Splutter

I linger a bit in front of the elevator, not only to breathe, but to gauge which way I should go. There are too many desks in the room and too many people running around among them. It takes me a few seconds to realize there actually is one separate office too, with a door and everything. I bet I know who that office belongs to. Since no one stops me, or pays any attention to me for that matter, I head straight toward it.
My hand doesn’t hesitate on the handle, but when I step inside, I wish I had hesitated, because I feel completely unprepared. But I guess nothing could have prepared me for this. Being away from his intoxicating presence for three weeks made it easier to bury it under all the pain. But now it’s inescapable. The pang in my chest is neither pain nor anger.
I miss him. A lot.
I am glad that he isn’t looking at me at this moment because his gaze would be too much to take. He’s standing in front of his desk, leaning on its edge, immersed in some papers-a CV, I think.
It’s only when I close the door that he becomes aware of the fact that he’s not alone in the room. His blue eyes widen slightly, but there’s no trace of the shock I expected. Of course not. It reminds me why I’m here. It is what brings the anger back.
He sets the CV aside, watching me intently. His tone is one notch too cool when he asks, “To what do I owe your visit, Serena?”
“You know exactly why I’m here.”
He smirks. “I always knew that counting on that moron to keep his mouth shut was a long shot.”
“You had no right to interfere in this, to pay that debt,” I bellow. “I had it all sorted out.”
“It certainly didn’t look that way.” He doesn’t unhitch himself from the table, or show any sign of wanting to come closer to me. Thank God. Keeping a cool head is hard enough as it is.
He’s dressed in jeans and a burgundy shirt, and the undone button at the base of his neck brings an inexplicable desire to undo the rest.
“I-I… don’t want to owe you anything,” I stutter.
“You don’t. Jess does. Don’t worry, Serena. I don’t plan to interfere in your life again.”
“Really?” I bite my lip. “You know what I think?”
“No, but you’re welcome to tell me.” He picks up the CV again and flips the page as if what I have to say doesn’t interest him in the slightest. His indifference does nothing to relieve the pang in my chest. He’s done a muc
h better job forgetting his feelings for me.
Or at least is much better at hiding them than I am.
I take a deep breath. “You did this on purpose.”
“And what would that purpose be?”
“To get my attention.”
He looks up and finally unhitches himself from the desk. “So maybe I did. But you are the one who came looking for me, not the other way around.”
“Of course I came.” My throat is dry. “I don’t shy away from problems, unpleasant as they might be.”
His lips curl in a smile so conceited I briefly consider walking up to him and slapping him. But I stay put, because the odds that I might change my mind on the way and kiss him instead are not low enough. “And we couldn’t have had this unpleasant conversation on the phone? Why did you come?”
His words throw me off a bit. Coming here was my first instinct. From the moment the bar owner uttered his name. I thought it was because of the anger. Now I know better. But how do I keep him from figuring it out, if he hasn’t already? I look away from him, fearing that my gaze might give me away.
“Perhaps you were looking for an excuse to see me,” he says.
There is an edge to his voice despite the coolness in it. It doesn’t match the conceited smile.
“That’s not why I came,” I say and instantly wish I had stayed silent, because what little my coming here didn’t betray, the longing in my words just did.
He advances toward me and I take a step back, not putting any distance between us because I bump into the door. He puts his palms on the door on both sides, trapping me between his arms. There’s no escape now from his piercing gaze or the intoxicating scent of his skin. My will is my only defense.
“Then why? Why did you come, Serena? Do you miss me?” he asks in an almost pleading tone.
I can see in his eyes that he hasn’t forgiven me for those cruel words I spat at him the last time we saw each other. I haven’t forgiven him for what he did either. But none of this seems to matter, because the need for each other is stronger than both of us.
“Tell me you do,” he whispers in my ear, and the urgency in his voice almost crumbles the last of my defenses. Almost. There is still a wisp of determination in a distant part of my mind that his proximity hasn’t taken over. I can’t show any sign of weakness.
He’s the first to show a sign of weakness. Or maybe it’s strength. Courage, even. Because admitting my longing seems like the hardest thing to do.
“I miss you,” he says and moves one hand on my waist. Even through the fabric of my black dress, his touch has the power to set me ablaze. “Let’s start over. Today. Tonight. There’s a charity event I was invited to. I wasn’t planning on going, but we could go together.”
