Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 49

Harry lets out a heavy sigh as he leans back in his desk chair. His gaze flicks from his computer screen to the darkness of the large window that overlooks the Downtown LA skyline. He sees nothing but the reflection of his office, the lights inside making it nearly impossible to see anything besides the rugged leather chairs, the fluffy white rug, and the pictures of his platinum albums on the wall.

Six days.

It's been six days since he'd spoken to Olivia. The weekend was okay because he never saw her on the weekends, and if he's honest with himself, he didn't really notice she hadn't come by on Monday until the close of business when he went to flick out his desk light. When he did, he paused, marveling at how he hadn't seen her at all that day. She usually stopped by on Mondays, even if it was for something trivial -- just an excuse to ask him about his weekend, but she didn't have to do it. She didn't, after all, work for him. So, he shrugged it off -- because if he's honest, he had been dreading seeing her again after their haphazard rendezvous in the stairwell because of how big of an asshat he was that following morning.

But that didn't mean he didn't want to see her.

Even when Charlotte came by on Tuesday afternoon to show him linen samples for the table settings, he'd just assumed that it was because Olivia wasn't in the office that day; the flu really had been going around, after all. But when he told her to tell Olivia that he hoped she felt better, Charlotte gave him a strange look before telling him that Olivia was fine, and he was floored.

Olivia was always the one that dealt with all of the wedding crap. It was literally her main job description.

By Wednesday, he was watching the clock, every passing hour making him more and more anxious. He couldn't concentrate, constantly wondering where she was, why she hadn't called, or why she hadn't come by.

He replayed their last encounter over and over again in his head all day. He had just fought with Eleanor over not firing Hannah before she threw Olivia in his face, forcing him to take her with him. Unknowingly, he had just taken her as his other lover in the stairwell, and he was still figuring out what it meant in his head. He hadn't been the kindest in the heat of the moment, but he was going through a lot of emotions.

But still. He needed her.

He bit his bottom lip as he replayed the events in the stairwell even more, begging to remind himself of her voice, of her touch, of those beautiful green irises staring back at him. He looked down sadly when he remembered the fragment of the phrase she had uttered to him before running down the stairs.

"We keep running. It's what we're good at."

He'd been preoccupied by that all week. Now it's Thursday. The sixth day. He hadn't spoken to her in six days.

It didn't take him long to figure out once he really started to think about it, when he finally stopped avoiding the inevitable and let the ramifications of his actions settle in. He'd slept with her. Twice. The first time while single, the second while not. The first was a love fest, albeit overshadowed by his broken heart from breaking up with his fiance. The second time was a rushed, yet emotionally charged tryst that led to him cheating on fiancé, a woman he probably shouldn't have gotten back together with after the amazing moment between he and Olivia in the first place. And then there was the rollercoaster ride of emotions and guilt the following morning that made him -- well, an asshole.

And then he remembered what he said that made him such an asshole. How he told Eleanor that he didn't want Olivia to come with him to NY. How he chopped all of his hair off and doted in his fiancé like a Queen while ignoring the woman that built up his courage again. While he wasn't expecting to see Olivia that morning, he still ran away from her like a little coward, running away from the one woman who felt like home to him -- right or wrong.