When we reach the Sterling Front building, I even wait on Viv at the elevator, despite the fact I just want to hurry up and get to Bo’s office. The elevator takes for-fucking-ever, but it finally opens up on Pretty Posh’s executive floor.
Unlike the last time, the receptionist doesn’t smile, wave and buzz me back. She glares daggers at me.
“You can’t go in,” she tells me.
“Looks like she thinks you’re an asshole too,” Viv points out.
“I really need to talk to Bo,” I say, aiming for a charming smile, and hoping it isn’t a drunken idiot’s smile.
“No. There’s only one person on this floor who is nice to all the little people, and you yelled at her the last time you were here. Now she’s not being nice to anyone. So you can leave.”
My brow furrows in confusion, because what she said doesn’t make sense.
“I’m here to apologize to her for yelling. Maybe it will change things,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around her meaning.
She tightens her lips, but then she shakes her head. “It’s not up to me. I’ll buzz Ms. Brendon.”
She pushes a button on her headset, waits a beat, then speaks into it.
“Ms. Brendon, the jackass is back. Do you want me to call security?”
Viv snorts, and I glare down at her while she tries to contain her laughter. Guess I deserve that.
The receptionist looks back at me, smiling bitterly.
“She’s giving you five minutes to clear the floor before I call security.”
My heart sinks, and Viv’s amusement dies. I really did fuck up.
Chapter 42
BO
Bora has called numerous times, and for the first time in my life, I haven’t rushed to answer it. I’d say it feels good, but I still feel nothing.
Propping up on my couch with my wine and pizza, I flip on the TV.
Jax’s number pops up on my phone, and I make a mental note to change my number while tossing my phone aside. Viv’s number flashes right behind it, but I just glance in its direction, not bothering to answer.
The keypad on my door activates, and I watch as Shanna walks in, glaring at me like she’s about to unleash one of her tirades.
“You have to snap out of this,” she growls. “This isn’t you! You’re not a bitch, and you’ve been a bitch since that jerk yelled at you the other day! Talk to me and—”
“My home,” I remind her, using my bottle of wine to gesture around it. “Get out.”
Her mouth opens, and that same, unmistakable hurt flashes through her eyes.
Nothing.
“Bo, what’s going on?!”
“See, everyone keeps asking that. Why? Because they can’t treat me the way they always do. You can’t barge into my house and tell me how to act or how to be. You can’t come in here and act like you have the right to bark out orders. It’s old. I’m over it. You can leave.”
She takes a step back, and that same acceptance Bora had crosses her eyes before she walks away. When an unknown number pops up on my phone, I answer it just as Shanna exits my home without winning this war, slamming the door behind her.
I still don’t have to argue with stubborn people. But I also don’t have to listen to them talking on and on about how I should be reacting. They love hearing themselves talk, but I’m done listening.
“Hello.”