Page 70

Story: Anti-Hero

I exhale. “I just wanted to say?—”
My phone starts ringing, the shrill sound cutting me off.
I wait for it to go to voicemail. It does, then immediately rings again.
“You should get that,” Collins comments. “It’s probably important.”
“So isthis,” I growl, frustration rearing its ugly head again.
I don’t mean to snap at her. I’m trying toapologize, and it’s going terribly. Not only have all my carefully prepared questions fled my head, but it’s feeling impossible to have an uninterrupted conversation. Which is why I wanted to do this somewhere else, over the weekend.
My phone falls silent. Then promptly begins ringing for a thirdtime.
I drag a palm down my face, tempted to toss the damn thing in a corner.
“It’s probably about the board meeting.”
My gaze snaps to Collins. “What board meeting?”
“The one at nine fifteen. It’s on your calendar.”
Goddamn it.
Board meetings only happen once a month, and they’re a big deal. This is my first one since joining the company. I should have been prepping for it over the weekend. Yet another thing I fucked up recently.
I glance at the clock. It’s 9:08.
This is going to have to wait. Not showing up to a board meeting isn’t an option.
“Are you free for lunch?” I ask.
“I just made plans with Margot.”
I clench my jaw, praying for patience. She couldn’t have known I was going to ask her, but it feels like Collins is being deliberately difficult. She’s certainly not making this any easier.
I deserve it. But I can’t fix anything if we don’t communicate.
“What about tomorrow?”
“You have a lunch meeting with the Boeing executives.”
For fuck’s sake.
My phone starts ringing for a fourth time. I answer it, worried there’s an actual emergency. Not that many people have my direct line.
“Kensington. What is it?”
“What a pleasant greeting.”
My mom. And I know why she’s calling—because I avoided her two calls over the weekend.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, already regretting answering. “I’m sorry. But nowreallyisn’t a good time?—”
“You didn’t answer your cell, so I was worried. I just …”
I’m distracted from the rest of my mom’s sentence as Collins stands, sets the piece of paper she was holding on my desk, and then walks out of my office.
And I tune my mom out entirely as I stare at my pregnant assistant’s two weeks’ notice.

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