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Wasted Words Page 52
Author: Staci Hart

She snickered.

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s the things that are the same that make them fit into each other.”

“So one puts their peg in the other one’s hole.”

“Yeah, but it has to fit.” I made a rude hand gesture using the OK sign and my index finger.

“It can fit tight, right?”

I tightened the O around my finger. “I mean, if it doesn’t fit tight then it’s kind of a loss anyway, right?”

“It’s too early,” Rose said with a laugh. “I think we’re delirious.”

I chuckled. “Maybe.”

She let out a breath. “I’m just saying. Let it be what it is and don’t overthink it.”

“That’s like saying, ‘Hey, Cam, could you just stop breathing for the indefinite future?’”

“True. But you can try.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I can try.”

Tyler

I walked into work that morning with a spring in my step — everything seemed brighter, bigger, better than it had been the last time I’d been there. Jack was already in his office, sleeves rolled up, phone hooked in his shoulder as he jotted down notes.

I waved as I walked in, and he flagged me, motioning for me to come inside and wait.

“Sure thing. Got it. No, sir, I feel the same way about it.” He laughed. “You and me both. I’ll talk too you soon, Jim.” He set the phone back on its cradle and smiled at me. “Good to see you, kid.”

“You too. I’m sure glad you’re back.”

He chuffed. “That makes two of us. Atlanta’s hot even in the fall, especially with the press lights pointed at you.”

I nodded. “Everything looks good on the PR front. I think you did it, Jack.”

His smile fell. “Yeah, well. Pharaoh at least has an inkling of self-preservation. I’ll give him credit for that. Rehab was the only way to save him, even if it is a farce. He’s not an alcoholic. Just stupid.”

“And mouthy.”

“Yes, and that.” He leaned back in his chair. “You did well without me, Tyler. Cathy said you held down the fort well, and it looks like his sponsors are placated. I appreciate you handling it all without me — I had my hands full with Pharaoh. How’d you feel about it?”

“It felt good. I mean, it was stressful and shitty — no one wants to get yelled at by an angry mob of corporate reps — but I felt capable. Like I knew what to do and how to keep things tamped down.”

He nodded. “Well, no one can say you’re not ready. You even held down the Nike account.”

I smirked and took a seat across from him. “Thanks to Adrienne. I ran into her last week.”

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

“She asked me out.”

The other brow raised. “Oh?”

I leaned back in my seat, amused. “Yeah, but it wasn’t quite right. I think we’ll be friends instead.”

His brows fell. “Oh.”

I chuckled. “I had a bit of a realization, thanks to Adrienne, and I ended up spending the weekend with Cam.”

“You spend most of your weekends with Cam.”

I gave him a look.

His brows popped up again. “Oh! Well,” he said with a laugh, “it’s about damn time.”

I smiled. “I’ve gotta be honest — I wish I’d made a move a long time ago.”

“Everything in its time. I’m happy for you, kid. You deserve a good girl who’s going to treat you right after all the disappointment you’ve suffered. Cam’s a good girl, and a good cook. You can’t go wrong with a girl who sends you to work with baked goods.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

He smiled at me from under his mustache. “How are things with Darryl?”

“The same. Just sort of holding out to see him this weekend for the game.”

“Ah, yes. It’ll be good to have you on the field with him for the game. I know at least two other agencies are after him, and who knows what they’re promising him.”

I shook my head. “He’s a good kid, wants what’s right. Wants somebody to look after him, and that’s what we do. Not just after ourselves. I have faith.”

“I’m glad.” He turned to his computer. “All right. Let’s work on getting caught up. Go get settled in, answer your emails, and then come on back. We’ll take lunch in here and we can bring each other up to speed.”

“Sounds good.” I made my way into my office and took a seat, turning on my computer to start the day. And what a long day it was.

The emails were many. The phone calls didn’t stop. Jack and I spent every minute we could discussing everything I’d done and everything he’d done, getting all the data in order to ensure we didn’t leave any loose ends. Pharaoh was set to check into a luxury rehab facility in two days, and we only had two sponsors on the fence about sticking with him, both of which we set up lunches with later in the week.

We ended up taking dinner in Jack’s office too, and I’d had no time to check my phone, but I’d been thinking about Cam all day. The cool metal against my pinkie was a reminder of her, the strange newness of having the ring on my finger just like the strange newness of our relationship — something I knew that in time I’d not think of strangely unless it was absent.

It was a comfort, and I’ll admit that I didn’t want to get used to the feeling. I hoped it always felt this new.

By the time we were ready to pack it in for the night, it was after nine, and I was so ready to be home, I could barely stand it. When I finally checked my phone, there were a couple of texts from just after noon:

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