Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(88)

“Nooo, thank you. Nope. No. Definitely not.”

“I didn’t think so. In that case, my beautiful buttercup—you know him best. You know how to explain and how to earn his forgiveness. I don’t think anyone can help you with that.”

The advice rang in Dani’s ears as she rushed to Echo bright and early Monday morning, Zaf’s cup of bitter black coffee warming her hand. She’d been too jittery to order a green tea for herself, gripped with the urgent need to see him, even if she had no idea how to explain herself, or make it up to him, or anything else. She just had to see him, and tell him she loved him, and then she’d figure it out from there.

Except Zaf wasn’t at his desk.

“Morning, duck.” George beamed as she strode into the foyer. “Nice hair.”

“Oh,” Dani murmured, her steps faltering. “It’s . . . you.” She couldn’t help it if you came out sounding a bit like dog shit. She didn’t want George’s pink-cheeked smile. She wanted a grim-faced scowl.

George appeared unperturbed by her less-than-warm welcome. “That for me?” he asked hopefully, reaching for the coffee.

“No.” Dani jerked back, which was ridiculous. Zaf wasn’t here, and she certainly wasn’t going to drink his awful brew. But he must be around somewhere. He had to be. She needed to give him this, and tell him she was sorry, and see if he’d still brought her morning protein bar or if he’d absolutely washed his hands of Dani and her poor nutrition, which she wouldn’t blame him for. Not because of the nutrition itself, but because she’d been a shit. “Where is Zafir?”

George gave her an odd look. “Called in sick. Thought you’d know.”

Sick? “Right,” Dani said calmly, as if she weren’t absolutely stricken. “Of course.” But there was no of course about it. Zaf never called in sick. Never. She’d noticed that the same way she’d noticed everything about him, for months and months now: easily, without ever once realizing how closely she watched him or how fascinating she found even his mundanities.

He was wonderful, he was everything, and she’d hurt him, and now he’d called in sick. Shame curdled like sour milk in her belly. “See you,” she muttered to George, and scurried up the stairs.

The next day, she brought another coffee, but Zaf still wasn’t there. Dani swallowed hard in the face of George’s slightly pitying smile, walked past the lift with a wistful, teary glance, and dragged herself up the stairs, which suddenly seemed to go on for miles. She didn’t know exactly what it meant when the person you loved stopped coming into work so they wouldn’t have to see you, but it certainly didn’t seem good. She took a sip of Zaf’s coffee, then squeaked in horror and dribbled it back into the cup. Good Lord, that was disgusting. Were the man’s taste buds made of concrete?

And now she’d dribbled coffee on her chin, so she should probably go to the bathroom before continuing the day's tragic move-fest.

She turned the corner that led to the nearest bathroom just in time to see a familiar brown bob disappear behind the closing door. Jo. Or maybe it wasn’t, but it might be, and just that possibility stopped Dani in her tracks—because suddenly, in the midst of all her own pain, it seemed really, really urgent that she speak to Jo.

Jo, her friend. Jo, who’d committed the grievous crime of developing feelings, which human beings often did, and had been punished for it because Dani wasn’t in touch with her own. Well, she was certainly in touch with her feelings now, every last stomach-churning one of them, and when it came to Jo, guilt was at the forefront. Along with regret and honest-to-God sorrow, that Dani had hurt someone she cared about just because they’d wanted something she hadn’t.

So, like any reasonable ex–fuck buddy with stalkerish tendencies, she leaned against the wall and waited to hear a flush.

Five minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Jo emerged, her brown bob razor-sharp as ever. Beneath her lab coat, she was wearing black trousers and a midnight-blue shirt, one Dani used to love on her. Of course, there were lots of things Dani had loved on Jo, or about Jo. She’d just never dared to consider the idea of loving Jo herself.

Which now struck her as a damned shame.

“Christ,” Jo yelped as she caught sight of Dani. “Oh my God. What are you doing here? I mean—sorry, you probably just want the toilet—”

“No, actually,” Dani said. “I followed you.”

Jo sighed. “God, Dan, you’re not supposed to admit that sort of thing. People will think you’re weird.”

“I am weird, but that’s beside the point. I wanted to talk.”

Jo’s lips tightened for a moment, but then she released a breath and shrugged. “I suppose you can’t still be angry with me, since you’ve moved on with Mr. Big and Brooding. So what, exactly, do you want?”

Dani ignored the twinge she felt at that mention of Zaf. “I want,” she said quietly, “to apologize.”

Jo blinked. “Apologize? Really.”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t certain you knew the meaning of the word.”

“Don’t be irritating, Josephine. I am attempting to prostrate myself before you.”

Jo looked theatrically at the ground. “I don’t see it.”