Page 100 of Dirty Boss

But tomorrow came,and I was no closer to figuring out what I wanted. My conversation with Deena rattled around my brain while I ate breakfast, and I finally pulled out my phone and tapped on Vaughn’s messages.

They ranged from apologetic to frantic. The last message simply read:

Vaughn

Please call me.

I’d received that one almost two days earlier, and nothing since.

My heart wanted Vaughn. I wanted those lazy mornings in his bed, with his arms wrapped around me. I wanted the warmth of his hugs, the tenderness of his kisses. I wanted that feeling of safety and home.

But I didn’t want to get the rug pulled out from under me again like I had with my parents, and James, and Vaughn at the gala. I didn’t want to hand him the power to hurt me again.

After my confrontation with my parents at the gala, I knew that door was fully closed now. I could never go back to them. I was on my own.

Sipping a coffee as I curled myself into my favorite corner of the couch, I glanced out the window at the blue skies and realized spring had arrived. Soon the world would burst into life, and I’d be able to go outside and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. I clambered off the couch and pushed open the window—the same one I’d poked my head through to yell down to Vaughn when he’d given me the dress—and peered through a gap in the buildings at the blue skies above.

I was on my own—but that wasn’t a bad thing. Being on my own kind of felt…wonderful, actually. Scary and dangerous and unknown. But also a little bit wonderful.

The sounds of the city rattled up toward me, and I took my spot on the couch again, grabbed my mug, and sighed.

I knew what I had to do.

THIRTY-EIGHT

VAUGHN

Waiting was agony.I tried to work, but legal issues and construction snags only made my temples pulse with pain. I couldn’t even spend time with my daughter, because she was at her mother’s place for the week I’d given up. I checked my phone incessantly and forced myself not to send Alba a barrage of messages.

Finally, she answered. She wanted to meet for coffee.

Dread walked its cold fingers down my spine as my driver approached the coffee shop on the Wednesday following the gala. Then I walked in, and a temporary burst of hope lifted me up as I saw Alba sitting next to the window, her eyes lifting to watch me walk in.

That hope withered and died when my gaze landed on the seat next to hers, where a garment bag had been draped. Even without the little clear window in the front of the garment bag showing sparkly purple fabric, I already knew what was inside.

Alba was returning the dress.

This wasn’t going to be a reconciliation.

She stood when I reached her table. “I haven’t ordered you anything,” she said by way of greeting.

“That’s fine,” I said, then nodded to the dress. “I’m not taking that back.”

Alba squared her shoulders. “You are.”

“It’s yours.”

“I don’t remember paying for it.”

“It was a gift, Alba.”

“Give it to your daughter when she grows up.”

“No.”

We faced off, a little square table between us, until Alba released a sigh and dropped into her chair. I sat down more gingerly, as if there was a bomb under the seat of the chair that might blow up if I moved too quickly. When I was settled, Alba took a deep breath—but I had things to say before I let her break things off between us.

“I’m sorry, Alba.”