Page 29

Chapter 29

Distance

Parker

It’s been a week, and it’s killing me.

I see Brandon at breakfast, sitting at a different table. We bump into each other at the gym, or in reception. He says hi. I ask how he is. He keeps walking and I stop start. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and I hate it.

It’s harder than last time. Last time, we weren’t bumping into each other. He disappeared off the face of my planet. And that made it easier to stop looking. Well, not easy. Just… less hard.

In desperation, I posted a picture of the two of us on my public account and tagged him. It’s a selfie we took after he’d helped repaint the fences. His arm is slung casually over my shoulder, and I’m laughing my head off.

I captioned it reunited and it feels so good . I can see him rolling his eyes and roasting me for the basicness of it all, but I don’t care. Anything to get his attention. To show him I’m cool with the world seeing us together. In a matter of minutes, it’s blowing up with likes and comments by everyone we went to high school with. But nothing from him.

I’ve distracted myself working until midnight on my pitch to the Garrison. I can barely concentrate, but Archie told me this morning that Summit had been hit with two more cancellations.

My phone beeps. From behind his desk, the Garrison’s receptionist glares at me. I discreetly slip it out of my blazer pocket, and blink in surprise at the screen. Millie St Clare has requested to follow you . I haven’t spoken to her since we split up.

I decline the request, but a minute later, I’ve received a message.

Millie : Can we talk?

What the hell? Opening the ex-files is the last thing I need right now.

“Mr Di Rossi?” The Garrison’s receptionist peers over his computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?” His tone implies he already knows the answer.

“I was hoping to make one. With the manager, if possible. I’m sure she has a busy schedule, but any time in the next couple of weeks would be gr–”.

I break off as a woman in her late fifties, in a pale pink suit and coiffed hair stalks across the marble reception, her heels clacking impatiently. “Sebastian, where are the invoices I asked for?” She pauses, looking me up and down. I guess I don’t exactly look like a guest. “Who’s this?”

“This is Parker Di Rossi. He’s looking to make an appointment with you”, Sebastian lowers his tone, “I told him you were busy”.

“Regarding what?”

“Sorry?”

“What”, she repeats loudly and slowly, “Did you want to speak about?”

“Oh!” I fumble with my binder, “Firstly, it’s great to meet you. My name is Parker Di Rossi…”

“I believe we have covered that”.

“And I work at Summit…”

She sighs loudly, returns her attention to her paperwork. I clear my throat. “I was hoping I could talk to you about an opportunity for our two businesses to collaborate on…”

“So you’re Summit’s owner, are you?”

“No, not exactly”.

“Then what exactly are you?”

“I’m responsible for”, I hesitate. I can hardly say ‘The Shit-List’, “Uh…”

“Let’s try something easier. What did your MBA teach about the correct way to approach a business?” Her smile is unfriendly. “You do have an MBA, I assume?”

I shake my head, and she tuts impatiently. I force a smile. “Maybe we could find a time that might work better for you…”

“I’ve already had this conversation with a representative from Summit, and as I explained to your employer, the Garrison is an institution. We have a certain clientele, and longstanding relationships with a number of international stakeholders. None of whom would be impressed that I had entertained some kind of partnership with people who have nothing better to do than to kick balls around for a living”.

I don’t know what to say. I just stand there, stupid and exposed.

“May I offer some advice?” She continues, without waiting for a reply, “Barging into a business with ill-thought out and unprepared pitches is a waste of both of our times, and mine at least, is valuable”.

She waves her hand in the vague direction of the door, “Try talking to one of the local hostels. That might be a better fit for you and your little idea”.

I force down the lump in my throat. “Thank-you”. I hold out my hand, “For your time”.

She looks at it with distaste. Her minion makes a show of hiding his smile behind his hand. I want to smack him in the mouth.

But then, I’d be no better than she thinks I am already.

****

I walk home completely and utterly dejected. I’m mad at myself for not preparing more thoroughly, but I’m also stuck seeing myself through the Garrison’s eyes, like I’m not good enough.

What really kills me is the realisation that this is how I made Brandon feel too. Like there was something wrong with him.

I consider heading to a bar to drown my sorrows, but it’s already dark and I just want to fall into bed and write off the day. I slip in through the gates and am about to head home when something catches my eye.

There’s a light on in the main office. Only for a second, then it’s gone.

It’s too late for anyone to still be working. The rest of the campus is bathed in darkness.

There it is again. It’s not a light, it’s a torch. Someone’s in there. I should call the police. I reach for my phone, but then stop. What if I’m wrong? Or there’s some innocent explanation. Last thing Simon needs is the cops showing up and causing a disturbance.

I tiptoe around back. There’s a window half open. Rustling noises come from inside.

Where the hell is security? I hesitate. Should I go in? Now’s the time to call the cops. Hopefully they’ll get here quickly. I slide my phone out of my pocket, when the sound of something crashing over makes my mind up for me.

I slip through the window.

The noise is coming from the back office. There’s nothing of value in there, as far as I know, just a bunch of office supplies and files. I tiptoe forward, barely daring to breathe.

The door is ajar. A figure in a black hoodie crouches over the filing cabinet, a torch in his mouth, rifling through files.

I cast my eyes around, not finding anything that I can use as a weapon. I edge closer and closer. The floor beneath me creaks, and he spins around. Fuck.

I spring forward, wrestling him to the ground. He’s strong, shoving me off but I pin him down by the throat and reach down to grab his hood.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Wait, I know that voice. I yank his hood off.

It’s Brandon.