’s too late—I’ve already seen.
I want to set her mind at ease. I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to go behind her back to dig up information on her. She already doesn’t trust me. That would push her over the edge.
“I’m pleased to report that everyone loves you. So much so that they were all very unsure about talking to me. I essentially had to beg for information.”
A bit of hyperbole on my part, but what the staff think of Meyer is nothing short of the truth. They essentially all told me that Beatrice had been an excellent employer. Since Meyer took over the day-to-day operations, it’s been no different. This town sure loves its Ellisons.
“What else did you talk about?”
There’s still a wariness about her, but her tone now borders on curious. I’m counting that as a win, small as it may be.
“I asked them the same question I asked you,” I say. “What their favourite thing is about working here. If theyhad any suggestions of ways we could make their jobs easier to do.”
“Asking for their input isn’t a revolutionary concept around here. We have a suggestion box,” she says. “And I make a point to check in with them all the time.”
