Page 14 of The Remake

“It’s okay, James. I’ll handle it.”

I walked out of the boardroom for privacy and made my way down the hallway. Sticking my head inside the staff lunchroom, I noticed it was empty. I called Glenn’s number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Steinberg? Hi, it’s Grace Sweeney returning your call.”

There was a pause.

“I guess three hours late is better than never,” he said in a gruff voice. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We had lunch with the client and lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” I paced the room. I hated taking the blame for a lunch I didn’t even want, but since I was the lead on this audit, being accountable was my responsibility.

“Look, Grace. I hope I don’t have to tell you what a big client Crawford Corporation is.”

“You don’t, sir.”

“I put you on this audit because I know you can deliver.”

“I can, sir.”

“Good. Now, there are a few things I wanted to discuss with you.”

I nodded as Steinberg shot off his instructions. I somehow found a pen in the staffroom and scribbled notes on a napkin. After ending the call, I sat at one of the back tables and finished writing my thoughts on the makeshift paper.

Others must have walked in because I heard whispering, but I ignored it until a certain name popped up. “Did you see Luke?”

“I sure did,” someone said and giggled.

“I hear he’s staying all week,” another said.

“Well, I hope he’s here longer than a week. Do you see how cute Colton is with Frances? I bet Luke would be just as amazing with his significant other.”

Ha! I doubt it. Luke only cares about one person in this world. Himself.

“I hear he’s great with his hands in the kitchen,” said a deeper voice. “I bet he knows how to use them in the bedroom, too.” They all laughed.

I stood, not wanting to hear another word about how great Luke would be as a lover. I would probably gag harder than I did with the beer.

“Ladies. Gentleman. How’s it going?” a familiar voice crooned into the staffroom.

Great, the man himself comes to receive his daily dose of adoration.

I kept my gaze ahead and walked right past him.

“Sweeney, wait,” he called after me.

“What do you want, Crawford?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I wanted to check in with you. I heard your boss called and sounded upset. Look, if you need me to call him back and save you the scolding, I’ll do it.”

I smiled, but judging from the confusion on his face, it probably wasn’t a friendly one. “I don’t need you to save me, Luke.”

“I—”

“No. I handled it myself. I don’t need anyone to save me, except for God to save me from rich, spoiled man-babies.”

I turned and walked back to the boardroom. I may have wanted his shoulder to cry on ten years ago. But he had turned it away then. It was too little and too late now.