I bellowed out a frustrated yell, fists shaking at the ceiling.
"I know I love losing thousands of dollars in silk suits and leather shoes faster than I can say 'fuck'."
Harry mustered up the courage to inch forward a baby half step. His voice was timid as he tried to calm me down.
"Michael, we can certainly replace whatever—"
"Harry, it's fine," I said, grinning maniacally. "It's fine. I have this suit." I grabbed roughly at the now only suit I had in my possession. "It's not like after waiting for hours I hitchhiked back toward here with a most certainly wasted trucker who spilled his spit cup right into my lap— oh, wait, that's exactly what fucking happened!"
I was screaming at the top of my lungs by that point. It was loud enough to draw more curious eyes from the office toward the lobby. I saw them peeking around corners, lifting up blinds, poking their heads over the tops of cubicles. It didn't occur to me that this angry, crazy tirade in the very public lobby might be a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty bit damaging to my professional reputation, especially considering I was here as the lead on the merger. It didn't even cross my mind.
My mind was filled with anger. It was filled with frustration. It was filled with her.
"Michael." Harry, emboldened by the security guards at his side, raised his hands like he was trying to corral a wild bronco. "Michael, obviously something went terribly wrong and—"
"Terribly wrong?" I was nearly shrieking. "Terribly wrong? No, no, noooo. I had such a lovely afternoon sightseeing rundown gas stations and shite towns and port-a-potties left on the side of the highway. It was the experience of a lifetime to walk along abandoned streets getting blisters on each and every toe. That's really the only souvenir I wanted from this backward, hillbilly town—a burnt face with a little dash of skin cancer!"
I'd missed several important meetings I'd had scheduled for the morning, but the up side was that I didn't need to reschedule the meet-and-greet with the Levi, Levi, & Burke team. Everyone was apparently already here and they were getting to know me very, very, very well. I was near the point of bursting as I gripped my fists even more tightly at my sides, my arms shaking.
"I want her fired," I said. "I want her fired immediately."
Harry glanced around for support as he frowned in confusion.
"Who?" he said slowly, softly.
"This was all her fault," I growled. "Abbi left me at the airport and—"
"Abbi?" Harry asked. "You mean Ms Miller?"
I nodded my head, pinched the bridge of my sunburnt nose. I'd slipped up. My anger was fogging my brain, dulling my normally sharp mind.
"Yes, yes," I said quickly, shoving away the name “Abbi” like a stray that kept showing up outside my door. "Yes. Ms Miller. Ms Miller left me at the airport and I want her fired. Fired immediately."
Harry's confusion didn't seem to dissipate. "She left you at the airport?" he asked. "She—but why?"
I threw my hands up into the air, chest heaving.
"Ask her," I barked. "Ask her while you're handing her her pink slip. Because if this merger is going to continue, Ms Miller will absolutely not be employed here."
"I don't understand. She's—"
"She's insolent, she's rude, she's reckless, she's a liability, she's unprofessional, she's not up to snuff. Shall I go on?"
My breath came in shaky exhales as I stared down Harry, fire in my eyes, fire in my heart. She's wild, she's vibrant, she's intoxicating, she's unforgettable, she's irresistible, she's inescapable.
Harry was hesitant.
"Michael, Ms Miller has been extremely consistent in her good work for Levi, Levi, & Burke," he said, flinching at each word as if he expected me to fly off the handle again at any moment. "I just don't understand why she would leave you like that. There has to be more to the story…"
I glowered at him. I glowered because there was more to the story. There was a linen closet, a shared bottle of wine, a shared look. There was a mountain village, dancing, drinking, dancing some more. There was a bed. There was more than just a bed. There was a connection.
There was a note left behind. A note and some money and a choice. My choice.
And it was the right choice, feck it.
It had to be the right choice.
My voice was low and threatening as I said my last words on the subject. "Either Ms Miller stays, Mr Peterson. Or I stay."
I told myself the reasons that I wanted her, Ms Miller, fired were obvious, clear, unequivocal. It was undebatable that she saw me, she recognised me, and she left me. That was fact. And it was also fact that she cost me time and therefore cost both PLA Harper and Levi, Levi, & Burke money. She was a risk to the financial bottom line of two huge international law firms. How could she not be fired after such a bold course of action?
I told myself there was no other reason than business—pure, calculating, cold business—that I wanted, needed her fired. It wasn't because seeing her stirred feelings in me I'd spent near a decade forcing down with work, booze, drugs, and girls. It wasn't because seeing her awoke regrets I'd run away from by chasing after more money, more success, more prestige. It wasn't because seeing her, just for those few seconds, had seared her image to the
