Susan swallowed the surge of jealousy that rose in her throat. “He’s all yours, as long as it doesn’t hurt what I’m trying to accomplish.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
“I’ll see what he says.” It was a generic brush-off. As she said it, Susan knew she wouldn’t ask Andrew for another chance. Regardless of how many friends would be there, to watch her back.
She and Olivia chatted through lunch and dessert about everything under the sun—Olivia’s job prospects, Susan’s goals for applying for a master’s program, and whatever else came up.
Susan put the conversation with Olivia out of her head the moment she got back to work. Or tried to. The idea taunted her at the most inconvenient times. When someone was asking her a question. As she was in the middle of answering phones. She forced herself to drive straight home after work, refusing to take a detour to R&T or Andrew’s hotel.
She poured her attention into homework and studying that night, and by the time she climbed into bed, the hectic day plus the lack of sleep the night before tugged her eyelids shut.
That didn’t mean sleep came. Every time she opened her eyes, it was only minutes since she last checked the clock. She finally drifted off around two, and when her alarm woke her at four, so she could get to the dance studio before work, she was ready to say screw it.
She hit Snooze, and dragged herself out of bed closer to seven. That meant no time to practice, but perhaps she could catch Andrew. Exhaustion had removed her I-care filter, so it seemed like the perfect time to approach him.
He wasn’t there when she arrived at eight. She didn’t have to be to work until nine but had no idea what kind of hours he kept or if he was coming in at all. It wouldn’t hurt to wait around for five or ten minutes. She let herself into his office and settled into the chair on the other side of the desk. The room looked sparse. Bare walls. Empty folder bins. A laptop and mousepad decorated the desk. He probably intended to be back at some point.
She folded her arms, settled them on the polished wood surface, and rested her cheek on them, gaze attached to the wall.
“Hey, sleepy head.” A gentle voice drilled into her thoughts and dragged her from a dream. A warm hand on her shoulder shook her until her head rattled, and she jerked up with a start.
Andrew stepped back, hands in the air, amusement on his face. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Is there a reason you’re sleeping in my office?”
“I’m not sleeping.” She struggled to grasp her language skills, and forced her brain to feed her words that made sense.
He took his seat across from her. “Resting your eyes. I get it. I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you were speaking to me.”
“You’re the one who said we were through.”
“Heat of the moment. It’s passed.” He looked as calm as he sounded. He also wore that darned impassive mask that meant he’d put up an invisible wall between them. “Things will be awkward if we do the not-talking thing. Mercy will ask why. Someone might tell her the truth…”
This wasn’t going the way she needed it to. Not that she had the brain power to know how that was. “Give me another chance, please?”
“Nope. Thanks for stopping by. I have work to do. You know your way out, I assume.” He flipped up the lid of his laptop.
“Please?”
“It’s a worse idea than the first time you asked me.”
“I’m begging.” Why? Because she wanted this—the help he could provide. It had nothing to do with wanting him in her life a little longer in general. “No emotional blackmail or manipulation. I’ll get down on my knees if that’ll help.” She stood.
“No.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “That will most certainly not help. Sit down.” He’d stopped shooing her out. This was a good sign.
“I know the perfect place. It’ll be crowded. Lots of people. Plenty of chance for public”—she stopped herself from saying humiliation; that approach wouldn’t help her cause—“displays.”
“You think you get to pick? Is this some sort of gathering of your friends?”
“I know the girl celebrating. I won’t know most of the people there.”
“From church?”
She hadn’t been to church since she was sixteen. “From school. She got accepted into a master’s program at Stanford.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tossing in another round of pleading. When he said, “All right,” she let out a breath she didn’t realize was holding.
“Thank you. Thank you.” She wanted to leap across the desk and hug him but restrained herself.
“Save the gratitude until you know if this actually works. Tell me where to meet you and when to be there.”