Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
His gaze dips to the box. When his stunning blue eyes land back on me, he asks, “Why not?”
“Because it’s real.”
He blinks twice, but I see the connection isn’t made. “I’m going to need more, Sas—Delaney. What else would it be?”
“Not real. Even if you did believe I was your wife when you gave it to me, you didn’t remember who I was. So why would you buy a stranger something so expensive?”
“We were going to an event, and I wanted you to have something to wear.”
I’d been so busy staring at him that I missed the set of eyes on us from a nearby desk until I glanced out of my periphery. Swallowing becomes harder as my throat thickens from having an audience. I hold it out to him again, coming closer in hopes he’ll take it, and whisper, “I appreciate the gift, but I hope you kept the receipt.”
“I didn’t, so I guess you’re stuck with it.”
“Warner . . .” I don’t know what I’m even saying. I feel as disconnected from him as he was to the idea of my returning the necklace. I thought I hated him when I walked out of his apartment, but I hate this distance between us more.
He angles closer. “Can we talk in my office?” he whispers.
I hesitate. This isn’t how the return of the necklace played out in my head. I wasn’t prepared for a conversation with valid points or comebacks. The details of how we came together and why we broke up have become hazier with each week that passes, other than one thing that led to another and lies were told.
I also hadn’t given him due credit for how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are, and the way I always felt safe in his arms. Not just physically but also emotionally. That was destroyed when I realized no one is safe in his presence. He said it himself. I need the reminder to keep myself from traveling down Memory Lane.
Unsure what’s right to do, I need time and space out of his personal orbit to think clearly. I need to address the third wheel of our conversation. So instead of focusing on him, I look at the woman who’s got kinder eyes than I expected, some gray streaking through the middle part, and has discovered the perfect shade of red lipstick. I smile to return the sincerity of the one she’s offering me. “Hello,” I say, nervous about whether she hates me for what I did to her boss and what appears to be a good friendship, or if she understands the taste of desperation. How I was standing on the brink when I decided to impersonate Warner in the email exchange.
She smiles, providing me with some relief that she’s hopefully not holding my bad deeds against me. “I’m Jocelyn. It’s nice to finally meet you, Delaney. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.” Giving me grace is more than I could have expected, but I appreciate it.
My gaze shifts to Warner. I can’t imagine he’d have that many nice things to say about me, or any for that matter. I reply, “He speaks very highly of you.” I turn to Warner, who doesn’t appear to be breathing. Is he waiting with a hope and a prayer that I’ll stay or leave? I won’t make him suffer, especially not in front of others, including Jocelyn.
“I only have a few minutes.” I won't go into the reasons why I still work a few shifts at the restaurant, though he’s a smart guy and can probably figure it out. When I close the space between us, images of running into his arms, wrapping myself around his body, and kissing him again flash through my mind. I fight those strong instincts and maneuver around him to enter his office, though his scent elicits memories of showering with him and that soap that smells incredible.
I hear the door close behind me as I walk straight to the window to look out. I said horrible things about him in his towers. As I stared out through the glass, I wasn’t far off, but I still shouldn’t have said it. Glancing back, he returns to his chair behind the desk and settles into it.
Feeling like I’ve been called into the principal’s office, I sit down quietly in front of him and cross my legs with the velvet box resting on my lap. I’m unsure if I should start or if he needs to discuss something specific, but I’m glad he speaks first and asks, “How are you doing?”
“I’m great.” I dismiss the ache in my chest, hoping it will disappear if I don’t give it life. “How are you?” Small talk at its worst, and the ache is still there.
“Truthfully?”
I laugh. “It’s probably best knowing our history.”