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“Have a nice nap?” he asks with a smile.
“Yeah, actually. How did you get in here?” I rub my eyes.
“Got my key back from Steph.”
“Oh. How long have you been here?”
“About thirty minutes. How was your day at Vance? I didn’t think you would be back already; it’s only six. But here you are passed out, snoring away, so it must have felt like a long one.” He laughs.
I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him. “It was great. I got my own office, with my name on the wall outside it—I can’t believe it! It’s wonderful. I will be making a lot more money than I thought, and I get to read manuscripts; how perfect is that? I’m just afraid that I will mess it up somehow because it’s so perfect. You know?” I ramble.
“Whoa, Vance must like you.” He raises a brow. “But you’ll do fine, don’t worry.”
“He said you worked there,” I tell him, testing his reaction.
“Of course he did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or that you have a job now? When do you even have time to work?”
“You always have so many questions.” He runs his hands through his hair. “But I will answer them,” he adds. “I didn’t tell you because, well, I don’t know why, actually. And I make time to work. Whenever I am not with you, I find the time.”
I sit cross-legged and face him. “Mr. Vance really likes you—he said he wants you to work for him again.”
“I am sure he does, but no, thanks. I make more than I did there and have less work,” he brags and I roll my eyes.
“Tell me about your job. What exactly do you do?”
He shrugs. “Read manuscripts, edit them. Same thing you’ll do, but more involved.”
“Oh. Do you like it?”
“Yes, Tessa. I do.” His tone is a little harsh.
“That’s good. Do you want to work for a publishing house when you graduate?”
“I don’t know what I want to do.” He rolls his eyes.
“Did I say something?” I ask.
“No, you just ask too many questions all the time.”
“What?” Is he being sarcastic or serious?
“You don’t need to know every detail about my life,” he snaps.
“I am just making conversation, having a casual discussion about your job,” I say. “Those are just normal things people do—sorry for taking an interest in your everyday life.”
He doesn’t say anything. What the hell is his problem? I had an amazing day and the last thing I want to do is fight with him. I direct my attention to the ceiling and stay quiet as well. Eventually I learn there are ninety-five panels up there, and forty screws holding them up.
“I need to take a shower,” I finally say.
“So go, then,” he huffs.
I roll my eyes and grab my toiletry bag. “You know, I thought we were past this, the whole you-being-an-asshole-for-no-reason thing?” I say and walk out of the room.
I take my time in the shower, shaving and reshaving my legs for the dress that I bought to wear tomorrow for my first real day at Vance. I am beyond nervous, but my excitement tops everything. I really wish Hardin wasn’t being so rude. All I did was ask him about a job that he didn’t tell me about. I should be able to talk to him about that, but there’s just so much about him that I don’t know, and it makes me really uncomfortable.
I try to figure out how to explain that to him, but when I get back to my room, Hardin’s gone.
Chapter seventy-seven
I am beyond annoyed at Hardin’s unnecessary attitude, but I try to forget it and brush the tangles out of my wet hair and put on the light pink lingerie I bought today. I slip a T-shirt over my head and look over my stuff for tomorrow. All I can think about is where he went; I know I’m obsessive and a little crazy, but I can’t help worrying that he’s with Molly.
While deciding whether or not to call Hardin, I receive a text message from Steph saying that she won’t be back tonight. She might as well move in with Tristan and Nate; she stays there five nights a week and Tristan absolutely adores her. He probably told her about his job on their second date and he probably wouldn’t snap at her and leave for no reason.
“Lucky Steph,” I say to myself and grab the remote for her television. My fingers press the buttons absentmindedly and I settle on a rerun of Friends that I have seen at least one hundred times. I can’t remember the last time I watched television, but it’s nice to just lie in bed and watch a simple comedy, to escape from the most recent pointless fight with Hardin.
After a few episodes of various shows, I feel my eyes getting heavy. In my sleepy state my anger momentarily disappears and I text Hardin good night, but he doesn’t reply before sleep overtakes me.
“Shit.” A loud thud wakes me up. I jolt upright and turn on the lamp to find a stumbling Hardin trying to navigate the dark room.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
When he looks up at me his eyes are red and glossy. He is drunk. Great.
“I came here to see you,” he says and plops down in the chair.
“Why?” I whine. I want him here, but not drunk and at two in the morning.
“Because I missed you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because you were annoying me.”
Ouch. “Okay, I’m going back to sleep; you’re drunk and you’re obviously going to be mean again.
“I’m not being mean, Tessa. And I’m not drunk . . . okay . . . I am, but so what?”