8 All for naught

Ruth's pov

I held my cell phone almost a mile off my ear to avoid the maniac laughter flowing through it.

Gritting my teeth, I yelled in the general direction of my outstretched hand, "and it is all your fault, Shayari!"

"My fault?" Shayari replied hoarsely, still catching her breath from the fit of laughter she had been having for last 10 minutes.

"I didn't tell you to go to his house just three weeks after you met him, Ru." She continued without much fire into her words.

As always, I knew she was right. But that didn't stop me from blaming her for what history would come to call, 'the friday fiasco.'

"Well, you didn't tell me to not go either. Didn't reply to my text on time. You never reply to my messages on time, Shayari! I'm always - always! - there for you and you are always too busy for me! and I hate that!" I huffed as my frustrated rant poured out of me, during all of which Shayari remained quiet, letting me get the anger out of my system.

As my breath returned to its normal state, I imagined Shayari's suppressed smile and raised brow, as she patiently waited for me to speak, or give some indication that I wasn't about to go off again.

I was well familiar with the expression, that was how she generally got when I said something unreasonable.

Admittedly, it wasnt often that I would get like that, but I felt stretched too thin and out of sorts. If there was one thing I had strived all my life to avoid, it was to steer clear of of any kind of humiliation.

And I couldn't believe myself, couldn't believe I had been so out of my character that I had ended up willing walking into a situation that had disaster and humiliation written all over it.

When I had gotten home late friday evening, it was to find the house empty and a post-it stuck on our refrigerator from Shayari, letting me know that she will be spending the weekend at her parents' place.

While that explained why she hadn't answered my messages, the knowledge hadn't soothed my humiliation in the least. But still, I was grateful for having the house to myself for the weekend.

It had let me stew over the events that had occurred at Caleb's home in peace without having Shayari's too observant gaze reading me like an open book.

Briefly, I wondered what would have happened if I had taken Caleb up on his offer to pick my house instead of his, but I doubt it would have been any less of a disaster than it was now, regardless of the venue it occured at.

Shayari had tried contacting me whole day saturday just to ask if I was alright, but the events were too fresh for me to delve into them just yet, which I knew I will have to do once I picked her call.

It was sunday evening now and I had just finished recounting my friday fiasco to her. As expected, she hadn't even checked her messages until I had called back her. This usually tend to happen when she was at her parents' place, unless there was an emergency, ofcourse.

They demanded too much of her attention whenever they could. I finally gave her a call when I just had to talk about it, which in both of our eyes, qualified for emergency.

Now that she had heard my whole story with all its sordid details, she wasted no time to raise a question that I was avoiding to think myself.

"What I don't understand is, how can someone like you ― who purchases a milk carton after week long contemplation ― take an impulsive decision like sleeping with her boss?"

Why, indeed. I thought, before shaking myself. She was right to raise this question, ofcourse. But even though I considered myself to be sufficiently self-aware - atleast, I did before a certain torpedo crashed into me - I had no answer, no reason, no explanation of why I did something so risky and impulsive for all of an unspoken challenge.

"That doesn't matter now, Shy." I said with a sigh of desperation in my voice. "Its already done now. And no amount of analysis can change that, right? What matters now, is that how will I face him tomorrow?"

***

As it turned out, the luck did me a favour for once in all of my life. But even if I viewed it as a favour, it oddly left me disappointed.

The whole night yesterday, this morning and all the way to work, I had kept replaying what Shayari and I had practiced over the course of sunday evening on how to face Caleb Cross.

I recalled her voice in my mind instructing, "remember, if he so much as mentions anything furniture, you have to say?"

"Can't help it if you are less attractive than furniture," I had parroted the rehearsed response in my mind.

"And if he tries to flirt?"

"If you didn't get any on your home ground, you won't get any, now."

Ever since that day nearly a month ago when torpedo had crashed into me and spilled my coffee onto my dress, I strangely seemed to have lost the taste for morning coffees.

As soon as I entered building today though, Ellen Cole informed me that my boss has been sent on a 3 days software marketing trip to California and will be back to office by 5th of November.

Even though I was relieved that I didn't have to face him today, a small part of me was disappointed. And pissed.

I could totally understand disappointment. I knew it was probably because I had wanted the confrontation to be over and done with, so that I can move on, having closed the file for good. Atleast that's what I told myself the reason was, because what else could it be?

What I didn't understand was getting pissed. I didn't even want to acknowledge that it might be because it was Ellen Cole who was delivering the news to me or that I was pissed because he'll be gone whole 3 days. Its for the best, I told myself as I rode the elevator up my floor. It'll give time to settle dust.

Finally composed, I booted my email, all the while telling myself to get some real work done today and to NOT think about Caleb Cross—The resident devil, only to find that there were 3 emails from the said Devil waiting in my inbox.

Narrowing my eyes, I opened the first one that read:

Dear Ms. Brooke,

I am writing this to inform that I have been sent on a 3-days software marketing tour to California by the company, and so I will be absent from the office for the same.

In my absence, I'd like you to handle any and all of the correspondences that are meant for me, write me detailed reports on the same before 3PM everyday. If there is something, that needs my attention ASAP, please drop me a text message with the details of it and I'll get on with it to the best of my capability.

Also, I'll be sending you the report format and information of the deals and events regarding my tour, that is to be filled by you and submitted to the finance and operations department preferably by the end of the day, or at the latest by next morning everyday.

The remaining duties for you to complete in my absence is listed in the emails following this. See to it that they are completed and submitted on time.

Regards,

Caleb Cross.

Huh.

I read through the email a few more times, trying to find some kind of taunt or personal innuendo or some hidden message behind his words, but couldn't find any that could, in any way, be qualified for that. His email sounded professional, to-the-point and irritating as hell.

How dare he get to behave professional and mature?

He was supposed to be the immature jerk who would step out of line, maybe even be mean. And I was supposed to be the mature one who would put him in his place with a cutting remark or two, and professionalism.

But now he goes and behaves like a rational adult, leaving me to be the immature one.

Huffing at the unfairness of the world, I opened his other two emails, my eyes widening at the amount of work he had assigned me.

That was worth 10 days of work, damnit! Did the guy want me to spend my nights working on this desk as well?

Gritting my teeth, I opened my write email box, only to pause as the memory of my misfire torpedo email came rushing back.

Nope, I refused to go down that line again even if the chances of that mistake happening was next to none.

Instead, I picked up my phone and shot a quick message to Shayari, letting her know that our mission had to be aborted - or postponed, atleast - before tackling the mountain of work in front of me.