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I don’t back down this time. “Because I got a job! I needed to do something for myself. I could only hope that you’d support me in this.”
“And I support you.” He wheels himself closer to me. “We both fucked up and made mistakes, but if we want to put this behind us, we need to stop bringing them up.”
I smile, though it’s nothing if not poisoned with bitterness. “It’s not that easy. The damage is done.”
He clears his throat, and I stare into his blue eyes. There’s so much fear and sadness in them—they must mirror my own.
“So, how do we fix this?” His whisper seeps into the room.
I squeeze his hand, wishing him a good night. It’s all too much all at once. I need to think, to breathe. I needspace.
For the first time, I’m the one who needs space from Harvey. And I’m glad when he gives it to me.
I drown my sorrows in bed with my earphones, listening to Imagine Dragons. I allow myself to think of Damon. As I do, the scar stretches further across my heart. I close my eyes, focusing intently on how good Damon has made me feel since I started working for him in January.
I let the music consume me and take away the pain. It fails miserably, but it’s worth a try.
It’s worth a try.
The next day, I watch Damon read over a document I drafted for him as his executive assistant.
I take him all in—beautiful lashes, kissable lips, narrow cheekbones with a well-defined jaw. I swallow, wondering if Damon suspects that I took Harvey back.
I feel pathetic, considering I barely know the man before me, and he’s made it clear that his feelings for me aren’t reciprocated.
He’s not even looking at me, yet I can feel him everywhere. Even his scent wraps around my body, squeezing my lungs, begging to empower me.
“How are you?” He signs the document in front of him with that raw signature of his, then his eyes and all his attention are on me. I have to remind myself to breathe.
Less than seventy-two hours ago, this man had me in bed.
Then he wished for me to let him go. To see him every single day and forget how he makes me feel. My sex is throbbing in his presence, and my heart is hammering so quick and loud I fear it might escape.
“Good. You?”
We stare at each other. Neither of us utters a word, pouring our every thought through the stare we share. All the wants and needs.
He simply nods in answer, then breaks eye contact, looking at my turtleneck.
I look away, catching the abstract painting decorating his office wall. The red, black, and the faintest of white make me feel as if I can relate to the artist, since I, too, have known pain.
I continue browsing around for the box Sutton, the woman I assume is his ex-girlfriend, left for him. From my brief search, I figured she left him two journals and a frame. I wonder why she’d gift him that or where he placed the box.
“Still at your sister’s?” he asks.
I grab the signed document and cross my arms, knowing he wants to know if I’m back with Harvey. A part of me wants to lie, to see if he’ll change his mind, until I remember the silent promise I made Harv about our last chance.
“No.” I clear my throat. “I’m back home.”
His brown eyes darken with each syllable passing through my lips. I hate myself at this moment, for being so weak, for refusing to listen to my heart, my instincts, telling me to beg this man right here.
To plead with him that what we have is more than lust. It’s more than chemistry.
It’s different with you.
I can’t say how many times I’ve repeated his words in my head.
“I see.”
