The Hating Game - Sally Thorne Page 0,127

skating way too close to my tangled-up new feelings. I try for several long moments to come up with an answer that sounds even halfway credible, but when I can’t I get to my feet and walk so fast back to the hotel he has to lengthen his stride to keep up.

“Wait.”

“I’m getting a bus home.” I try to close the elevator door on him but he shoulders in easily. I press the button for our floor and dig for my phone to look up a bus schedule. I have no idea what time it is. I have several missed calls. Josh tries to speak but I put my hand up until he crosses his arms, exasperated.

I click through them distractedly; Danny has been trying to get ahold of me a couple of times throughout the afternoon. I have a few texts along the lines of, Do you have a font preference? . . . I’ll choose then . .

. Could you call me back when you can?

The elevator bings.

Josh looks like he’s one second away from going stark-raving insane. I know the feeling.

“Leave me alone,” I tell him with as much dignity as I can and walk to the far end of the corridor, where a pair of armchairs are arranged beside a bay window. During the day, this would be a nice spot to sit with a book. In the evening, as the last peach glows of sun leave the sky, it’s the perfect place to fume.

I sit down and dial a local bus company. A late-night express is leaving at seven fifteen, and they are already stopping by the hotel to pick up someone else. The gods are smiling upon me.

Going back to the room will mean having to finish things with Josh, and I am burned-out. A husk. I have nothing left. I need to procrastinate.

Danny answers on the second ring.

“Hi,” he says, tone a little stiff. Nothing more annoying than an uncontactable client, I imagine.

Especially one you’re doing a favor for.

“Hi, sorry I’ve been out of touch. I’ve been at a wedding and my phone is on silent.”

“It’s okay. I just finished.”

“Thank you so much. Did it all go okay?”

“Yep, for the most part. I’m at home now checking it on my iPad, flipping through the pages. The formatting looks good. Whose wedding is it?”

“The brother of a complete asshole.”

“You’re with Joshua.”

“How’d you guess?”

“I had a feeling.” He laughs. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are all safe with me.”

“I hope so.” I couldn’t care less at this point. It would serve me right to be humiliated in the halls of B&G.

“When are you back? I’d like to show you the final product.”

“Tomorrow at some point. I’ll call you when I’m back in town and I can meet you.”

“If you come over on Monday evening it would work for me. I’ve kept the spreadsheet that you wanted.

It breaks down the time it took, along with what I think costs would be by a designer in a usual commercial setting, but also a salaried staff member.”

“I’m impressed. Maybe I should bring you a thank-you pizza.”

“Yes, please.” Danny’s voice drops a cheeky half octave. “So, what did you wear to this wedding?”

“A blue dress?” I see Josh’s reflection over me in the window and jump in fright. He takes the phone out of my hand and looks at the caller ID.

“It’s Joshua. Don’t call her again. Yes, I’m serious.” He hangs it up and slides it into his pocket.

“Hey. Give it back.”

“No fucking chance. He’s who you had to sneak off and call?” The look in his eyes is getting sharper, blacker.

“It’s work related!”

He tugs on my hands to make me stand up. A door opens near us, too close to other rooms to indulge in one of our signature yelling matches. We both purse our lips and march into our room. I try not to slam the door.

“Well?” Josh crosses his arms.

“It was work related.”

“Sure. A work-related call. Dinner? What are you wearing?” He skates narrowed eyes over me, like

he’s contemplating ripping

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