Page 7 of The Write Off

Me: Monday at 11:00 a.m.

Chapter 4

Logan

I check my watch for the fourth, or fortieth, time this hour. Six minutes. Six minutes until Rilla Pine arrives.

Or doesn’t.

As relieved as I was to get her text on Saturday night, part of me still expects her not to come at all. I’m sure she’d have a good reason. She might get taken hostage in a bank robbery or carried away by a stampede of wild boars. I wouldn’t put either scenario past her. I’ve only met her once, but something tells me wherever this girl goes, chaos follows close behind.

Yet, she doesn’t seem to mind it in the least. She’d landed in my office late and doused in coffee like she didn’t have a care in the world. Unapologetic and unbothered. Her indifference to the first impression she was making was remarkable. She couldn’t care less what I thought of her.

My eyes are drawn to her forgotten scarf that sits folded on the edge of my desk. It’s been there for weeks, a constant reminder that she didn’t make good on her word to schedule a follow-up meeting. The red wool material suited her. Fiery and abrasive.

The office phone rings and I answer.

“Ms. Pine has arrived.”

Well. I stand corrected.

“Thank you, Ingrid. Please send her down,” I tell her before placing the phone back into its cradle and standing. I contemplate putting my suit jacket on, but decide my dress shirt is fine. After all, there is a decent chance my guest will barge in covered in marinara sauce and speaking in tongues.

Glancing at my watch I’m surprised to see that she’s not only here, she’s two minutes early.

I cross my office to open the door to find Rilla standing on the other side. If I hadn’t been expecting her, I’m not sure I would have recognized her. She’s different today. Her hair, worn up at our last meeting, is down, falling well past her shoulders. Volume-filled curls that appear to be the exact shade of brown as her eyes. She’s in a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans this time, her winter coat draped over her arm as she holds a coffee cup in each hand.

Beyond her change in appearance, she comes across as though she’s feeling more comfortable than the last time she was here. She seems completely relaxed and in her element.

The small smile she gives me looks forced, but she’s not baring her teeth at me so I take it as a win.

“Morning, Logan. Coffee?” She extends a coffee cup to me and I take it from her, involuntarily brushing her fingers as I do. I meet her eyes briefly before she looks away.

“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat. “Please come in.”

She walks past me and I smell a faint scent of something sweet. It’s not strong enough to be perfume. Maybe the soap she uses, or her shampoo? The scent is familiar, but I can’t quite place it. She sets her coat down on a chair and then sits in the one next to it. I close the door and walk around the desk to my chair. I expected her to come in with her fists raised, ready for battle, so I want to proceed with the utmost caution.

“I appreciate the coffee.” I pause. “I trust that you haven’t poisoned it?”

“If I were going to kill you, Logan, I’d choose a much more violent method.” She deadpans with a wink. “In all honesty, I bought two in case I spilled one on myself again.”

I feel the corners of my mouth involuntarily curving upward. Her timing and delivery are impeccable. If writing doesn’t pan out for her, she would probably do great at improv.

“That’s a very practical approach.”

She says nothing, but the look she gives me implies she wasn’t looking for my opinion on the matter.

Her eyes narrow as she spots her scarf on the corner of my desk.

“You forgot that the last time you were here,” I say, nodding at it.

She gives me a rather disdained look, as though she suspects me of stealing it so she’d need a reason to come back. “So I did. Thank you for holding on to it for me.” Her light tone doesn’t match the hardness of her glare.

Okay.

“Have you given any thought to what was discussed the last time we met?” I hate tiptoeing around what I’m trying to say, but I don’t know how else to proceed. The woman has shown that she does not react to criticism well, regardless of how constructive it is. I note she’s made no apology for agreeing to set up a follow up meeting and then ghosting me for weeks.

I watch her jaw tense and brace myself. She may not care about what I think of her, but her book? It’s clear that she cares very much about that.