Rash Decisions

by Alex Rosa

  Is this what my therapist implied when I told her I was getting up and leaving the state? That I wasn’t really solving the problems and instead I was running away from them?

  Is that what I’m doing now?

  I feel like shit for so many different reasons, but I can’t stop pawing at my swollen lips as I approach the elevator.

  If I don’t know how to justify the night to myself, how can I explain myself to anyone else?

  I shoot a glance down the hall and think, what would Troy do in this situation?

  That’s when I take a step inside the elevator, eager for the doors to shut behind me.

  My weekend ate my mind alive, and my Monday isn’t proving to be immune from my constant thoughts either.

  Troy’s phone call came shortly after I arrived home Saturday morning. He didn’t leave a voicemail, which seems like something he would do. Troy demands to be heard, and not via recording.

  I had locked myself away in my apartment and sat on my couch clutching a bag of Doritos, hating myself.

  Troy’s passive aggressive text messages started by mid-morning.

  Troy is a patient man and doesn’t deserve being ignored. That’s not something I necessarily thought myself, but rather what Troy had told me in one of the four texts he sent.

  I roll my eyes while uttering the words, “fuck-fuck-fuck” as I pace my office back and forth.

  Troy seemed to show at least some restraint all weekend, which makes me feel even worse. The bastard limited himself to three text messages on Saturday and only one final attempt on Sunday. I have to give him credit. I would’ve obsessed so much so that I’d have called me at least twenty times. But no, that isn’t Troy’s style. He was calm, collected, and even cool, which pissed me off. It had my misplaced anger mixing with my guilt in a volatile way.

  He was never overly angry in his texts, but merely pleading with the want to understand what happened. Although, his last text message told me he figured why I got up and ran from his apartment before he woke up, but none the less, he still thought we needed to attack this head on and talk about it.

  I’m a terrible person, because I know he’s right.

  Since when did I peg Troy as the more level headed one? I hate that I’m toying between the wrong and right of the situation.

  Among the sparse Troy interactions, that didn’t stop Noah from being utterly perfect this past weekend, too. I made it a point to answer all his messages. No matter how distant I thought I was being, he always came back with another sweet-nothing, or an I miss you that had me realizing that Noah Weston deserves someone so much better, but confirms he’s everything I want.

  I wanted desperately to tell Noah to come to my apartment just so I could confess my crime and then cry in his arms. I’ve never been so dishonest in my life. I can’t wrap my head around how I gave in to Troy.

  I’m sure it’s sparkly champagne and gin’s fault.

  A part of me thinks that maybe if I confront Troy on this we can both agree it was a mistake and forget it ever happened.

  However, why does my gut tell me that’s not how this is going to go?

  It’s nearly 11:00 in the morning now and I cannot ignore work much longer stowed away in my office, or I’ll have a whole slew of different problems on my hands.

  I grab for a document off my desk that needs to be scanned over to the Soleil brothers’ personal assistant no later than noon our time. I wish I could find a way to sneak off and learn how to use the dammed fax machine myself, but dammit I have to ask Claire.

  I glance at my closed door. Rarely do I ever work with it closed, let alone never exit for a little morning stroll to harass my uncle or … whomever.

  I open my door cautiously, stepping out into the open space and dart my eyes down the hall.

  Troy’s door is open, but he isn’t in there. My heart rate picks up. Where is he? Why hasn’t he bombarded my office with a game of twenty questions yet? I hate that maybe he considered that giving me space was a good option. I don’t need him being perfect. I need him to be an asshole so this is easier.

  “Claire?” I ask as I walk toward her desk.

  She is surprisingly alert as she looks up on my first attempt. “Hey, Jules. Wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you today. Oh, and congratulations on getting the Soleils to agree to work with us. You and Troy are the talk of the office right now.”

  My stomach does a somersault while my mouth suddenly feels like the Sahara Desert. I grab for a half empty bottle of water on her desk. “You mind if I have some of this?”

