Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,16
plastic placard.
Go back to your office.
What if I can’t find her later?
She works here. You’ll see her.
What if it’s too long between now and then?
For her or for you?
Both.
What if she doesn’t forgive you?
My frown was so complete, my eyebrows almost touched.
I was still standing there, arguing with myself, when the door swung open, and Laney looked up at me, surprised. Her hand flew to her chest, her hair aloft from the draft of the heavy door.
“Jesus. What are …” She glanced around, confused. “What are you doing?”
My shoulder blades drew together, squaring my shoulders. “I wanted to apologize.”
She stilled, her eyes narrowing. “In front of the women’s restroom?”
My mouth opened. Closed. “I realized my mistake, and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, did you?” Her arms folded. “What mistake is that?”
“I shouldn’t have challenged you in the meeting.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. That’s twice now that you’ve held your status over me.”
“Why? Because mine wasn’t built on an inheritance? Because my job wasn’t given to me because of legacy? You’re cruel by default, Liam Darcy, and it’s no secret how highly you regard yourself.”
I was stone, cold and still. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Am I wrong?”
“If I said yes, would it change anything?”
“It wouldn’t. Because any man who would humiliate another human being like you’ve done to me is no gentleman. There is no honor or dignity in it, and I’m left wondering why. What have I done to offend you so deeply? Or is it not me at all? Maybe what everyone says is true—you’re just so cold and callous, you’re incapable of considering anyone but yourself.”
The cut sliced deep, deeper than I’d ever allow her to know. “Don’t presume to know me, Miss Bennet.”
“I know enough. Look at you. You don’t even know how to apologize.” She sidestepped me, pausing when we were shoulder to shoulder. “Do your job, and I’ll do mine. No one ever said we have to like each other. So next time you plan to apologize, please do us both a favor and don’t bother.”
And with a gust trailing the scent of magnolias, she was gone.
6
Common Enemy
LANEY
I wasn’t exactly angry.
Well, I take that back, but I wasn’t only angry. I was furious. I was annoyed, with a hefty helping of frustration and disbelief—that was true. I wouldn’t say I felt ashamed or less-than, not because anything he’d said held a modicum of fact. But humiliation bred shame, particularly when it was thrown down in front of a room full of people I’d be working with for the foreseeable future.
He’d used his power to quiet me, and out of deference for his position, I did as he wanted. But once out of that room, all bets were off.
The weirdo even chased me to the bathroom to apologize, which was its own oddity. I wondered how many times the spoiled, self-important asshole had ever apologized and bet I could count them on one hand. But he’d stood there, hovering over me like a tornado in a bottle—a vortex of dangerous darkness with nothing between us but a thin husk of glass.
Thankful I didn’t technically have to be here for the day, I flew to the temporary desk they’d given me and gathered my things, shooting a text to Georgie as I beelined for the elevator, apologizing for not saying goodbye and telling her that I was leaving before I committed homicide in their building. She gave me her blessing, apologizing back and promising me she’d get him in check, that she didn’t know what had gotten into him, etc., etc. I was too mad to offer anything but the verbal equivalent of a thumbs-up.
In a haze of red, I left the building, earbuds in and rage rock blaring. Twenty minutes of train solitude didn’t calm me down. And by the time I walked into Wasted Words, a rant had built so much pressure in my throat, I was either going to breathe fire or puke lava the second I unscrewed the clamp that was my jaw and spoke.
Greg saw me from behind the bar and frowned, his hand pausing its circular track on the bar top. Then Beau behind him, his brows sliding together. And just beyond the bar was the person I really wanted to see—Jett, with a stack of books under his arm and another in his hand. He stopped when he saw me, his face shifting from confusion to unadulterated fury to mirror mine.