My jaw clenched painfully. My whole body was tense, like I was a bow pulled back farther and farther and farther.
"I think you do," I said.
"I'm sorry," Michael said. "I don't."
Seven…six…five…
The elevator was about to stop. The doors were about to open. Michael was about to walk out of my life. It was what I wanted, I told myself. It was exactly what I wanted. To be free. Free of his pull, his draw, his gravity. His memory. His eyes.
The number above the doors flashed two and then one. The elevator jerked suddenly as my finger darted out at the last minute and jammed the Emergency Stop button.
"What the fu—"
I dropped the cardboard box and whipped around to face Michael.
"This wasn't because of the airport at all, you liar," I shouted, jabbing a finger at his chest. "This is because of our history."
Michael squared his shoulders to me and loomed over me, his face stormy as he growled. "History?"
"Yeah."
"What history?" he yelled. "We fucked nine years ago. That's it."
I shook my head, my chin raised defiantly to him. "No," I said. "No, that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. Or else you wouldn't have gotten me fired today."
Michael threw his arms up into the air. "I got you fired, Ms Miller, because you left me at the fucking airport."
I laughed and leaned back as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Are you telling me the 'senior partner for one of the largest international law firms in the world ' doesn't know how to hail a cab?"
I grinned victoriously when I saw his cheeks redden slightly. But just like poking a snake, this seemed to serve only to make him madder. Michael stepped closer to me, his chest bumping against mine so I had to crane my head back to meet his narrowed eyes.
"Nine years ago was nothing," he hissed. "Nothing. A drunken weekend and an easy American chick. Nothing. Do you hear me?"
I uncrossed my arms and shoved him back. "You're a bad liar," I said, stalking toward him. "I can see straight through you, Michael."
He advanced on me, a churning storm of dark, flashing eyes and tense muscles. I retreated till my shoulders collided with the back of the elevator and he once again loomed over me. Angry, pent-up energy sparked between us as I felt his heart racing against mine and he felt mine racing against his.
"I haven't thought about you once, once, in these past nine years," he said, his voice dripping with anger. "And I have no intention of thinking about you for the next nine years either."
His eyes collided with mine like a torrential downpour against the hard, parched earth of the desert. It was violent and rough and brutal. And I needed it. We each were breathing heavily as we glared at the other, pressed tight against one another. Our bodies yearned to fight; it was as if we'd each been waiting nine years for this moment. To come to blows. To scream and yell and throw our bodies against one another. To crash once again.
I stretched up onto my toes, breasts sliding against his chest, so that my lips were only a hair's breadth from his. I was so close that I could almost feel the searing heat of his lips.
"Liar," I whispered.
Michael's arm swung out and he hit the button to resume the function of the elevator. The doors parted and he stepped back from me, leaving me sagging against the wall. I watched him straighten his tie, card his fingers through his hair, and dust his lapels like I'd gotten him dirty. He cleared his throat as he again faced forward toward the building lobby and the glare of afternoon sun.
He didn't look at me as he said, once again in control of his cold, business-like tone, "If you have concerns about your termination, I suggest you bring them up with HR, Ms Miller."
With that he stepped out of the elevator and stalked across the empty lobby. I watched him till the doors slid closed. Then I sank shakily to the floor.
Finally alone, I balled my fists, buried my face between my legs, and screamed.
Abbi
I didn't think it was possible for job searching to be any more horrible, but it turned out that adding a ten-year-old PC and a bad internet connection to the mix somehow managed that seemingly impossible feat. Because finding yourself unqualified for yet another position is definitely worse when you have to wait two minutes for a page to load to find that out. Because uploading a resume and cover letter and letters of recommendation for a fucking minimum wage fast food job can most certainly be more miserable when that upload fails because the internet cut out in the middle of it. Because getting rejection emails from a lagging computer only raises your hopes as you wait, making it all the more painful to read that devil word: "unfortunately".
I'd been job searching for so long that not even smacking the side of the malfunctioning monitor relieved my tension and frustration. The stack of overdue bills in the top drawer of the desk didn't help either.
Even with my job as a personal assistant at Levi, Levi, & Burke, it had been a struggle to make ends meet. There was Zara's private school tuition that cost more than the rent on the apartment. There was the rent on the apartment that cost more than I could really afford. But it was in a good neighbourhood with safe parks and nice libraries and community resources for Zara. There was the measly amount that Sandra accepted from me each week for looking after my daughter. She insisted she wouldn't take a penny more and as much as I felt she deserved more, I simply
