10. Thorne

TEN

Thorne

I'll be home for Christmas / You can plan on me / Please have snow and mistletoe / And presents under the tree.

6:18 am

It's been several minutes since Woodley stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls shake. And I'm still here, pacing around the room, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

I mean, we are on the same page, so why did she completely lose it on me? I think we are both stressed and our way of dealing with it clashed, because I know I could have been less of a dick. But, fuck, she was in full crazy person mode.

My heart's still pounding, the anger from our argument simmering just below the surface. I keep replaying her words in my head, her accusing tone, the way she looked at me like I was the enemy.

I walk over to the window and yank the curtain open, staring out at the snow coming down in thick, relentless waves. It's piling up fast, covering the courtyard below. The streets and sidewalks have completely disappeared.

My entire vantage point from this window makes it seem like the city is being swallowed by this storm, including my dignity. I have my father berating me in one ear and now Woodley hammering me in the other. I can't win for losing.

I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake the frustration, but it sticks to me like the wet, prolific snow. Her suggestions are ridiculous, but I may have been too harsh. Both of these things can be simultaneously true.

She may have found success in taking this aggressive posture in the past. But with this situation, she can't will the storm or the client into her personal timeline. She just needs to be patient. That's all I was trying to say. I need to work on my delivery.

I lean against the window, watching the snow swirl and gust outside, like the storm's mocking me for being stuck here. Because that's what I am. Stuck. Stuck between wanting to get this damn pitch done and over with, and this nagging feeling in my chest that maybe I'm just running scared.

Scared of messing up. Scared of making the wrong move. Scared of fucking up royally. I'm paralyzed, and sometimes I do need to be more aggressive, go after things that are important to me.

The part where she said I'm more worried about getting home for Christmas than actually landing the account? I would never admit it out loud, but she may be right.

If I dig down, getting home for the holidays is a way to forget about all of the stress and pressure I put on myself. No one works over Christmas.

I'm not a boy anymore. It's time for me to be a man. I have to work, and I should have pressure just like everyone else. I need to make a living, stand on my own, close deals on my own so that I'm not just riding my dad's coattails.

Reality scares the shit out of me. Depending only on myself, there is a possibility of being exposed as a failure if I don't come out on top. It's a double-edged sword. If I coast along, taking advantage of our name, our money, our connections, then life is easy—but I'm a spineless asshole who never did anything for myself.

If I put myself out there, take ownership, really try, then I'm setting myself up to fail and I'll look like a loser if something goes wrong.

Both scenarios suck and they both scare the hell out of me. So, as bitter as the realization is, she's right. I just want to go home for Christmas and pretend I don't have to think about either of those choices. I can just be and defer all of it for later.

I close my eyes for a second, rubbing my temples. She was furious. And I didn't help matters by making fun of her, telling her to calm down. She's going to get us both killed if we get in that rolling death trap at this point. Driving there isn't a viable option. I honestly thought she wasn't serious.

But what if she is? I should walk next door and try to talk through this calmly. Maybe we can each talk the other off the ledge… Come up with a realistic way to respond and propose a plan. And I need to apologize.

We should be able to talk this out like adults. But the thought of that just makes my throat tighten. I'm not ready to admit that she might be right, and I'm not one to say sorry. Not yet.

Instead, I pace the room, running through the options in my head. Could we do a video presentation today? Would that even work? ValorTech isn't exactly the type of client that likes last-minute changes.

And Thom Vicary made it pretty clear he wasn't up for anything until tomorrow. If Woodley is right, we're giving them the chance to reconsider the more time we give them. Surely, no one else is working during this.

Part of me wants to tell her that waiting isn't the end of the world. Hell, there are worse locations for us to be stranded waiting. But another part of me wonders if maybe I'm just too scared to take the risk. To push harder. To prove that I can take charge and pull this off instead of waiting for permission.

I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. "Goddammit," I yell out loud to an empty room.

Space. I need some space. And to get out of these four walls. That's when I realize I've had no coffee. So before I do anything with Woodley including try to talk, I'll go downstairs for a change and some caffeine. Anything to get my mind off this damn storm and the fact that everything feels like it's spiraling out of control.

6:24 am

As I walk through the lobby, I spot a counter-service coffee bar, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Thank God. My mouth is watering at the thought of a hot, black coffee.

The place is almost empty, save for a few early risers. I order my saving grace, strong, no frills, and by the time I take that first sip, I can already feel the fog lifting. How did I not think of this sooner?!

