“THANKS FOR MEETING me.” Bret clasps his hand together on the table.
The only reason I’m here is because I can’t go home yet, but I don’t tell Bret that. I check my watch again and calculate how much longer I have to be safe.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened,” he tries to explain.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say coyly, mostly because I want to hear him say it. He squirms in his seat, and I’m not used to seeing Bret like this. When he was managing the band, he was mostly frazzled and in damage control mode. This Bret sitting across from me is in control, apologetic, and repentant.
“Mia, don’t make this any f*****g harder than it has to be.” He rubs his temple, clearly annoyed with me.
“Bret, don’t be stupid,” I say and roll my eyes.
