Page 30 of The Do-Over

My mouth dropped in disbelief as I stared at my father. He nodded; my shoulders slumped.

“Is there anything else?” Brent asked, his smile now a smirk.

Without replying, I slid from the room and back to my desk. Marianna shot me a concerned look.

My desk felt strange, foreign. But it was all the same—same stapler, same computer, same fake houseplant. A photo of Mimi and me in the corner, taken when I was in high school. Mimi’s smile lit up the picture, her red velvet dress this side of too short. The girl in the photo wore a tent-like t-shirt and stood just behind Mimi.

I still took photographs that way, trying to find the least conspicuous place, hiding in plain sight.

Why did I do that?

I pulled up Brent’s email again. Heat settled on my chest and moved up my neck to my face. My hand curled into a fist.

“You okay over there? Your face is all red,” Marianna said.

“I’m fine.”

Before I could lose my nerve, I clicked to print the email and then shot off a text.

Me: I think I might be about to do something stupid.

Mathias: Do you want me to talk you out of it or let you do it?

Me: I’m doing it.

I tossed the phone on my desk without waiting for a response. The printer spit out a single sheet of paper and I snatched it up.

Channeling Mimi in all her brassy, high-heeled glory, I marched down the hallway. I imagined it was her hand crumpling that email into a ball. Without knocking, I threw open the door to Brent’s office and flinched when the wood bounced against the wall. Swallowing an apology, I stalked forward. My father and Brent craned their heads in my direction.

Red-hot, righteous anger coursed through me. It felt good. “Why did you deny the Grangers?”

Brent stood. “I already told you—they aren’t a good risk.”

But my brain heard something else entirely. She’s so boring. She’s not adventurous; she doesn’t argue with me. She’s always worried about making everyone happy. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with her.

“That’s not true, and you know it. You feel invincible now.” I gestured toward my father. “Break up with the boss’s daughter? Humiliate her? Who cares? Everyone knows my father does what’s best for business, right?”

Hurt flashed in my father’s eyes. “Now, hold on.”

“It’s my job to make these decisions,” Brent said. “I’m your supervisor for a reason.”

My eyes narrowed and again, other words scrolled through my brain. I’ll die of boredom if I stay with her one more day.

Heat radiated from my chest, moved to my gut, and burned through my veins. I’d never been this angry in my life. This new fire in my belly almost overwhelmed me with its strength. “You’re a… a… jerk!”

Okay, so my fightin’ words were underwhelming; I was new at this.

“Cupcake.”

I wheeled around. “Stop calling me ‘Cupcake.’ I have a name, Mr. Mayfield.”

Daddy’s brow creased in concern. “This isn’t like you at all.” He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. “Let me call your mother and—"

“No! This is New Perci. Get used to it.”

Of all things, Mathias’s face rose up in my mind now: the pain in his eyes while he stood by and watched Joel Allen propose to the woman he loved, the sadness as he watched his chance slip away. A zing of panic snaked through me. Was this my chance? Would I let it slip away?

Brent rounded the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you need to get a drink of water and calm down.”