Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Did he know me at all?
I thought we’d built something real. Something solid and strong, forged through honesty and vulnerability and the slow, careful process of letting someone in. I’d seen parts of Simon that I suspected few people ever got to see. The man beneath the polished exterior, with his dry humor and unexpected tenderness and the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
But the man in that parking lot… that wasn’t the Simon I knew. That was someone else entirely. Someone cold and suspicious and so quick to assume the worst that he hadn’t even let me finish a sentence.
I grabbed my spare phone charger from the drawer—useless now, with my shattered screen—and tossed it into the box with more force than necessary.
The worst part was that I understood, in some distant, rational corner of my mind. I knew about Chuck. About the betrayal that had cost Simon his first company. He’d been burned before. Badly. And today, when everything went wrong, those old wounds must have reopened, fresh and bleeding.
But understanding didn’t make it hurt less.
He’d projected all of that onto me. Every fear, every past betrayal, without giving me a single chance to explain. Without trusting that the woman he claimed to care about might have had a reason for not showing up.
My brother had been in the hospital, confused and vomiting and unable to recognize his own fiancée’s name. And Simon had accused me of corporate espionage.
The laugh that escaped me was bitter, edged with hysteria.
I paused in my packing, hands braced against the edge of the desk, and let myself feel the weight of it. The anger and the heartbreak, twisted together so tightly I couldn’t separate them anymore. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to rewind the clock and make different choices, though I wasn’t sure which ones.
I couldn’t regret taking Miles to the hospital. I’d do that again in a heartbeat.
But maybe I could have tried harder to contact Simon. Borrowed a phone at the hospital. Found some way to let him know what was happening before everything fell apart.
Would it have mattered?
The question surfaced unbidden, and I didn’t have an answer. Maybe if I’d called, Simon would have understood. Would have told me to stay with my brother, that the contract could wait. Or maybe he would have reacted exactly the same way. Maybe the trust I thought we’d built had always been more fragile than I realized.
Still, as I cleared the last of my things from the desk, a small, stubborn part of me kept listening for the elevator.
Maybe he’ll come after you.
I hated that I wanted that. Hated that despite everything, some pathetic, hopeful piece of my heart was waiting for the doors to open. For Simon to stride in with regret in his eyes and apologies on his lips. For him to ask me to stay.
The minutes ticked by in silence. He didn’t come.
My heart cracked a little more with each passing second, hairline fractures spreading through something that had felt so solid just this morning. And slowly, that fragile hope began to curdle into something harder.
Even if he did show up, even if he dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness, I wasn’t sure I could give it. The things he’d said… those words couldn’t be unsaid. That suspicion, the complete lack of trust, couldn’t be unfelt. He’d shown me exactly what he thought of me when the pressure was on, and I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him the same way again.
But I still wanted his feelings for me to be stronger than his fear. I wanted to matter enough for him to fight for this. I wanted him to choose me, over anything else.
We don’t always get what we want.
The thought settled over me like a shroud. I picked up my box, took one last look around the office that had started to feel like mine, and walked out.
* * *
Wren’s house was a small craftsman bungalow in a quiet neighborhood, with a porch swing and window boxes full of flowers that she somehow managed to keep alive despite her chaotic schedule. I stood on her doorstep and knocked, hoping desperately that she’d be home.
The door swung open, and Wren’s frown appeared immediately, her sharp eyes cataloging my disheveled appearance in an instant.
“Raina? What are you doing here?” Her gaze lifted to my face, and whatever she saw there made her expression shift from confusion to concern. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. All I could manage was a shaky exhale and a voice that cracked on every syllable.
“I needed someone to talk to.”
That was all Wren needed to hear. She ushered me inside and guided me to the couch. Her cat, a grumpy orange tabby named Posie, blinked at me from her perch on the armchair.