Page 1 of Hoax and Kisses
Prologue
ZOEY
Six months earlier
The door slams, startling me from my deep study of the latest blueprints for the new Alberta resort.
Blinking, I glance at the clock. One a.m.
Shit.
Jake appears, shuffling into the kitchen, and tosses his keys on the counter.
“How was dinner?”
“Fine.” It’s all I get from him in response.
I quirk a brow, my focus drifting back to my screen. “Just fine? How were Sarah and Tom? Lauren was there too?”
“It was Tom’s birthday. Of course she was. Everybody was there. Well. Noteverybody, obviously.”
I peel my attention away from my computer and set it on Jake. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his black hair tousled. His eyes are glossy, like he’s had a drink or two too many.
Unease curls in my stomach.
“Corey sent me the plans tonight,” I say. “I had to approve them for tomorrow.”
He drags a hand down his face, jaw tightening. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I know. But my dad’s breathing down my neck about this new expansion in Calgary, and the team is waiting for me to—”
I snap my mouth shut. It’s pointless to explain. Nothing I could say would excuse my absence. Again.
With a sigh, I rub at my temples. I haven’t been the best girlfriend these past few months. Work’s been stressful, consuming my days and nights, and sometimes my weekends.
But in my defense, Jake knew what he signed up for when we started dating two years ago.
“I’m sorry I missed dinner,” I say softly. “You know I can’t just say ‘fuck it’ when something urgent comes up. Even if it means missing out on a night with your friends.”
He lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, god forbid you actually show interest in the people I care about.”
Ouch. I reel back a fraction. “What doesthatmean?”
“You’re never here!” he explodes, his voice punching through the room. “How many times have we talked about this? Nothing is changing, Zoey. You just… You work and work, and you miss everything. Dinners. Dates. But you never missme. I’m tired of this shit.”
The words pummel me like physical blows. I hold his gaze, and he doesn’t let go either, as if the first one to look away will lose the fight.
“I’m tired of arguing over this.” I work to keep my voice steady. “We’ve been doing this for months. But I’m here right now. I’m listening. I’m present.”
He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping, his arms falling limp at his sides.
My hands twitch toward him. I want to get up, wrap them around his waist, and tell him hedoesmatter to me. But his gaze catches the motion, and he takes a deliberate step back. Swallowing hard, I dig my nails into my palms and keep my feet rooted to the floor.
“You’re not, though,” he says, his glassy eyes throwing daggers at me. “You’re notpresent,and you haven’t been for a long time. I’ve been trying to make this work, but most days, you barely listen to me. You nod and hum, but you’re not paying attention. When was the last time you asked me a question about my day or what’s going on in my life?”
Heart squeezing, I press my lips together. I’ve got nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he throws, exasperated. “I can’t pretend like this is enough. That what you’re willing to give me is enough.”