“You know as well as I do it will end as soon as it starts,” I say weakly, wishing I could find a way not to feel his hot breath against my neck anymore. Or at least not respond the way that I do, with a light tremor and a drumming heart.
“It won’t. We deserve a chance, Serena. A real one. Come with me tonight.”
I’m so close to saying yes. It would be so easy. So tempting. My whole body begs me to say yes. My mind almost decides on saying out loud the word that would surely shatter my heart in no time.
And then my salvation comes, in the form of laughter.
Not mine. Someone else’s. A high-pitched laughter, resembling a lark’s screech. I can hear it even through the concrete wall and wooden door.
“Please don’t read anything into this,” James pleads, now putting his other hand on my waist as well. “Natalie owns part of this company. She does come here from time to time.”
I leap from his arms just as the door opens and Natalie walks in, her dark brown hair falling in waves, wearing a ridiculously short white dress that reveals almost every inch of her long, perfectly tan legs. The last thing on her mind seems to be checking on her company’s state. Good. She reminds me why I must never allow myself to be weak again.
When she notices me, the corners of her mouth instantly lift in a practiced smile that matches the hypocrisy in her tone.
“Serena, how good to see you again. How is your friend keeping up? She looked devastated when she came here.”
I take a few seconds to try and make sense of her words. When I still can’t come up with a satisfactory explanation, I ask, fighting to keep my voice even, “You mean Jess?”
“Yes. Poor thing was so desperate.”
“What are you talking about?” I say blankly. “Why desperate?”
Her eyes light up with maliciousness. “For money, of course. James, darling, tell me you didn’t forget to pay her debt. It obviously meant a lot to that girl, insignificant as the sum might be.”
I swirl to James, who watches Natalie, enraged, the vein in his temple twitching. But his rage is no match to mine.
“Jess asked you for money?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” he says, watching Natalie, his eyes squinted. “I thought I told you-”
I do not find out whatever he told her, because the door opens again and a girl that looks my age comes in. She wears a black suit and a nervous expression that tells me it was her CV James was skimming through.
“Hi,” she says in a small voice. “I was told this is where my interview is.”
I don’t go right inside my apartment building when I get out of the cab. I linger in front of the entrance for a few seconds, trying to convince myself that verbally abusing Jess won’t do anyone any good. But to be honest, if the two hours I spent wandering around San Jose in an attempt to shake off my anger were fruitless, a few more seconds hanging out here have no chance. I had stormed out of the office before James managed to introduce himself to that girl. But not before Natalie had managed to humiliate me again, by repeating how insignificant the sum was, and that neither Jess nor I should worry about having to pay it back. There have been very few times when I’ve been furious with Jess. I don’t remember ever being this furious with her. Not when she made out with Ace, my first crush. Not even when she read my diary, which consisted of delirious letters I wrote to a long-gone Kate.
I drag myself up the stairs, and when I open the door to our apartment, I find Jess crouched over her laptop, her bandaged leg up on the couch, her messy hair bundled up in a bun. For some reason her pathetic appearance makes me even more furious.
She looks up at me with concern. “You look terrible. Your interview didn’t go too well?”
“My interview went just fine,” I hiss. “You know what didn’t? My trip to that godforsaken bar.”
She lowers her gaze back to her laptop with a slight frown. “What were you doing there? I was under the impression you weren’t a big fan of the place.”
“Don’t play stupid, Jess,” I cry, unable to hold my voice down. “You know what I was doing there. Trying to sort out the mess you created. I went to give that creep the check.”
“I don’t remember asking you to deliver anything,” Jess says in a dangerously calm voice. “I don’t remember asking you to sort out anything, for that matter.”
“No, the numerous phone calls from the bar owner, which I had to take because you couldn’t be bothered, did.”
“Maybe it’s time you stop trying to sort everything out every time. I’m a big girl. I can handle my own stuff.”
“You did a fantastic job until now,” I spit.
Silence.
“Why did you ask James, of all people, for money? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I had a problem and I needed to solve it. And I did.”
“The problem was already solved, Jess,” I say, exasperated. “By Parker.”
She sets her laptop aside and puts her hands together in her lap, watching me like she did when we were in high school when she was about to tell me that she wanted to skip a class and I had to cover up for her. “I didn’t want him to get involved.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he’s a jerk, Serena. I don’t know how you can stand him.”
“I’m sorry, have you met Parker? He’s nothing but kind and polite.”
“To you maybe,” she splutters. “To me he’s a prick.”