“Great,” I said in a monotone.Don’t let her see how hurt you are.“Did your client agree to cooperate with the investigation?”
“Define cooperate,” she replied crisply.
Oh, she was pissed.You have no right to be angry.You walked out on me.
I casually propped my hands behind my head. This old combativeness, this animosity, nowthiswas comfortable. Easing into it felt like putting on an old boot.
“Are they going to provide the documents we need, or are we going to have to drag it out of them? Out of you?” I asked.Do you wish I could drag it out of you?
Her eyes narrowed, and I was thrilled by her reaction. This was a game. Who would break first? I had decades of practice controlling myself.
“They’ll provide whatever you need. But I’ll be gone, so it won’t be my problem.” She sounded so smug, so uncaring.
It was a punch to the gut. I flexed my hand behind my head, imagining I was grabbing her and bending her over the table.
“Right. I forgot.”I think about it every day.
Her eyes glittered with malice. “You forgot,” she said coldly.
“Got a lot on my mind,” I said mildly. “And you and Gerald are willing to sit for interviews if required?”It might be the last time I see her.
“Depends on whether it works with my schedule.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and I saw red.
She was so ready to be done with me and never look back. “I could force you,” I said coldly.
“You would, wouldn’t you? Anything to win. Never willing to takeone tiny step to compromise.” She shook her head.She’s not talking about the deal anymore.I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re the one leaving, not me,” I bit out. Because everyone left.
“For my dream job!” she burst out. She stood in a rush, her face tight with frustration and her wild curls shaking around her head.
“Your dream job that I had toconvince youto take. You’re running.” At my words, her eyes widened.I’m going too far.A pit yawned in my stomach, the doubt and self-loathing threatening to swallow me whole.
“Fuck you, Jason.” She paced the room, shaking her head. “You know, this is so like a man. You want me to give up this dreamfor you.For what? To stay home and be a housewife?” Her eyes cut to me and I froze at the depth of her anger.I want you in my bed and in my life. Choose me. For once, someone please choose me.My chest threatened to cave in.
“Not fucking happening,” she continued. “Nothing to say?” She stared at me for a beat, maybe two. I was frozen, my pulse fluttering in my throat, like a rabbit trapped in a snare.Everyone leaves.Say something. Say anything.Her brows drew lower. She scooped up her papers and stuffed them into a folder with shaky hands. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wet with angry tears. I was the world’s biggest jerk.
“Cynthia, I—”
“No.” She cut me off. Her gaze was steely. “I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want you to text me. Even though you haven’t, and I keep hoping you will.” She gave a short laugh and my breath seized in my chest.
Don’t let her see your pain.Every schoolyard bully, every taunt, every beating rose to the surface. Every time I had shoved down my past and my anger and my pain. This was a road well-trod. The coldness protected me. It would do so again.
I stood slowly, my face a cool mask, towering over her, and shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing her. “Don’t worry.” I forced a lazy smile. “I wasn’t planning on it. Mr. One Night, isn’t that what you called me?”
“I thought this was…never mind.” She shook her head.
“Different? You thought this was different?”It had been different. Special. Perfect.“Don’t kid yourself.” I let my lips twist in a cruel imitation of a smile.
She looked stricken and my gut twisted.This is unforgivable.It didn’t matter. She was running. She didn’t want me. Better to show no emotion, feel no pain.Push her out the door.
She backed away slowly and then whirled and left.
I sank into the chair and let my head drop into my hands.You’re an asshole. You didn’t need to do that. I hurt her. I pushed her away.Like everyone.
I needed to go for a run. I shoved out of my chair and out of the office.
It startedto rain midway through my run, and I welcomed it, throwing my head back and letting the drops splash against my face. My feet carried me almost effortlessly down the East River, faster, faster, until I felt like I was flying. I never listened to music when I ran, instead preferring to listen to the breaths sawing in my chest and the even footfalls I made when I was in a rhythm.