Page 53 of Minted

It’s like a scene in a movie.

When Cinderella and the prince stare at each other longingly.

When that girl stands on the pitcher’s mound waiting for the guy to kiss her.

When the guy comes walking around the corner with his dog, and he tells the girl he’s been the one emailing her all along.

It’s my moment with Bentley, the one I never thought would happen.

And then James clears his throat, and I realize he was standing behind me.

And all of that was just to make him jealous—of course it was. It worked. There’s a muscle popping in his jaw, and he looks like he might actually try to punch Bentley. But the sinking feeling in my heart when I realize Bentley’s just doing his job—it’s like pulling the plug on Times Square. All the lights in my heart and my mind just blink out.

For the rest of the party, I feel like a wind-up doll, just rocking my way through the motions. I smile. I chat. I talk about how ridiculous the charges against their CFO—who has totally disappeared—must be. I bob my head and smile and talk about how much better they’ll do next year.

And all the while, I think about how I thought I was having my moment, but really, I’m just becoming more and more delusional. I think that’s my sign. I have got to get out of this deal. The idea was a good one. Shield myself with an old friend so that James can’t mess with my heart.

The upshot is that James can’t touch me anymore.

I couldn’t care less whether he flirts with or kisses or pines after Kristy. They could be celebrating the new year on the table in front of me, naked, and I don’t think I would care. But Bentley’s breaking my heart in real time, and I just glued it back together. I can’t take another crushing blow. I just can’t.

Bentley keeps trying to talk to me—he takes my arm, he bumps my hip, and once, he even slides his hand into mine. Those movements mean nothing to him. Just a friend, doing a solid for another friend. But each time, the stupid little tendrils inside my heart try to sprout a little, and I have to crush them with the heel of my boot.

Finally, when it’s almost time to go, and he drapes my jacket over my shoulders, I can’t do it anymore. “Bentley, I can’t.” I shake my head. “I can’t come to these parties with you anymore.”

“What?” He looks panicked for some reason. “Why not?”

“It’s too awkward.”

“But what I said earlier,” he says. “I didn’t mean—the thing is—”

“I know.” I press my hand against his chest, and even through his suit, I can feel his warmth. I know he’s solid, and genuine, and that he wants to help. “I just can’t. I’d rather deal with James than—”

“Hey, I hate to interrupt.” James looks like he does not hate to interrupt. He looks practically irate.

“What?” Bentley asks. “What could you possibly need?”

“We do work together, you know.” James crosses his arms.

I normally would agree with Bentley, but right now, I need to get some space from his gorgeous face and big, warm body. “It’s fine,” I say. “Just go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Bentley looks like he wants to beat his chest and scream at James, but after balling up his fists, twice, he finally releases his anger, nods quietly, and walks off. He only looks back over his shoulder three times on his way out to Egypt, where he apparently parked.

“Barbara,” James says.

“How’d it go with Quintano?” I really hope he doesn’t say that I ticked him off.

“Fine,” he says. “I think we got the gig, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What then?” I start buttoning my coat.

“Barbara.” His voice is tense—loaded, even.

“What?” I snap my head up. “What do you want?”

“I made a mistake,” he says. “I was so stupid.”

“Oh, no.” I sigh. “What did you say to him?”

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