Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
And my hunches? They’re not worth much at Seyfried & Holt these days.
So instead of staying and seeing if I can squeeze myself into this new, smaller slice of Jack’s life, I shake my head and send a silent farewell to everything we could have been. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
His gaze sweeps my face, his green eyes flickering with hurt. “Are you leaving leaving? Or just leaving the office?”
He waits a beat, letting the meaning of his words sink in. Part of me appreciates that he’s giving me the choice, but the other part—the softer, more insecure, and much larger part—resents him for putting this decision on me. I know the timing sucks—he needs to take care of his employees and do some serious damage control with Ryan right now—but after everything we’ve been through these past few weeks…
I guess I’d hoped he could do better than “Are you leaving leaving?”
Where’s the man who taught me how to walk tall and strong? The man who swept me into his arms, wiped away my tears, and made wild, shameless love to me? The man who dragged me up the side of a mountain and invited me to Colorado, his eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises of all the things still to come?
Maybe he never really existed at all.
Maybe, like so many things in my life, I completely misread the entire thing.
Telling myself it’s for the best, I square my shoulders, and I let him off the hook. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I wish you all the best, Jack—truly. But we both know this wouldn’t have worked.”
It’s a lousy excuse, but it’s all I’ve got left.
Jack’s brow furrows and his lips part, but before he can respond, Hannah taps him on the shoulder. “Materials are out, boss. Do you want me to pull up the slide presentation?”
As Jack turns to answer her, I slip around him and out the door, breath rushing out in a sigh that is equal parts relief and misery.
I’m grateful the confrontation is over, but knowing that I’ll never touch Jack again hurts like someone’s carved out part of my heart, leaving just enough behind to register how lonely I’m going to be without him. Before my time with Jack, I hadn’t realized how much I craved this kind of connection, how much I ached to be loved and accepted and told that I’m beautiful by a man who means every word.
But now I know, and I can’t ever un-know it.
Pressing a fist to my chest, I swear I can feel something sucking away at me from the inside, a black hole of pain where hope used to live.
The thought of going home to my apartment and seeing the bed where Jack and I made love and the floor where we danced and the kitchen table where he sat as I made him my favorite gourmet grilled cheese is unbearable.
No, I can’t go home. Not yet.
But I can’t go to one of my old coffee shop work haunts, either.
I don’t have anything to work on. My story was ripped away just as it was starting to confess its secrets, just as the dots were connecting. I’m not mentally ready to let this go, but I can’t approach Jack or Ryan with a gut feeling and a few odd emails, not when they’ve made it clear they don’t want me sticking my nose in S & H’s databases.
I have no choice but to move on.
Right?
“Wrong,” I mutter, ducking my head to avoid making eye contact with the receptionist at the front desk. I can’t handle any more judgy faces this morning.
But I can handle this story. I may not be the best at making friends and influencing people, but I’m an animal when it comes to amassing data and reading between the lines. There’s something big going down at S & H and I’m not going to let a little resistance—or a lot of resistance—stand in the way of making sure Blair faces the harsh glare of justice. Or the icy soaking tub of justice. Or whatever kind of justice will hurt that lying, scheming, fellow-female-sabotaging jerk the worst.
If only I could get back into her damned emails.
Hack into them, even…
“Hack them…” I bite my lip, thoughts racing as I jab the button for the ground floor and whip out my cell.
On the way down in the elevator, I scroll through my contacts.
My college friend Gregory is not a source, but he owes me a solid—not just for bailing on drink night with me and my stupid ex, but for the strings I pulled for him with the alumni committee, guaranteeing he and his wife could get married at the Harvard Natural History museum where they met. He’s also a dynamite hacker. He put most of that behind him when he graduated, but I’m pretty sure I can convince him to come out of retirement for a good cause.