Beer, Spaghetti, and Pharmaceuticals ||COMPLETED||

Eighteen

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Alice was on a mission as she marched down the hallways of the office building, her clunky boots echoing off the walls with each step. Her heart still raced from her fight with Mark which certainly did not help the dramatics.

The coworkers she passed scowled at her sloppy attire. Isaac's sweater nearly reached her knees, causing her to look like she belonged in a gang rather than an office building. Tomorrow she would wear a ball-gown to compensate for today's haggardness.

Without even making eye contact, she ripped passed Blaise talking to Camelia next to the water cooler.

"Hey, Alice. What's u – "

"Can't talk now, Blaise."

She heard Camelia ask Blaise what was wrong with her, but by the time Blaise responded, she was well out of ear-shot. His response wouldn't have mattered, anyway. The only thing on Alice's mind was how mad she was at Mark and that, for some reason, she wanted to see Isaac more than ever.

It was ridiculous to try to smoothly cut someone from your life in the blink of an eye. Especially when that person means a great deal to you. Who cares if she had a silly crush on Isaac? Despite what her unconscious mind tried to tell her, she wasn't some animal. She could control her desires around him. Same with Isaac. If he harbored the same feelings, he was a grown man who knew how to inhibit them.

They weren't the first friends in the world to develop feelings for each other. They also weren't the first to manage to put those feelings behind them.

Finally, she reached the gold-plated plaque that read "Isaac Hanes" in capitalized, stoic, powerful letters. Without wasting a second, she pushed the door open and stormed into the room, ready to say her speech.

"Isaac, I – "

She paused in her step when she noticed Isaac talking on the telephone. His grip tightened around his stress ball as his eyes narrowed on Alice.

So much for the dramatic entrance.

"H-hang on, Tom, I've got to put you on hold," he said and clicked a button before resting the phone on the receiver. He folded his hands together, tilting his head as his brows knitted tighter. "Can I help you?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm on the phone."

"I can wait."

His eyes fell down her outfit and his eyes widened at the sight of the familiar sweater. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Umm..." Embarrassment began creeping up her spine as she realized how foolish she probably looked. "It was a heat-of-the-moment thing..."

"Erm – okay?" Isaac said and nodded to show some mock-understanding.

When Isaac returned to his phone call, discussing taxes, investments, and other jargon words Alice didn't understand, she aimlessly strolled around his office. She had spent many hours in that room, but she never took the time to fully admire the various books and trinkets that decorated the shelves.

Her fingers trailed along a row of books on the shelf. They rested on a series of Plato's philosophical books, ranging from Symposium to The Republic. She paused to wonder whether Isaac had actually read those books or if they were merely decorative to give the impression of sophistication.

Her gaze fell to a picture frame on a lower shelf, nearly hidden behind a marble hourglass. Without thinking, she grabbed the photograph and smiled. It was black and white, but the family of blondes was indistinguishable. A baby Isaac perched on a woman's lap, smiling brightly at the camera. Alice smiled at the adorably innocent Isaac, wearing miniature overalls and a tiny Calgary Flames sports hat. The man, who must have been his father, didn't share the same enthusiastic grin. Instead, his chin was raised and his knuckles clenched near his sides, a permanent sneer resting on his face.