by Emelia Blair
Hailing a cab, I decide to just go to her office and see if she is there.
Not having heard her voice in so long and not having seen her, it makes me tense. I miss her, I realize.
Walking towards her building, I glance up at her building floor. Her own office faces the street with clear glass, and right now I can see her standing there, looking outside. I can’t make out her expression, but she has her arms wrapped around herself.
I stand there, just watching her, drinking in the sight of her.
And then the scenery changes as a man walks over to her and puts his arm around her waist. She doesn’t struggle, does nothing to remove it.
I feel something dark twist in my chest.
Who is that?
But even as I think that, I know I have no right to ask anything. I blew my chance with her. I acted like such a piece of shit that getting her friendship back is enough for right now.
But the more I look at her, something in me softens and eases and it hits me that I want her. I want all her kisses and all her laughter. I want her tears. I want her anger and everything there is about her that makes her so unique.
She is the only woman that ever roused my interest, and even years back, I started laying my claim, bit by bit: small touches, flirting. In the back of my mind, I had been carving my name into her heart, subconsciously.
As the truth wraps its head around me, I feel aghast at how badly I handled the situation the other night. I have to fix this.
My feelings for Agatha are there, and they are deep. She was always been around me, and I had never been forced to evaluate them or think about them. It had always been Ian and Agatha.
I cross the street, a fierce determination filling me.
I can’t mess this up. I have to be careful with how I handle this.
The office is emptying as I step inside the warmly lit place. A few more stragglers remain. I nod at Jenna, who gives me a smile before talking to a man who nods intently. When he leans over to kiss her cheek, I assume this is Nick, the boyfriend.
As I cross the huge floor to Agatha’s office, my eyes don’t miss the new door that is attached.
I frown at that.
That is so unlike her.
She is alone now, and I just reach the doorway when she looks up, and our eyes meet. Her eyes hold exhaustion, which is now replaced by shock and hurt before she quickly blanks it out.
“Ian.”
I can’t find it in me to step inside.
“Hey.”
There is awkwardness there, and something else that I can’t identify. There are a few odd things that I note around her.
A heavy metal baseball bat leans against her filing cabinets, along with a few bottles of mace. The coat that hangs in the corner is a far cry from the beautiful form-fitting ones she always wears. It’s a dark color and even from here, I know it’s an ugly shapeless one that will never stand out in the street.
I wonder what is going on, a bad feeling creeping up my spine.
She is watching me warily. “Can I help you, Ian?”
The formality in her tone, along with a hint of coldness, makes me wince. Not that it isn’t deserved.
I force myself move past the door. “I just wanted to check up on you.”
That is clearly the wrong thing to say because her eyes grow cold, impossibly so, and her tone turns sweet, the kind she uses when she is furious. “Is that so?”
“No, I mean—” I try to backtrack. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I am missing you.”
She studies me. “Now you’ve seen me.”
Oh, she is not pulling any punches.
“I was a douchebag.” I stick my hands in the pockets of my pants. “I should—”
Agatha runs her fingers through her hair, exhaustion in her form. “I get it. You’re sorry. You feel bad. You want to be friends again.”
I freeze at the bite in her tone, laced with bitterness. “Agatha, I—”
She smiles at me, the kind of smile she gives to people she has no interest in, an aloof curving of the lips that doesn’t match her eyes. “Like I said, I get it. But I don’t have time for this. I have too much going on, and I need to get a handle on that. You’re the least of my problems right now.”
The bitchiness in her tone puts me on edge. “You could at least hear me out.”
“Why?” Agatha leans back in her chair. “Isn’t that what you came to say? That you’re sorry for kissing me and then running away and avoiding me because suddenly your feelings became too real.” She stands up and faces me, fury radiating from her. “Did you think I would sit around and wait for you till you decided to man up? I’m nobody’s fool, Ian. If you didn’t want me, you shouldn’t have put your mouth on me.”
I close my eyes, not because her words slash at me like a knife, but because under the anger and bitterness that flows from her, I can hear the pain inside her. I broke her heart. If she actually didn’t care, she would have heard me and simply dismissed me, coldly. But this is Agatha suffering, lashing out at me in an attempt to hurt me back, to make me feel some of her pain.
She doesn't realize that simply seeing her torment is enough to send me to my knees.
“I do want you,” I say in the ensuing silence. “I’ve always wanted you, Agatha.”
I see her eyes darken with emotion. Her mouth opens but there is a knock on the door, and she glances behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see Nick standing there, holding a basket in his arms that holds small, wrapped things in it. “Hey, this just arrived. There isn’t a—”
I can hear the strain in Agatha’s voice. “In the conference room. Put them with the others.”
The young man gives her an odd look. “The delivery guy said—”
“Nick.” Agatha’s tone is sharp, and he nods before slipping away.
