My heart dropped.
“Our online relationship—whatever the hell that was anyway,” he said, “is over. I don’t want to hear from you outside of these walls again.”
“Thoreau...”
“It’s Mr. Hamilton, Miss Everhart.” He glared at me. “Mr. f**king Hamilton.”
“You have to believe that I’m sorry...I never thought that this would happen.”
“Take however much time you need on the Brownstein account.” He disregarded my apology and released his hold on my necklace. “You have until the end of next week. And from now on, you can just set my coffee on my bookcase. I don’t need you coming anywhere near my desk.”
“Andrew—”
“We are definitely not on a first name basis. Do not ever call me that.”
“Just let me explain...”
“There’s nothing to explain. You lied to me and you no longer exist. Get out. Now.”
I felt tears welling in my eyes. “I was serious about you being my only friend...Friends are supposed to give each other a chance to make things right. Just let me tell you why I had to lie to you...”
“I don’t deal with liars. Ever. And seeing that that’s exactly what you are, I don’t care why you felt the need to deceive me. Get out of my office, stay out of my sight as much as possible, and do your damn job.”
I stood up and looked into his eyes, pleading for him to simply hear me out, to let me explain, but he turned away from me. Then he picked up his phone.
“Jessica?” he said. “Could you help Miss Everhart find her way out of my office? And could you please have the janitor check my floors for f**king superglue?”
***
I stood underneath the scalding hot streams of my shower, crying. Right after I’d left Andrew’s office, I’d told HR that I wasn’t feeling well and needed to leave for the rest of the day.
I’d driven straight for the dance hall—locking myself into a private room and dancing until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. I knew I must’ve looked crazy to my classmates, sobbing in between every twirl, but I didn’t care; I needed to clear my mind of all thoughts of Andrew, Thoreau, and Alyssa.
As the water continued to lash against my skin, I shut my eyes and murmured, “How long has he known?” I thought about the past couple weeks, how “Thoreau” had been less talkative than normal, how he’d ignored me, and then it hit me.
My interview...
I still remembered it because seeing Andrew in person made me realize that no picture could ever accurately capture how sexy he really looked, and I’d blushed the second his eyes met mine. He didn’t seem to act any differently throughout the questioning, but then I remembered that random phone call...
I wasn’t sure why I was just remembering it now, but while Mr. Bach and Mr. Greenwood had simply laughed that intrusive phone call away, Andrew had stared at me. As if he was in complete and utter shock. And at the end of the interview, when I’d reached for his hand, his gaze wasn’t intrigued anymore, it was heated.
Wiping away my tears, I turned off the water and stepped out. I wrapped myself in a towel and did what I always did when I felt sad: ordered a sandwich and made myself a couple of stiff martinis.
Just as I was downing the first one, there was a knock on my door. I noticed the pink Barbie keys on the counter—courtesy of my forgetful and “never here” roommate and knew it was her.
She always leaves something...
“Would it kill you to double check for these before you—” I stopped when I opened the door.
It was Andrew, and the look on his face was one of pure anger. He wasn’t dressed in a suit anymore, just a simple, thin white T-shirt that slightly clung to his chiseled abs and a pair of faded blue jeans.
I tried to slam the door in his face, but he held it open and forced himself inside my apartment. I started to step backwards and he matched me step for step, backing me against my living room wall.
“We need to talk.” His voice was flat, emotionless.
“No, we don’t. You said plenty earlier.” I looked down at the floor. “Don’t worry, I’ll be resigning in the morning. Please leave.”
He tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes. “You’re not quitting.”