  Claire, being kooky herself, doesn’t seem to think much of it as she nods her agreement. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I take too large of a gulp and exhale a gust of oxygen. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” I choke. “Totally fine. What’s the office saying about us?”

  I ask like I’m in my high school locker room asking my girlfriends if anyone was talking about me and Tyler's kiss behind the bleachers. Troy is a smug asshole, but he wouldn’t go bragging about sex, would he? Unless that was his plan to get me fired. Oh God.

  I take another large, nervous gulp, finishing off the bottle.

  Claire repeats her question again, eyebrows furrowing this time, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Maybe you need to re—”

  I shake my head to halt her words. It’s the only time I’ve ever used my sense of authority and I feel awful about it. I nervously giggle and shrug. “I just have a lot of work to do. I can’t be sick right now. Sorry about your water.”

  Claire recovers, smiling wide, her freckles stretching over her cheeks. “No worries. And nothing, the office is just so proud. Paul keeps telling people you’ve been an asset to the company ever since arriving.”

  I nod. That’s all I can do. I should be thrilled, but I can’t seem to connect with that emotion.

  I allow my eyes to scan the office once more, and realize I’m like a gazelle spending too long carelessly hanging out in an open field when there could be a lion lurking in the grass, ready to pounce.

  I tug at my blouse a few times, needing some air, but try to refocus.

  “Thanks Claire. Speaking of the Soleils, can you please fax this document to their personal assistant? It’ll need to go through the proper channels before the Soleils arrive tomorrow.”

  She nods, her green eyes devouring my words. She’s a good assistant. I’ll give her that. “No problem. Sorry they ended up canceling on you today.”

  “It’s probably because they’re still recovering from our Friday night,” is what I want to say, but instead I go with, “To be honest Claire, I could use the breather right now.”

  I smile my first genuine smile of the morning, but as if I jinxed my own existence my spine stiffens when I see the lean, toned lion stalking toward me from the elevator.

  “Julia.”

  It’s crisp and commanding, and it has my insides turning into goo.

  “Troy?” I ask too high pitched as I lean against Claire’s desk like it’ll offer me protection.

  Troy’s hair is back to being slick and proper. I hate it. The Troy I got to know this past weekend doesn’t wear gel in his hair even if he’s wearing a tie. Hell, the Troy I know is ridiculously funny and playful when he isn’t in a stuffy office. He’s not like this. He’s not so uptight.

  Granted, I can’t argue that he doesn’t model the look like the devil himself. Hot and forbidden. Yep, that seems to nail Troy ... nail Troy. I nailed Troy. Oh no, I totally did …

  He chews his bottom lip a second before choosing his words, his eyes darting all over my face and I wonder if he can sense my panic.

  “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  I open my mouth, my eyes bugging out of my head, and then I turn to Claire who seems unfazed by the interaction as she watches on, eager to help in any way.

  “Actually, I can’t. I’m in the middle of something with Claire.” I wave my hands in the air as if to offer some obviou
s explanation.

  “—No worries. I think I've got it Jules,” Claire interjects.

  I turn to Claire, desperately smiling. “No-No, Claire, I have to finish telling you something, and then you can send that file off, okay?” She nods, and I’m thankful she’s willing to humor me as I turn back to Troy. “See? I’m very—very busy. We can talk later.”

  Troy tilts his head and adjusts his tie, his long fingertips straightening the knot drawing my eyes to it’s unmistakable red color, and suddenly my eye twitches.

  I remember that tie. I tugged and yanked on that tie all night, not being able to restrain myself until I finally pulled it off of his body.

  He smirks when he sees me gawking at it. It becomes obvious that the choice in tie was purposeful. Damn him.

  Sure, Troy Dillinger pretends he doesn’t care with his passive I-don't-need-you toned texts, but he has a way of making his point.

  “You can’t spare me just a moment of your tie-I mean time?” he asks.