I turn to look at her. “What—” but my words die when I see the look on her face. She quickly schools her features, but I saw the fear. Suddenly, I am looking at the odd things in her room with an entirely different perspective. The baseball bat, the mace: all things she can use to protect herself.
“Agatha, what’s—”
She doesn’t let me finish my sentence. “I don’t have time for this right now, Ian. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I don’t budge. “What’s going on?”
She starts. “Excuse me?”
“What’s with the bat and the mace on the cabinet?” My tone is hard.
She studies me, and I see the tremble in her hands before she sits down and puts them out of sight. “What, safety’s a crime now?”
I walk over to the door and then close it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, stiffly. I turn around to look at her.
“Something’s wrong. Really wrong. And I want to know what it is.”
She blinks, and I see regret flash through her eyes. She shakes her head, and I see the hint of her strength and quiet anger. “I am not your concern, Ian.”
I narrow my eyes. “The hell you aren’t!”
She sits in her seat, her beautiful hair tempered into a braid that makes her look so young, blue eyes that can’t quite hide the pain inflicted on her along with the kind of fear that I had never seen from her. Her back is straight as a rod, and she watches me, not a scowl on her stunning face, just a smoothed-out expression.
I hate it.
I hate being shut out by her like this.
I know I deserve this and worse, but I can’t see past that glimmer of terror in her eyes when she saw the basket.
She taps her fingers on her desk now, a movement which gives away her nerves. “Funny how now you seem to have the time to ask me what’s going on.”
Her words throw me off. “What do you mean?”
She just stares at me, and I suddenly remember her phone call. Now that I think about it, it was pretty late, and she sounded off, as if she were scared.
“Why did you call me last week, Agatha?” I ask quietly.
She doesn’t meet my eyes, the drumming of her fingers becoming more and more agitated. Finally, she says, “It was nothing. Water under the bridge.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, that’s all you’re getting.”
The silence between us is tense because I can see she is trying to push me out and I refuse to budge. I fucked up. We both know it. But I want to make up for it. I told her my feelings, well, kind of told her. But now she is the one running away.
Or, is she?
She sighs, a small sound that tears at me. “You should leave, Ian. I’m very busy. George is coming back any—”
“Your client? From New York?” I ask, feeling a little annoyed. Had he been the one who was standing next to her when I had glimpsed her from the street?
“He’s gone to pick up some Chinese from across the street,” she says by way of explanation.
I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I was going to ask you to dinner.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I know the fight left her. Then, she gives me a wan smile that screams of defeat. “Yes, well. I wouldn’t have said yes. So, this has been a trip wasted.”
I take a step forward, “I care about you. And I have feelings for you, Agatha.”
Agatha scoffs, a sardonic twisting of her lips. “Do you want me to run into your arms now that you return some of what I feel or felt? Should I be grateful?”
When I open my mouth, she stands up, her eyes blazing, and I realize I was wrong. There is still so much hurt and anger lingering inside of her. Mixed with it all is a tinge of betrayal.
“I’m not one of your women that you can just toss aside. I’m not something you can put on your shelf ‘til you realize my use. I called you last week because I needed you. And what did you do?” Her voice is harsh. “You told me you were fucking busy and hung up. You didn’t think my timing was odd? Nothing struck you?” She won’t let me say anything, because she continues, “My feelings are my problem, and after last week, they will never be your problem again. And as for how you feel, you can take your feelings and stick them up your ass. They’ll probably flourish there!”
In all the time I have known this woman, never has she been so harsh in her words and never has she raised her voice like this, her eyes shimmering with wetness that she keeps trying to push back.
She stands across from me, her delicate form trembling, and I feel my heart clench, guilt my companion.
“I was an asshole. And a douchebag,” the words come out from me.
Her lips are pressed into a hard line. “Yes, you were.”
I inch closer and she watches me warily. “We’re friends, Agatha. We’ve known each our whole lives. Can’t you forgive me for this one mistake?”
“Go home, Ian. I honestly have too much on my plate.” Her voice is weary now, her emotions all over the place.
I know she is done with me, but the matter about the defense equipment in her office remained. “At least tell me what all this is?”
I gesture around the room.
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing important. Better safe than sorry, right?”
Somehow, I know the reference she is making is to the kiss as well.
6
Agatha
I wasn’t expecting Ian to show up.
I stare at the documents in front of me, the words a blur.
George is screening the reports I prepared for him, and he makes a pleased sound. His suit jacket is hanging from the back of his chair, and he sits on the arm, one hand tucked in his pocket, his waistcoat defining his neat lines.
However, as I glance at him, I don’t even feel a tinge of attraction.
“I like this wording. I think this could really get the message across,” he tells me, a broad smile on his handsome face.
Working alongside him and getting to know him a bit has dimmed the creepy factor that Jenna and I saw in him. It is fun working alongside him. He is a stickler for details but then so am I. It does irk me at times that he likes to be appraised of everything that is happening, but then the client is always right.
