Page 60 of Gamebreaker

9

Don't Make It Weird

Harper

I was three claims into my Monday morning when Addie appeared at my cubicle with an expression that could only be described as "concerned but trying not to show it."

"Harper? There's someone here to see you."

I didn't look up from my screen, where Mrs. Rahman's claim about a fender bender in a Whole Foods parking lot was slowly draining my will to live. "Tell them I'm dead. Or in a meeting. Or dead in a meeting. Whatever's more believable."

"It's Cameron Russo."

My fingers froze over the keyboard.

"The basketball player," Addie continued, like I might not have made the connection. Like I might have forgotten the woman who'd eviscerated me in front of Fashion City's elite less than forty-eight hours ago. "She's in the lobby. Says she needs to talk to you."

I saved Mrs. Rahman's file with more force than necessary. "Tell her I'm busy."

"Harper, maybe you should talk to her.”

"Tell her I'm swamped. Tell her I'm in the middle of a critical insurance emergency. Tell her I've been taken by aliens. Just tell her an excuse that results in her leaving."

Addie gave me that look. The one that meant she loved me but also thought I was being ridiculous. "She looks pretty rough, actually. "

That made me pause. "Rough how?"

"Like she's been crying. Or hasn't slept. Maybe both. She looks like she's been through hell and hasn't recovered yet." Addie's voice was gentle. "I think she really needs to talk to you."

I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and tried to remember the breathing exercises my therapist had taught me for moments of acute stress.

Failed on all counts.

"Fine. Tell her I'll be down in five minutes."

Addie nodded and disappeared. I turned to find Mia watching me from her cubicle across the aisle, concern written all over her delicate features.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Peachy. Living the dream. Definitely not having flashbacks to being publicly humiliated by someone who apparently thinks my trauma is fair game for insults."

"Harper—"

"I'm fine, Mia. I'm totally fine. I'm so fine, I'm going downstairs to have a conversation with the person who made me feel like absolute garbage two days ago. That's what fine people do. They voluntarily subject themselves to more emotional damage."

"She might actually want to apologize."

"Or she might want to finish what she started. Really drive home the point that I'm a desperate attention-seeker who performs my pain for sympathy."

Mia winced.

"You know what?” I said. “It doesn't matter. I'm over it. Totally over it. Moving on with my life."

"You're not over it."

"I'm practicing being over it. It's a process."

I grabbed my phone, headed for the elevator before Mia could offer any more well-meaning concern that would probably make me cry. The ride down to the lobby felt like descending into a pit of my own making, three floors of wondering what the hell I was going to say to Cameron Russo.