  I squint, eyeing him angrily. “I most definitely don’t have a moment right now. Later.” This time my reply is more frustrated and severe.

  “We will talk,” he replies, pointing at me.

  “Later!” I quip crisply, hating him and feeling much better about the situation now. It’s always much easier when he’s disagreeable.

  He chews that lip one last time, and throws his hands up in defeat, brooding under his knitted brows. “Fine!”

  Then he stomps off to his office where he doesn’t make it three steps before Claire shouts, “Don’t forget you have an 11:30AM lunch!”

  “Got it!” he barks before leaving to go throw a tantrum, or at least that’s what I’m assuming.

  Claire slowly pulls the paper free from my hands. “Now, are you sure you two are okay?” she asks.

  I turn to Claire, standing up straighter, and release a small huff. “Put it this way: Contract negotiations were a bit rough this weekend.”

  She nods. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me about other than the fax you need me to send?”

  I shrug, and Claire doesn’t wait for an answer as she says with a wink, “Thought so,” before skipping off in the direction of the mailroom.

  I decide continuing to lock myself in my office is the only logical solution to the rest of my day, unless I can manage getting out of work early to avoid Troy entirely.

  I pull in a deep breath ready to head back to my cave, but the dinging of the elevator catches my attention, and just like that, I feel like I’m about to choke on reality.

  “Noah?” I ask just above a whisper as I watch him exit the elevator into my place of work. The site of him does lift my spirits though. Especially since the second he locks eyes on me he quickens his pace and plants a kiss on my lips. Regardless of all my guilt a stupid smile peeks through my lips.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, but he won’t stop staring at my clothes.

  “You work here?” he says. “I knew you worked in the building, but go figure, right? What are the chances?”

  This is when my brain goes into overdrive as I try to desperately put the pieces of why Noah is in this building and in my office of all floors.

  Then I spot it. A purple rhinoceros stuffed animal.

  “Noah, you’re earl—”

  Troy’s words get choked off as he exits his office, his steps stopping mid journey as his eyes collide with mine. I can see the ticking of his artic orbs putting the same pieces together as me as they dart from Noah and then back to me, but I want to figure this out first. My sanity depends on it.

  I fear I’m about to puke everywhere as my mouth silently bobs up and down, trying to gather my nerves and the words as I point at the unique stuffed animal in Noah’s hand. “Where’d you get that?”

  Of course I know that rhino. I may have only seen it once, but when one adores a seven year old you’re forced to commit to memory their favorite stuffed animal in case of emergencies.

  Noah smiles, lifting up the ragged toy. “Oh this? It’s my niece’s.” He turns to face Troy who’s petrified to the spot, his mouth half open as his eyes pierce my soul. Noah still speaks, entirely unaware at what’s unfolding. “Figured I’d bring this with me. I know that little monster has trouble sleeping without it.”

  Troy blindly grabs for the stuffed animal. “This is your boyfriend?”

  That question is for me, and only me. The tone is scolding, even.

  I consider turning around and running back into my office, but I know I’m not five years old and that isn’t my bedroom. I’m an adult, even though I may feel like a prepubescent teen at the moment.

  Unsuspecting Noah laughs, stepping up to me, and I force the best smile I can as my eyes collide with his innocent, kind ones. Then he does the one thing that I normally would have welcomed.

  Noah proudly presses his lips gently to mine, and although his eyes close in unison with his mouth’s caress, my eyes go wide while they’re locked onto Troy. I try apologizing with my eyes, but the anger that flashes behind his could be the cause for global warming.

  I’m in way bigger trouble than I thought.

  Noah pulls away. “She isn’t a fan of labels, so if you could not mention the B word around her, that’d be great,” he jokes.

  Troy’s glacial stare has me scrambling to save the moment as I let out a string of laughter, lightly smacking Noah’s chest. “He’s kinda my b-boyfriend. Yes.” I respond to Troy’s odd question. “How the hell do you two know each other?” I fear the answer that I already know.