It's still so early, the lobby mostly quiet except for the hum of Christmas music playing softly through the speakers. I take a slow walk around, appreciating the decorations for the soothing warmth they offer. The tree in the center of the room is lit up, gold and red ornaments twinkling in the soft light. The air smells faintly of pine and cinnamon, and for a moment, I actually feel... calm.

The storm is raging outside, but my own internal storm seems to be waning. The ambiance and the coffee certainly help with that.

I walk toward the quieter corner of the lobby, my eyes scanning the room as I take a seat in a leather club chair near the window. And then, I see her.

Woodley is sitting alone at a small table near the Christmas tree. She hasn't seen me yet. She's staring blankly ahead, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of something. It's not the coffee that catches my attention—it's her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks blotchy like she's been crying.

I have to catch my breath for a moment. She is a natural beauty, even with the distress written all over her face. A sudden flash of her round thighs in my hands as I plunged into her plays in my mind and I shudder at the contrast of seeing her so sad and alone.

It tugs at something in me I wasn't expecting. I know she's tough, but seeing her like this hits me in the gut. She's sitting so still, so quiet, and suddenly the weight of how things went this morning feels heavier.

Without thinking, I stand and walk toward her. My earlier resolve to hold my ground, to dig in my heels, vanishes. There is a pull, like maybe now's the opportunity for us to reset and try to talk about how to handle this.

The Christmas lights twinkle above her, the holiday music a soft hum in the background, and for once, I don't feel defiant or defensive. I just feel like an ass.

I give a fake cough as I approach to let her know I'm there. She looks up, startled. "Thorne?" Her voice is rough. She clears her throat and pushes her still-damp hair away from her face.

"May I?" I don't wait for her to answer because why would she say yes? I sit down across from her, setting my coffee on the table. "Hey. Looks like we both needed some coffee."

She blinks, quickly wiping at her eyes, trying to compose herself. "Look, if you're here to tell me how much of a nut bag I am, save your breath. I already know. You made it painfully clear."

"I'm not," I say, holding up a hand. "I'm not here to fight. First, I'm sorry I was such a jerk. I realize now that I needed some coffee."

She raises a single eyebrow but doesn't let me off that easily.

"I was hoping we could come up with a viable plan together."

Her shoulders sag a little, and for the first time since I've known her, she looks vulnerable.

"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried this is about more than our meeting with Thom. I wasn't expecting to care. Seeing her like this makes me want to understand what's going on behind that tough exterior.

She hesitates, glancing down at her cup. "I don't know," she says after a moment. "It's just everything feels so heavy. This pitch, the storm, Christmas. It feels like it's all slipping out of my hands and I'm drowning. I'm pushing so hard because I'm terrified that if we don't do something now, it'll be too late."

I nod, letting her talk. This is a side of her I haven't seen before—open, raw. It makes me realize how much pressure she's been carrying on her shoulders.

She takes a shaky breath, her eyes glistening. "I know we have different approaches to things, it's just, I hate feeling stuck. And right now, that's all I feel. Stuck in this hotel, stuck in this storm, stuck watching this account, this huge opportunity, slip through my fingers. I can't let that happen."

She doesn't say stuck with me but I have a hunch that is part of her frustration.

For a second, I don't know what to say. I've always seen her as this driven, almost unstoppable force. Now I sense there is more to it. I'm not sure exactly, but something has her feeling like she has something to prove beyond kicking ass at her job.

I lean back in my chair, staring at her for a moment. "I get it," I finally say. "I do. And I wasn't fair to you earlier. I shouldn't have made fun of you."

She laughs, a soft, humorless sound. "You think? Par for the course, no offense."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling a little sheepish. "Look, we're both under a lot of pressure. But maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe instead of pushing harder, we need to figure out how to make this work together. And I'll promise to rein in some of my asshole-ishness."

She looks up at me, her expression softening. "Are you capable of that? Just kidding—I meant to say, do you think we can?"

I nod, and for the first time today, I feel like we're on the same page. "Funny. Yeah, I do. We're both stubborn as hell, but we both want the same thing. And if we can figure out how to work together instead of fighting, I think we can both find a way to do the best thing in a shitty situation."

For a moment, we sit there in the quiet of the lobby, the soft glow of the Christmas lights surrounding us. There's still a storm outside, still chaos swirling around us, we're still stuck in this hotel far away from our homes, but at least we can try to find some common ground. I consider that a nugget of hope that we will survive this.