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It's a delicate balance, and I'm not sure how to navigate it.
I work as if on autopilot, not even registering what I’m editing or cleaning up before submitting it. The espresso in my short cardboard cup goes cold, but I still gulp it down when I remember it, but the jitteriness it imparts on me isn’t the welcome energy I’m hoping for. I don’t get up from my desk for the entire first half of the day, which is completely out of character for me. I usually enjoy interacting with my peers, all of us having similar dreams for the future, but now I’m just a laughingstock.
When lunchtime rolls around, I leave ten minutes after everyone else, wanting to avoid seeing any of my coworkers face-to-face. Again, I take the stairs to make sure I’m alone, and my calves are burning when I reach the bottom floor. I consider texting Cannon and seeing if he wants to get lunch together, but that would just be throwing gasoline on the fire.
I walk down the street to a sandwich shop and eat quickly, sitting at a corner table where I can be alone. I want to focus on work, but Cannon occupies my thoughts so much that it’s uncomfortable. The feeling of his lips on mine, his firm chest when he holds me close, and the way his hand felt cupping the back of my head while I pleasured him at the theater…all those feelings, and the memories of them, make me so happy. I want it all, but it feels impossible to fit into my life.
When I get back to the office, almost everyone else is back from lunch. To my surprise, there is much less mean-spirited chatter, and there’s a glimmer of hope within me that the worst is over, at least for the day, but that thought evaporates as soon as I actually make it to my desk.
Right in the middle of my desk—on top of my keyboard—is a tabloid, and on the cover is a picture of Cannon and me, kissing in the back of his car when he dropped me off after the celebration dinner. The title read,Cannon Croft–Single No More?
My stomach drops at the sight, and I can feel my face turning red with anger as I throw the tabloid into the trashcan by my desk. How could they print something like this? How did the tabloid even get this picture? I can feel all of my coworkers watching me, and I know they're wondering what I'm going to do. But I can't let them see me upset. I
straighten my back and walk quickly towards the bathroom, trying to keep my head held high even though I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. As soon as I’m out of sight, I hear the room break out into mocking laughter, and it makes me run even faster.
Once I'm safely locked in a stall, I let the tears fall. I can't believe I'm in this situation.
I look back fondly on our date to the opera and the coffee date we had just the day before. He’s so charming and attentive, and I feel like the most special woman in the world when I’m with him. But now, everything feels so uncertain. I'm falling in love with him, but I'm afraid my feelings are coming on too fast. I'm afraid I'm going to ruin everything by falling in love with the only man in the world who’s truly off-limits to me.
I can't take it anymore. The constant gossip and speculation are making me crazy. I just want to focus on my work and be the best writer I can be, but now, everything is a mess because of my relationship with the boss. I know I have to end things with him, no matter how much it hurts.
I take a deep breath and pull out my phone, composing a text to him:
"We need to talk. Can you meet me after work?"
A few moments later, he replies:
"Of course. Is everything okay?"
Shaking, I type out my response:
"No, everything is not okay. I can't do this anymore. I can't live under all of this scrutiny. I never meant for things to go this far and I never wanted to fall for my CEO, one of the most famous men in the entire city, but I did and now I'm afraid I'm going to ruin everything. I can't risk my career for a relationship.”
I hit send and wait for his response, feeling a mixture of devastation and relief. I know this is the right thing to do, but it doesn't make it any easier.
A few moments later, he replies:
"I refuse to give you up that easily. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I'm not going to let something like this stand in our way. We'll figure this out together."
I feel a wave of emotion crash over me. Part of me wants to believe him, to hold onto the hope that we can make this work. But the other part of me knows it's not that simple. I can't risk my career for a man, no matter how much I care for him. I’ve never felt as young and foolish as I do right now.
With unsteady hands, I respond:
"I can't do this. I'm sorry. I wish things could be different, but they're not. We can't be together. It's better for both of us if we just move on."
I hit send and wait for his response, knowing that this is the end. I think whatever he’s about to tell me will be painful, but it’s made even worse when he doesn’t respond at all, staying silent in the face of my attempt at splitting up.
I can't focus on work anymore. All I can think about is Cannon and the fact that I just ended things with him. I make the decision to leave work early, planning to have a day of self-care and grieving the relationship that I have really started to cherish.
Every time my thoughts drift to him on the way home, I try to shove them away, but it’s pointless. He owns my every thought, as well as the unconscious way my body seems to react to his. It’s going to take a long time to get him out of my system, even if I’ve only known him personally for a little over a week.
When I finally arrive home, I kick off my shoes and head towards the bathroom to take a shower, hoping that the scalding hot water will wash away my sins, but before I can even make it there, I hear the door opening. In walks my Cannon, and he lookspissed.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see him. My heart rate kicks up to a gallop the second his deep blue eyes lock onto mine.
"I made it clear that I wasn't giving you up," he replies, a determined look in his eyes. "I'm not going to let you push me away that easily. I told you not to accept my company at the opera if you weren’t going to take this seriously, and I’m not about to let you go back on your word just because you’re feeling flighty.”
Cannon stalks towards me, rolling up the sleeves of his white Oxford shirt as he does. He’s already ditched his tie and suit jacket that he usually wears to work, as if he knows he’d need more range of motion once he got to me. It sends a spear of fear and arousal through my body.
