Chapter Four
762 Words
Chapter Four
The door closes.
Not quite a slam.
Close enough.
I stare at it for a second.
Then another.
The meeting room is silent.
The folder Emily abandoned is still sitting on the table.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Ninety-two days.
Ninety-two days preparing for this conversation.
And somehow I’d managed to upset her in under an hour.
An achievement, really.
I lean back in my chair and rub a hand across my face.
“Well done.”
The empty room doesn’t respond.
Probably because even it knows I screwed that up.
The thing is, I genuinely have no idea what I said.
One minute we were discussing paperwork.
The next she looked ready to throw the folder at my head.
Not that I would have blamed her.
The woman had buried her husband less than three months ago.
If she wanted to launch office supplies at me, I’d probably let her.
I glance toward the door.
Part of me wants to go after her.
The smarter part remembers the expression on her face.
No.
Definitely not.
I learned that lesson years ago.
Emily needed space when she was angry.
Unfortunately, Emily was angry a lot more than she realised.
At least where I was concerned.
I never understood why.
Not completely.
I knew she found me irritating.
That much had always been obvious.
The feeling was occasionally mutual.
Mostly because every conversation between us felt like stepping into a minefield.
Say the wrong thing.
Boom.
Say the right thing.
Still boom.
I pick up the folder she left behind.
The irony is that I hadn’t been joking about the documents.
Half of them didn’t make sense.
The legal team practically spoke another language.
There was a reason I paid people to explain things to me.
Apparently that explanation hadn’t helped.
The door opens.
I look up.
Linda from Finance sticks her head inside.
“Everything okay?”
I stare at her.
Then I laugh.
A short, humourless sound.
“What gave it away?”
She glances at the empty chair.
“Emily?”
I nod.
Linda winces.
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Well.”
She thinks about it.
“At least she came.”
The frustrating thing is that she’s right.
Emily had spent three months avoiding this place.
Three months avoiding me.
Three months pretending the business didn’t exist.
The fact she’d walked through the door at all was progress.
Even if she currently hated my guts.
Again.
Linda disappears.
The meeting room falls quiet.
I look down at the folder.
Then out the window.
The car park is visible from here.
A silver hatchback pulls away from the building.
Emily.
Leaving.
Of course she is.
I should let it go.
I know that.
But my stomach twists anyway.
Because despite everything, she’d looked better today.
Stronger.
Still grieving.
Still carrying that weight around with her.
But stronger.
And for one stupid second, when she’d walked through the door, I’d felt relieved.
Relieved.
As though seeing her somehow proved that life was still moving forward.
Which was ridiculous.
I look away from the window.
Some mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Some days refuse to stay in the past.
And some conversations replay themselves whether you want them to or not.
I reach for my phone.
Then stop.
No.
Bad idea.
The last thing Emily wants right now is a message from me.
The last thing she needs is another reason to be angry.
I put the phone back down.
Across the desk sits an untouched coffee.
Cold now.
I don’t remember making it.
For a moment, I just stare at it.
At the reflection in the dark surface.
At the tired face staring back.
I look back at the empty chair.
The meeting had been a disaster.
Emily was furious.
The paperwork was still sitting on the table.
And I was no closer to solving any of the problems I’d called her in for.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I found myself staring at the door she’d just walked through.
At least she had the energy to be angry at me.
It was probably a terrible sign that the thought felt reassuring.
But ninety-two days ago, I would have given anything to see that spark in her again.
The phone vibrates.
An email.
Another problem.
Another decision.
Another thing requiring my attention.
The company keeps moving.
People keep moving.
Life keeps moving.
Whether any of us are ready or not.
I open the email.
And try not to think about Emily.
Which works for approximately three seconds.
- Writer