Besides, since he sticks around the office until late, I am not completely alone.
I didn’t see the mysterious figure after that one time, but the frequency of the gifts increased in the past week, and they graduated from flowers and chocolates. Two days ago, I found a small gift box on my office table. It held an old t-shirt that I had tossed out a few weeks back.
It had shaken me so much that I had called up my apartment building and had asked for an increase in the security around the building and had them install a biometric alarm system on my floor. And then, before anyone could show up, I had meticulously burnt that T-shirt in the trash bin.
However, a few of the gifts came in the form of envelopes, which held photos of me, eating at my favorite restaurant or hanging out at the bar with Fergus. One box that had really freaked me out had been a pair of crotchless panties.
One of my childhood friends is in a high position in the police department. Calling Henry up is something that I am starting to consider, although I have taken precautions. Henry is replacing his father as the commissioner. We had dated on and off for a while before we had settled for just remaining friends.
I stare at my phone, lost in thought.
Maybe it is time I call him up and let him know.
“…what do you think?”
I look up. “Huh?”
George stares at me, and then slowly repeats, “About going to New York with me to speak to my partners.”
I shake my head. “Ah, no. No. That’s too time-consuming and not efficient. It’s better you go, filter and work out what you guys want, and then we’ll work with that.”
He looks a little disappointed at that but picks up his coat. “Well then. I’ll fly back tomorrow. How are you doing now?”
I blink at him, and he gives me a hesitant smile. “I’m asking about your dizziness spell. You’ve been a little off this evening.”
I wave off his concern, forcing my focus on him. “No, I’m fine. Shouldn’t have missed breakfast and lunch. Thank you for bringing food.”
He smiles again, a genuine curving of the lips. “Well, I can’t say it’s not been a pleasure working with you so far. I’ve enjoyed our night sessions far too much.”
I chuckle, “So have I. I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks?”
“You can bet on it.”
I want to leave as well, but I have to sign a few documents and reread two contracts before I can leave. So, bidding him goodbye, I watch him leave before locking myself in my office and closing the blinds.
I get to work, but Ian’s appearance has thrown my focus off by a lot, and after a few minutes of attempting to get some work done, I sigh and put my head on the table.
I lashed out at him. I wanted to hurt him, to make him bleed as my heart had done when he walked away from me. A part of me shattered when he turned his back to me at a moment when I desperately reached out to him, terrified.
I don’t trust easily.
Even with Philip and our friends, there is a part of me that always holds myself back. I don’t know how to ask somebody for help with something that is important.
Sure, I can ask for a ride or stay over at their place if I need to, but they always knew me to be self-assured and independent. My problems weren’t something I talked about, not even with myself. I bury them like everything else.
But for the first time, I found myself reaching out for somebody, and the way I was brushed off, it hardened the walls that had been there around my heart.
I get back to work, and a few hours later, well past midnight, I hear a quick rap on my glass door.
My heart panicking, one hand immediately goes to the drawer holding the gun, and one goes to the bat, and I look up.
My eyes meet Zayn’s, and I wince when his gaze narrows at where my hands were.
This is going to suck.
I let him in.
“Hey.”
He gives me a hard look, and without a word, walks over to the drawer I had my hands on, and he pulls it open. When he sees the gun, he raises his head to stare at me. “What the fuck is this?”
I find myself scrambling because my aversion to guns and violence isn’t a secret.
“Just, uh, just precautions, you know. I work really late so it just made sense to—”
He takes out the gun and checks the chamber. “You work late, so you got a gun? That’s the most bullshit excuse I’ve ever heard. And this is new; where did you get it?”
He is examining the gun, and I purse my lips. “I bought it.”
Zayn pins me to the spot with his icy blue glare. “Do you even know how to use this?”
I shrug. “The store owner showed me. Aim and shoot, right?”
Zayn doesn’t look impressed. “I swung by because Ian mentioned that your office was starting to look like a self-defense class.”
I grit my teeth at Ian’s name. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He puts the gun back in the drawer and picks up the baseball bat. “I took a well-educated guess.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the club, overseeing renovations?”
“Shouldn’t you be at home, in bed?” he counters.
“I had to get this done.” I gesture at the mountain of paperwork.
Zayn doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes an experimental swing of the bat, saying nonchalantly, “I wonder if Ian would land in the hospital if I hit him with this.”
I still. “What?”
He gives me a pleasant smile that doesn’t suit his nature at all. “Just wondering. After all, he did break your heart.”
My throat tightens. “What are you talking about?”
Zayn puts down the bat, carefully, and then leans his hip against my desk, gripping the edges of the desk. “Fergus told me a very interesting story about you and Ian.”
It feels like a hand is gripping my heart and squeezing it. “He did?”
Zayn just watches me. “Do you want a hug?”
