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Ipacedbackandforth in my office, no doubt wearing a hole into the rug as well as my heels.

My nerves crackled like static on an old television, making it difficult to focus on just one thought at a time. Frankie would be arriving any minute, and we’d talk for the first time since that night at the bar.

Or rather, Ihopedwe would talk.

The anxiety left my fingertips icy, and I clutched at my hot coffee mug for some semblance of warmth.

“Marina?” I called, and she shot to her feet and hurried into my office.

“Yes, Miss Jones- Hayden?”

“Is the conference room all set up?” I asked for the nth time.

Marina nodded as if I’d asked her the first time, grabbing her diary from her desk and flipping it open. “I have it all scheduled,” she assured me. “Miss Ivey is due to arrive soon and the conference room has been booked for the next three hours. The rest of the guests will arrive at eight.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, falling back into the repetitive motion of pacing.

It was a big gamble, especially after how we’d left things. But I couldn’t keep dragging my feet.

“Let me know as soon as she gets here,” I said,again, chewing on the tip of my thumb. “I don’t want her going into this blind.”

Marina nodded and understood the silent dismissal. She returned to her desk, leaving me to fret in silence.

“Why am I nervous?” I muttered, irritated with the effervescent panic that ate away at my confidence.

Barely a minute had passed before Marina tapped at my door.

“Miss Ivey is here,” she said.

My head snapped up and I fought to compose myself. “Send her in.”

I walked back to my chair and sat down, resisting the urge to sit on my hands to stop them from fidgeting.

“Hi,” Frankie said as she walked in, dressed in a pair of simple black slacks and a loose button down shirt. “Can I come in?”

Awkward,soawkward.

“Please do,” I said, waving a hand at the chair in front of my desk. She sat down but kept her eyes on her hands for a beat too long.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come today,” I admitted.

She lifted her head, eyes meeting mine. “Why not?” she challenged.

“Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t have held it against you if you chose not to,” I explained. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was wrong for me to say those things.”

She hummed, and I wondered if she could smell the blatant lie.

I wasn’t sorry at all.

I was angry with myself, but whether for what I did or what Ididn’tdo, I was unsure.

“I just want to make one thing clear,” she said carefully, and I nodded for her to go on. “I came because I take my family’s store seriously. It isn’t a joke to me or anyone else who works there. You’re the owner. You asked me to meet you, so here I am. Although ‘ask’ would be an exaggeration.”

I winced at that.

I’d labored over the wording of my text for what felt like hours, typing, deleting, and retyping my request again and again until I’d almost gone mad. In the end, I’d forced myself to hit send when there were no more phrases left at my disposal.

“I’m sorry about that as well.” I sighed. “The reason I wanted you to meet me here is because I’d like to start involving you in the decision-making processes for the store.”