“Well…” Cal says, hedging a little and clearly afraid that I might not like what he’s getting ready to say.
“What did that asshole make you do, Cal?” I grit out, getting all incensed on Cal’s behalf, before really even knowing what he will tell me.
“Calm down there, Annie Get Your Gun,” Cal says with a laugh. “Actually… it’s not much that he asked me to do. First, he said he had an idea he wanted to run by me and get my opinion on. And once I listened to him, and gave him my thoughts about his idea, the real favor he wanted had to do with you.”
My breath seems to be caught somewhere between the top of my lungs and the bottom of my throat, so all I can do is whisper, “What’s that?”
“Well… Matt is standing right outside of your office at this very moment, and all I need to do is convince you to give him ten minutes of your time and listen to what he has to say. So, what do you think… can you do that?”
My head starts spinning. I glance around my office to make sure I haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole, but nope… still in my office.
“I’ll talk to you later, Cal,” I tell him and then disconnect.
Standing up, I walk to my office door and open it.
Just as Cal said, Matt is standing there, looking somber and slightly uncomfortable. I step back, making a sweeping gesture with my arm for him to come in. Turning, I head back to my desk, hoping that my racing heart won’t cause coronary arrest. Matt doesn’t move from the door but stands there with his hands in his pockets, watching me.
I start the conversation. “Cal said you forgave him.”
Matt shrugs his shoulders as if it were nothing. “It needed to be done.”
“Why is that?” I ask, completely fearful and yet totally needing him to tell me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and throws an envelope on my desk. I immediately recognize it as the envelope that had my letter of resignation in it. The words “Matthew Connover” are written in my completely messy handwriting.
I glance up to Matt, who returns my stare.
“Open it,” he says.
Opening the flap, I reach inside and pull out a pile of paper, all torn up into itty-bitty pieces. I can see clearly enough that it’s my letter of resignation, completely shredded.
“I don’t accept your resignation,” he says, his voice authoritative and commanding.
“Excuse me?” I say in shock.
“You heard me. You’re not quitting. I need you.”
Hmmmm. He needs me?
“You don’t need me,” I scoff at him. “You can put an ad in the paper and have a hundred attorneys lined up in the morning, all with better grades and references than I have.”
“No,” Matt says with equal authority. “You don’t get it. I. Need. You.”
He punctuates each word so that I hear him clearly.
I. Need. You.
And that’s all it takes for my heart to start really hammering. Matt takes two steps until he is directly in front of me, and I have to lean my head back to look up at him from my chair. He doesn’t make me strain my neck for long because he drops to his knees in front of me.
His eyes hold me. I see all the things I’ve been dying to see. Desire, care, nurturing, tenderness, and passion.
I also see something else.
Pleading.
His eyes plead with me to understand something, but I’m not sure what it is he wants me from me. Before I can even fathom a guess, he leans in, wraps his arms around my waist, and lays his head in my lap.
He squeezes me, gently, and I can’t stop my hands from coming up and stroking his head.
He stays in that position for several minutes, just squeezing me, his head nestled in my lap. My mind is racing… I have no clue what this means.