  Troy grimaces, clenching his jaw tight. I can see the muscle in his face click. “He’s my brother.”

  “Like, really your brother?” I ask Troy as if Noah isn’t standing next to me, my eyebrows hopelessly angling upward and wishing desperately that some sort of galactic vortex would swallow me whole.

  Noah rubs his hand against the small of my back, curving it over my hip, and all I can remember is Troy’s hand there only days ago.

  I’m a horrible, terrible, awful person

  “Half-brother, actually,” Noah chuckles, “but with a big bro like this, who cares about the details –wait, is this your asshole work associate?”

  I really wish someone would just end this for me.

  Troy won’t stop staring. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He points at his chest, eyes on me. “You told him I was your asshole boss?”

  I shake my head and shrug. “I never said boss.”

  Troy doesn’t take to my clarification as a joke and instead openly fumes as he turns back to his brother, “This is the girl you’ve been talking about?”

  Noah gets bashful as he turns to me, flashing that beautiful, all-American smile, then back to Troy. “Well yeah, but shut up for right now, would you? You’re embarrassing me.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Troy utters under his breath, and I know I’m not supposed to hear it as he runs a frantic hand through his hair. The look doesn’t match his crisply pressed suit, but there’s something about disheveled-out-of-control-Troy that I like so much better than the contained version. Like, how I hated every single calm and collected text this weekend. I wanted him a mess; I wanted him untamed and livid. It at least would’ve shown me that I affected him, like I am now.

  “Bro, are we still going to lunch?”

  The word bro feels absurd and I can’t help but twitch at the sound

  “Yeah, just gimme a minute, will you?” Troy says, and as if sensing his frazzled state, he shakes his body quickly and flashes Noah a believable, natural smirk, “Gregorio’s like usual?”

  “Of course. I love Italian food.” Noah rubs over my back and winks as if he’s concocted a sudden plan. The idea makes my guts squirm. “Troy, you got plans this week?” He asks.

  This time Troy rubs his face as if he can see what’s coming, although I do not.

  “I always have plans, why?”

  “Well, se
eing as you're my brother and apparently you two have some work differences to work out, I think we should all go out to dinner. Two important people in my life hanging out and getting along, ya know?”

  Bless your heart Noah you gorgeous, sweet idiot.

  Troy’s face twists in wry, pained amusement. “Hang out?”

  “Yeah, bring one of your hot dates and we’ll all do dinner. Let’s double date and get to know each other.” Noah pauses, feeling my flabbergasted eyes on him I assume as he turns back to me and asks, “Is that okay?”

  How can I say no to that? There isn’t a way out. Maybe it’s a hereditary thing to plan things at the whim of your human accessories.

  I purse my lips into a smile, knowing that although this is a disaster and I’m a horrible person, Noah deserves better from me right now and a part of me just wants to make him happy in hopes it excuses my epic mistake. “Of course. Troy, please come to dinner with us.”

  So I might have uttered those words through clenched teeth.

  Troy darts his eyes between Noah and me, as if still shocked that we’re standing next to each other. I want to tell him that I have my own things I find shocking, too.

  He nods and gives an answer with the same terse tone, repeating my words. “Of course. It would be perfect. I can’t wait.”

  We all have the right to be mad, however, Noah is too busy strumming his fingers over my hips and pressing a kiss to my temple.

  Troy, obviously wanting this moment to end as badly as I do, rolls his eyes. “Let’s get to lunch, Noah.” Then he pauses, looking at me briefly and then back around the office for something, but his vision falls on nothing but empty space. A part of me thinks he’s looking for answers to the billions of questions he might have. However, that permanent frustrated glance he has isn’t fair. What about me and my questions?

  “Julia.”

  I leap at the sound of my name, not realizing I was daydreaming while staring at Troy and still within Noah’s grasp. If guilt were an illness, I’d be the black plague.

  I gulp, “Yeah, Troy?”

  “We are meeting today to discuss the Soleil file—”