CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
ONE MONTH LATER
Abram
I slam the file against my desk and glare angrily at my shivering secretary. “What exactly can you do right, Miss Harvey?” I ask coldly. “Do you call this crap a report? Do I have to fire you like I did the last two secretaries before you come to your senses?”
“I...I’m sorry, Mr. Harden,” she says in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll do it again.”
“Get this crap off my desk,” I say, gesturing at the file she brought in a minute ago. “I’d bring back a perfect version in fifteen minutes if I were you, Miss. Harvey.”
“Yes, sir,” she says quickly and scrambles out of my office, gently closing the door behind her.
I sigh loudly and turn my chair toward the window.
The scenic view outside my window does nothing to calm the violent storm brewing in the pit of my stomach.
I’m angry at everything and everyone.
A month has passed, and I still can’t seem to get her out of my head. Not that I want to. Memories of her haunt me every day and night.
Even though I hated to admit it, she was right.
I pulled away from her under the pretense of being busy and returned to her with only excuses.
I had been overwhelmed by my feelings for Melody and June’s resignation, and I’d withdrawn into myself again.
Did you think I’d wait around for you forever...?
I guess I thought she would.
I overestimated my importance and took her feelings for granted.
At first, I thought she would get over her anger, and we’d talk things over, but Melody had been adamant.
She refused to see me no matter how hard I persisted. Brenda tried to help, but Melody’s mind was made up. She didn’t want anything to do with me.
I had no choice but to return to London and lick my wounds.
So I would give her time. It was the least I owed her.
I had left her, and now it was my turn to be without her. But not for long. I threw myself into work in the meantime, reverting to my old self...even worse. Nothing made sense these days.
I just endure each day. Waiting impatiently for my time to come.
There’s a knock on the door, and I turn my chair toward the door. Miss Harvey peeps into my office.
“There’s someone here for you, sir,” she says in a timid voice.
“Do they have an appointment?” I ask sharply.
I’m definitely not in the mood to make small talks right now.
“No,” Miss Harvey says. “But it seems urgent.”
“Who is it?” I ask with a sigh.
“It’s one Miss Melody Hanson.”
“What?”