Page 97 of Near Miss

DC’s monuments glowed in the distance, a view that made his eleventh-floor perch worth the hefty sum of rent he paid. The setting sun had taken what was left of his energy with it.

He’d get some sleep, plan out what he needed to say because she might only give him one chance.

He was damaged and battle-scarred, but he would find a way to prove worthy of Sophia’s love. Nathan was right.

It was time to put his past behind him and look to the future.

Fourteen days. Two long and agonizing weeks since the nightmare at Jared’s home. Her boss was dead, his company shuttered, and Lachlan had been taken away by the police and FBI.

Sophia twisted the faucet knob closed and dumped fresh water into the reservoir of her coffeemaker, the morning sun streaming into her condo doing little to brighten her dismal mood.

A glance at her phone confirmed Lachlan still hadn’t tried to contact her.

No texts. No voicemails. No emails. Heck, she even checked her mailbox every day for an old-fashioned letter. Pride kept her from reaching out to Nathan or Admiral Dane.

If Lachlan didn’t want to speak to her, she wouldn’t beg for scraps of information.

She poured coffee grounds into the paper basket and jabbed the start button.

After a few seconds, the machine hissed. Coffee dripped in a steady stream into the glass carafe. Maybe Lachlan was still in jail.

What if, after all her efforts, the FBI didn’t believe he was innocent?

The last bit of water sputtered into the pot.

She took out a mug and poured herself some of the hot brew, adding a splash of half and half. Emily called every day from Paris to check on her. There were times Sophia was tempted not to answer the phone so she could mope in peace. She didn’t need her friend’s pity, no matter how well-intentioned. Her career was up in smoke. The man she loved hadn’t loved her back.

At least not enough to overcome his demons.

She sat on the sofa and skimmed through her emails. The only new one was from Barclays, letting her know her credit card statement was available. Non-essential purchases were out for the time being. Her savings would get her through the next couple of months, but not much more.

Her parents had offered to pay her bills until she could find a new job.

After they learned her boss had tried to kill her, they’d even volunteered to fly out to see her—which she’d politely declined. All those years spent trying to be the perfect daughter, the high achiever to get her parents to notice her when all she’d needed was to torch her career, almost end up dead, and get her heart broken. They meant well, in their way, but she wasn’t up for the awkward visit.

A sniff of her pajamas told her in no uncertain terms she’d wallowed long enough. Her mug landed on the coffee table with a thud, sending a wave of hot brew over the rim onto the glass. It was time to shower, get dressed, re-do the resume, and search for a new job.

Maybe sell her condo and leave DC.

Start fresh somewhere else.

Meet a nice, non-threatening guy who supported her career and wanted at least two kids, a dog, and a house in the suburbs. Or maybe, she’d live a carefree, single life in a big city somewhere and stop worrying about finding someone to love her.

After she got a paper towel and wiped up the mess she’d just made.

After she cleaned up her spill, she took a nice, long hot shower. It was just what she needed. That, and the lectures under the hot spray and shampoo lather, using every psychology trick she knew about self-efficacy and positive affirmations. She blew her hair dry until it was straight and glossy, then applied makeup.

Start as you mean to go on.

Blah, blah, blah.

Lachlan wasn’t going to return. She needed to get on with her life. It hurt, but she’d keep up the internal pep talks for as long as necessary. There were some promising legislative affairs positions at the state level in Colorado, Kentucky, and Michigan and several in corporate government relations. A fresh start in a new town might be just what the doctor ordered.

As for her heart, it would mend. She breathed into the pain blossoming in the hollow space in her chest.

Padding to the kitchen in her comfy socks, she grabbed a bottle of sparkling water and took a swig. Now, about that resume.

A sudden burst of three forceful knocks rattled her door. Her hand jerked, spilling water down the front of her t-shirt. She grimaced as the liquid soaked into the cotton fabric. At least it wasn’t wine.

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