“You can stay until the club closes,” I tell her. “I booked this box for the whole night. Feel free to order more drinks and put them on my tab. Just make sure you have someone to call to take you home.”
“Sure you don’t want to take me home?” she asks with a grin as she plays with a tendril of her hair.
I don’t answer. I just grab my jacket and leave. I came here to relax and that’s impossible now, so there’s no point in staying. I might as well just go home and get some sleep. In my bed. In my apartment next to Violet’s.
I frown. On second thought, maybe I’ll just stay at a hotel until Monday.
~
Come Monday I’ve put the whole incident behind me. Or so I think until I see Violet in my office. One look at her and I remember Saturday night. I remember how she looked in that little black dress. I remember rescuing her from that jerk. I remember the dance. I remember the kiss.
And, of course, I remember her running off like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, which I’d rather not.
This is why I wish we didn’t have to work together.
Judging from her expression, Violet seems to remember everything, too, but she pulls her shoulders back and puts on a smile.
So she’s going to pretend nothing happened, is she?
“I just wanted to ask you what you thought of the report I gave you last Friday, if you’ve had a chance to look at it.”
“I have.”
She rubs one of her fingers. “And?”
I hear the expectation in her voice, so I narrow my eyes at her.
“Ms. Cleary, are you fishing for a compliment? Because I seem to remember you specifically telling me not to give you any.”
I’m not surprised. Like I said, Violet may be smart, but she doesn’t seem to know what she wants.
“I’m not asking for a compliment,” Violet replies. “Just feedback.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her as I lean back in my chair. “For future reference, if you don’t hear anything from me, your report is fine. If it isn’t, you’ll know. Loud and clear.”
Violet doesn’t seem to be happy with that.
She draws a breath. “About the things I said last Friday…”
“Let me guess. You didn’t mean them.”
Her eyebrows arch. “Well, I… I meant it when I said you didn’t have to be nice to me and bring me coffee or anything like that.”
“You said you didn’t want me to be nice to you,” I correct her.
There’s a difference.
“Anyway, I didn’t mean that we should stop working together.”
“You said you didn’t want any help with work, either.”
“But I’d still like us to work together,” she says. “To communicate about work.”
“That would be helping you with work, wouldn’t it?”
“No. That would be you being my boss.”
“Being a nice boss, which you were against.”
Violet sighs. “So what? You’re going to be the mean boss again?”
“Do you want me to be?” I ask her.
She doesn’t answer. I shake my head and grin.
Violet frowns. “Is something amusing?”
“You, Ms. Cleary,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows furrow. “Me?”
“Yes. You being so smart and independent and yet having no idea what you want, especially from men.”
She says nothing.
“But you know what’s not amusing? Other people suffering because of your indecisiveness. Like your boss who doesn’t know what to do with you because you don’t like him yelling at you or buying you coffee.”
“That’s…”
“Or the man you danced with at that club and kissed passionately and then abandoned like a shoe that no longer fit.”
There. I’ve said it. I wasn’t really planning on bringing it up, but I guess I just can’t keep it in any longer.
Regardless of whether Violet is being a cocktease on purpose or just plain indecisive, what she’s doing is wrong. It’s about time she got a scolding.
And she does look like a child that’s just been scolded. Guilty. Penitent. She’s not going to cry, is she? Because this time, I’m not going to let her off easy even if she does. Tears are for babies. When you’re a grown-up and you’ve done something wrong, you try to make it right.
She can’t keep going like this. She has to make up her mind.
She draws another deep breath. “I’m sorry… for leaving you at the club like that.”
I say nothing because an apology isn’t enough. There has to be more.
“If you want to go back to yelling at me again, that’s fine. I’ll live with it.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Violet’s eyebrows arch.
“I’m not going to decide what to do next,” I explain to her. “In fact, I’m not going to do anything. You decide, Violet. If you don’t want anything to do with me, all you have to do is stay away from me. Move out of The Mistral. Find another job. Go back to Switzerland and you’ll never have to see me again. But if you do want me the same way I want you—and I think you do—you know where to find me. I won’t ask you any questions. I won’t expect anything. I’ll just be waiting. But not forever. God knows I’ve been patient long enough.”
For a moment, Violet stays still, silent. Then she parts her lips as if to say something, but no words come out. She closes her mouth again as she fidgets with the hem of her blouse.
Now, she really looks at a loss.
I clear my throat. “You can go now, Ms. Cleary.”
She leaves, but I can sense her confusion lingering in the air. Well, that’s not my problem. It’s hers. She’s the only one who can sort out her own feelings.
The ball is in her court now. All I have to do is sit here and wait for her to make her move.
I tap my fingers on my desk.
What are you going to do, Violet?
Chapter Twelve
Violet
I don’t know what to do.
It’s been three days since I had that conversation with Asher and I still haven’t made up my mind, which basically means I’ve been living in hell these past few days.
I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. Whenever I’m sitting down, I find myself adrift. It doesn’t matter whether I’m watching TV at home, at a meeting here at work, or behind my desk trying to read something on my computer screen. Or eating. My mind just escapes from me to go on its own quest and my body goes on autopilot, like sleepwalking except you’re awake.
In fact, that’s what just happened. Right now, I have half a turkey sandwich in my hand and I can’t even remember eating the other half. My mouth just bites and chews. I can’t even taste the turkey. I don’t remember the taste of the quiche I had for breakfast either.
I set down the remaining half of my sandwich on my plate with a frown. I think I’ve just lost my appetite.
This is hell, alright. Then again, maybe not. When you’re in hell, at least you know you’re doomed. There’s nothing more you can do but suffer the consequences of your actions, your choices. I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t made my choice. So I’m in limbo. I’m still waiting for my judgment, judgment that I have to pass on myself.