Page 93 of That Conflicted Feeling

Fuck, is it that obvious?Atleast to someone who knows me well enough to predict my every thought beforeI’veeven had it. “Itdoesn’t matter whoIdid or didn’t meet.”

Iknew letting myself get close to a woman would never go well.I’vealways known the only things that can be depended on to give my life meaning are work and success.So, it’s all my own fault.

Therewere so many reasons that getting involved withPollywas a bad idea.Butit never occurred to me that one of them might be thatIcould get hurt.

Obviously,I’veheard people talk about being heartbroken.ButIthought all they needed to do was pull themselves together, snap out of it, and get over it.Ihad no idea that it was called heartbreak because it actually feels like someone’s punched their fists through your ribs and is trying to rip your heart in half like it’s a ream of paper.

Ithought burying myself in the business for fifteen hours a day this last week would get me over it.Butno, even work—the one thingIthoughtIcould always rely on to solve all my problems—isn’t fixing it.

“Ifyou say so,”Charlottesays, raising her eyebrows then walking over to my desk to pick up some files. “Anyway,TarquintheTerriblewants to talk to you.Itold him you’d call him back when you have a minute.ThoughtI’dbuy you some time to steel yourself.”

Unusually, he’s exactly the personIwant to talk to. “Iwas just thinking about calling him anyway.”

“Voluntarily?Whenwas the last time you didn’t do everything you could to avoid him?”Sherests her hands on her hips. “Seriously, are you sure you can’t fire him for bad attitude or insubordination or for being a rude asshole?Theremust be other chief financial officers out there who’re as good but also pleasant.”

Ishake my head. “Iwouldn’t have employed him if he wasn’t in a league of his own.Ican’t afford for him to work for the competition.”

“Shamehe doesn’t often remember it’s you who owns the company, not him.Youwouldn’t let anyone else talk to you the way he does.”

“Ilet you talk to me like that every day.MaybeIshould fire you and get someone who calls meMr.Dashwoodand hangs on my every word.”

“Aw,” she says as she heads through the door. “Underall this glass, concrete, suits, deals, and piles of cash, you’re a big old softy, aren’t you?”

Thedoor has barely closed when it reopens just far enough forCharlotteto poke her grinning face back around. “Youlike agir-ir-l.”

Inever knew it was possible to give the word girl three syllables.

“Out.”Ipoint at her with my outstretched arm. “OrI’llreassign you toTarquin.”

There’sthat annoying little sister thing again.Thething where they’re generally right.I’dnever live it down if she knewI’dfallen for a goat-owning potato seller on my trip to the boonies.

Although,I’msure she andPollywould be immediate friends.Everyonewould adore her.Mybrothers, my cousins, my parents.Howcould anyone not adorePolly?

Jesus,Ifucked that up.

Idon’t thinkI’llever get over the fact she thinksIused her and betrayed her.It’samazing how you can go around doing business-as-usual every day and not see how it looks to outsiders.

Well, at least not until the person who’s stolen a large chunk of your heart yells at you over a candle stall and explains it in single syllable words.Loudly.

Inthat moment there was no point trying to explain it to her or make amends.Shewas so clear.Theonly dignified thingIcould do was exactly what she wanted.Andthat was to completely disappear from her life.

She’llnever disappear from mine though.

Iguess occasionally, if you’re lucky, someone crosses your path and changes you forever.

Itake a deep breath and pick up my phone.

Okay.Tarquin.Timefor me to do it.

Thismight actually make me feel better.

Heanswers on the first half ring. “Ah,Max.”

Ifumble for the volume control.WhydoInever remember to turn it down beforeItalk to him?

Trueto form, he dives right in. “So,Ineed you to do something about—”

“Actually,Tarquin,Ineed to talk to you.”