If anything, we’re star-crossed lovers, destined to die a slow and painful death.
Drama queen.
I have to admit, though, how we keep being pulled together is strange. Neither of us seems to be able to stop. It feels as though some unseen force is pulling the strings and thrusting us together.
Then pulling us apart.
Are we just avoiding the inevitable?
Maybe we should let things happen and deal with the fallout.
Allow ourselves to taste a slice of the forbidden fruit before the snake comes along to fuck shit up.
I blow out a breath, willing myself to concentrate on my work. There’s a lot to do and little time to do it.
I’m sending the creative team an email asking to meet this afternoon. I’ll need every hour I can squeeze to formulate ideas ahead of time. As good as our marketing team is, I’m better. I understand this account more than any of them.
We’re on a time crunch, and I need all hands on deck.
Otherwise, I’d do the heavy lifting all on my own. I’m determined to nail this, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a bit of a control freak.
Thankfully, the creative team had been given a heads-up by Charles and was more than ready for my email. They’d agreed to a three o’clock meeting, right before the end of the day, which gives me plenty of time.
My phone pings, pulling me away from my computer.
Asher: Lunch?
I want to see him, but there’s no way I can fit lunch in today. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a couple of minutes to hit the vending machine for a less than fulfilling snack.
Me: Can’t, sorry. I have a tight deadline chasing me.
Asher: Sounds scary. I can’t wait to hear all about it.
I’d love to be able to talk shop with someone who gets what I’m doing, but Asher isn’t the right person. Whether I like it or not, he’s competition. Until this campaign is over, I’m keeping my ideas and whining to myself.
Asher: Dinner?
Me: I’ll probably be working late. Can I text you later?
I won’t. I know that the last thing I’ll be up for tonight is dinner out and having to balance time with my friend and dodging his probing questions about my work.
Asher: Sure. I’ll be free.
Asher: Listen... I need to talk to you about Summer. I messed up.
Dread fills me because, without a doubt, I know what he’s going to admit.
He was the one who leaked the Summer info to Bauer.
Bile coats my throat, and my stomach plummets to my feet.
Me: Are you fucking kidding me, Ash?
Asher: I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional. I’ve been sick over it.
Me: And you decide to tell me via text????
Asher: You guessed. I wanted to tell you in person.