Breathe for Me

chapter Sixteen





The Sunday from hell was followed by the Monday from an even deeper, hotter part of Hades.

“What do you mean the space is no longer available? Are you sure?” Chelsea tried not to screech into the phone.

“Look I’m sorry. The construction crew have a gap and they can start work sooner. I really am sorry but I have to go with them.”

“Oh.” She tried to think. “Of course.”

She hung up the phone and stared at it glumly. That was it, her project was screwed. She’d tried so hard to hide the disappointment as she’d taken the call but she’d failed. She knew because the guy had kept apologizing.

She’d wanted to make a go of it, wanted to succeed in something—her first real challenge since the accident. She’d wanted to get her career and study back on track. To make the other interns and her boss proud of her. To get some good data for her research project. She didn’t want to let them down. But she had.

She closed her eyes, tried not to panic. Maybe she could figure a way out of this? Maybe she could find another venue? Maybe she just needed to work harder?

She didn’t think about Xander. She’d been ignoring the low ache beneath her ribs for hours now and she’d keep ignoring it. Every time his name, his face, appeared in her thoughts she pushed him out.

She got a really bad headache.

She worked as late as she was allowed in the office. And then, unwilling to face the bazillion basil plants in her apartment, she set up at the twenty-four hour diner down the road from her apartment. She surfed the Internet, put an SOS call out on the pop-up’s Facebook page and drank coffee in desperation. But she was getting nowhere fast.

She rested her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. Eyes closed.

“Everything okay?”

She jumped. Oh hell. Xander stood by her booth.

“Of course. I’m fine.” She forced a bright smile. She so didn’t want to go into any of this with him.

“Really?” He dropped into the seat opposite, bringing his eyes to the same level as hers. “Why don’t you try answering that one again.” His expression was implacable but he sounded concerned. “You know you can tell me anything, Chelsea.”

Could she? There was one thing she’d told no one. And she wasn’t going there today. Today was all and only about work. Even so, it distressed her and she didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. Yesterday’s emo nightmare had been more than enough. But there was no getting away from his determination. She was just going to have to stay tough, matter of fact—unemotional. “My space has fallen through.”

“Your space?” He frowned.

“My 3 by 3. For the pop-up pizza.” She swallowed back the painful lump in her throat. No tears. She didn’t want to cry and cling and complicate. She didn’t want to force him to offer the kind of comfort he didn’t want to have to. He’d known all along about her history and while he’d been waiting for her to open up, she also knew that part of him didn’t really want to deal with her personal fallout. He’d only wanted fun. Originally he’d only wanted one afternoon.

He looked surprised. “But you’re building this week?”

“Not anymore.” She sighed. “The construction crew putting up his permanent building came to him ready to start much sooner than originally thought so the two weeks space is now nothing.” The two weeks it had going to be a cute little pizza parlour.

She looked at the table between them, trying to sharpen her brain and think of solutions, as she’d been trying these last six hours. “I could put it on the back of a truck,” she mused aloud, mainly to stop herself from looking longingly at him. “But I’d really wanted it to become part of the local environment. To be green from the outside.” She shook her head. “I’m just going to have to find somewhere else.”

But at such short notice? Property in Manhattan was premium, the island wasn’t getting any bigger. She’d never manage it. And now she had a thousand basil plants taking up every spare inch in her apartment for no reason and an on-loan pizza oven taking up valuable space in Wroxton HQ. It would never be fired up.

She finally looked back into Xander’s eyes. He was watching her too closely. Now he reached across and put a hand over hers—not a sensual touch, but a supportive one.

She stiffened, determined to hold herself in check. Because she didn’t want pity, didn’t want him to empathize, didn’t want him to be all understanding and kind. She’d lose it completely.

She sat back, slipping her hand out from under his. “I’d better keep working on it,” she said.

He froze. “You want me to go?”

“I’m going to spend the night online trying to find alternative venues.” She gestured at her laptop.

If he didn’t leave shortly she’d break down in front of him. That was the last thing either of them wanted.

“Alright,” he said coolly. “I’ll leave you in peace.” He slid out from the booth and stood. “You know if you don’t want company, you should lock yourself in your apartment.”

She closed her eyes in frustration he walked out of the diner without a backwards glance. He was chilly, and pretty much had every right to be.

She’d failed. Not only on the pop-up front. Her months in New York were going to be a total washout.