Andrew sat at his desk, his head resting in his hand. He had his elbow loosely propped up on his desk with his head looking like it was barely attached. Thankfully, his window shades were drawn, shades he'd wanted to drown out the bright office lights. Today, though, they were providing the covert cover he felt he needed. He'd been blind sighted with Margaret's return.
What was she doing? She'd left. Sure, he knew that she had this one-year clause, blah, blah, blah. She was banned from entering the country for a year, a funny thought, Margaret being a threat or something, not that she'd actually been banned. No, that had left him heartbroken. That's right, heartbroken. He wasn't some macho guy who couldn't admit he had a wounded soul. No, he was introspective and read enough books to know what he'd been feeling, and Andrew had been feeling like total garbage this last year.
It had taken him the better part of the year to acknowledge that Margaret had left, LEFT HIM, and didn't want to be found. He'd finally come to grips with that, and he'd thought that he was finally starting to move on. That is, until, this, this, terrorist, as he'd referred to her before, had now breezed back into town, into his life, all like it was no big deal. He dropped his head onto his desk, hitting his forehead on the desk-purposefully-and he groaned. The day was a mess; his life now, was also a mess.
Andrew really hadn't had a chance to speak to Margaret, not after she'd barged into his office to mark her triumphant return. As he'd addressed her while buttoning his shirt, Jordan had burst in, no doubt to clue in Andrew to Margaret's return, but only to find the two face to face. Andrew had given Jordan a look, THAT LOOK, the look of "leave no one behind," begging with his eyes for his friend not to just up and leave. Instead of asking about the situation or commenting about Margaret, Jordan had been quick on his feet, inventing a meeting Andrew had with an illustrator. Jordan had quickly explained this new illustrator had stumbled upon Jordan's desk, hence the reason he was telling Andrew.
Andrew wasn't sure if Margaret bought the story; she was a bloodhound, but she'd at least left well enough alone, only after scrutinizing the two of them, looking not at them, but through them. It had been a look to kill, and Jordan was her target. That had allowed Andrew time to dart out, and he'd met Jordan by the elevator moments later. 10 minutes later, the two were downstairs at the coffee shop, Andrew still stunned. Not much was said, and here, two hours later, he still didn't know what to say.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but finally, he sat up when his phone alarm alerted him to the time. He'd set the alarm to remind himself of his lunch date with a writer. Grateful for the distraction, he stood and collected his things. Andrew wasn't sure how long the luncheon would take, but he was certainly not coming back to the office, not today. He would work from home or another coffee shop, and he still had dinner scheduled with an illustrator. It would be a busy day, busy OUT of the office.
Andrew managed to make it through the rest of his afternoon, happy about the meeting he'd had with a new writer. He wrote up his notes at a nearby coffee shop. During his work session, he received a call from the illustrator he was meeting for dinner and found out he'd missed his train to the city. After rescheduling the dinner for a later date, Andrew finished his work and set out for home. He'd decided to go home, hit the gym in his building, and pick up takeout. He needed time to think and regroup before seeing Margaret again in the morning.
As luck would have it, later that evening, as he was picking up his Chinese food, he turned to step out of the small restaurant and just about ran into, well, Margaret of course. He closed his eyes and smoothed the bag of food, as he glared at her.
"Andrew!" Margaret said, surprised and almost taken aback as the two awkwardly stood there. "What are you doing?" He glanced at her, trying not to, but noted she looked like she always did, expensive purse on her arm, phone in her hand, heels-on the heels that showed off her long, lean legs, and-he snapped his head up and met her gaze.
He held up the bag, still irritated with her about everything over the last year or rather, last four years, if he was honest. He raised his eyebrows at her, almost mocking her, "Oh, I don't know, book research on Chinese restaurants."
"Oh, funny, now mocking me," she gestured with her finger in the air. "Yes, I see that's how this is going to be. You hid at work today-"
"I didn't hide," he cut in, now getting more and more irritated. For the first time really since she'd returned, he locked eyes with her. "I had meetings and appointments all day. In case you forgot, Margaret, I'm not your assistant. I'm an editor, something you haven't been for a year."
She looked up, and he could see she let out a breath she'd been holding. He was certain she'd rolled her eyes too. He didn't care if he was sounding hostile. She'd done this; she'd ruined things with them. He looked away, but when he glanced back, she was there, staring at him now.
"What?" Andrew asked. "Aren't you going to get out of the doorway? I'd like to get going."
"Why are you here?" Margaret asked, ignoring his plea to move.
Andrew snapped at her quickly, holding up the bag as he gestured to it, "Obviously, I was hungry."
She made a face and shook her head, still looking at him, "No, why are you HERE?" Margaret emphasized. "This is my neighborhood. If I didn't know better, I'd say you are following me. Are you, Andrew?"
"Following you?" Andrew snapped, now gesturing with both hands. "Margaret, you LEFT ME. You left. I actually manned up and admitted my feelings. I'll still admit them," he said as he continued to gesture. "I've been working on getting over you for the last year. You broke all ties. You left. You didn't call or contact me, and then, then," he said, now muttering as he continued to gesture. He took a deep breath, "You have the nerve to just show up here again, acting like nothing has happened or changed. You don't have the decency to explain anything at all and just keep showing up acting all normal? Tell you what-that's NOT NORMAL!" Andrew exclaimed now, visibly irritated. Margaret's eyes widened, and Andrew continued with his rant, "You should have done better than that, Margaret. I expected better than that. I DESERVED better than that."
"Andrew-" she finally interrupted him, but he put up his hand as if he didn't want to hear it.
"I'm not finished," he told her, locking eyes again. "I'm not following you, far from it. In fact, yes," he nodded, "I'd like to avoid you because I'm back to loathing you," he said with a hiss. "Know that building just around the corner?" Andrew now asked, a sarcastic tone to his voice as he pointed. "Yes, yes, it's a half a block or so over from your apartment, or what I thought was your old apartment. Yes, well, as you know, this is one of the best areas in the city to live, and well, yeah," he offered a shrug, "I bought a condo in this very neighborhood. Crazy, isn't it? Stupid me. I guess I just assumed I wouldn't have to see you, the woman who broke me, again."
At that, Andrew stepped around her, which Margaret had to jump at the last minute to let him pass. He could tell she was still stunned at his admission, and he started down the street.
"You bought a place here? How-" Margaret started to ask, and at that, Andrew, still walking, spun around.
"How do you think, Margaret? You've seen my family. As you pointed out, they are rich. Well," he smirked, "turns out I am too, that is if I'm willing to humble myself and take money from Gammy, which I did. Yeah, just not willing to humble myself and admit that maybe working for you for three years was a colossal mistake. Goodnight, Margaret," and with that, he gave her an almost sad smile, turned, and walked away.