Page 10 of Love.V2
She grinned with perfectly plum lips. As usual, her makeup was Instagram-worthy, making her dark skin look glowy and poreless ina way I could never dream of achieving. “Damn, you’re totally right. Nailed it.”
She didn’t have to tell me. I’d spent more than enough of my lifetime analyzing Dylan Morris’s face. I knew exactly what he looked like, down to the almost indiscernible freckle underneath his left earlobe.
And he washere.Forweeks.
“Hey, you okay? You look freaked out.” Meery’s hand hovered around my arm, like I was about to pass out. For a split-second, I considered it. Surely a quick fainting spell would get me out of this meeting with Eric. I needed to regroup. Or hide under the covers and try to convince myself this had never happened.
But fainting would only draw attention. What would Dylan think? I shook off the crazy, intrusive thought. “I’m fine. Presentation didn’t go super well, and now Eric wants me in his office.”
Meery nodded. “I know he’s working out some plans for a big client pitch. Could be fun. Give you a chance to show us your stuff. You’re the only one who’s worked with the big national brands. Time to shine, girl!” Meery’s hip bumped mine, and I gave her a weak smile.
She split off for her desk while I kept walking. Just a few more steps. I’d have this meeting, and it would be over. Maybe he’d give me a big new project, maybe he’d tell me I’d blown it and I needed to hand over my key card.
As the door swung closed, pressure tightened my chest. I sank into one of Eric’s extra chairs, willing myself not to cry. In for four, out for four.
He washere. I could practically feel him through the walls. And he’d looked at me like…well, he hadn’t looked at me. He hadn’t even cared.
I was used to that, I reminded myself. He hadn’t cared for a long time.
A teardrop splattered on my notebook.
Chapter 2
Tess
I glanced around the messy room frantically, trying to use the techniques I’d learned from my years of sporadic therapy. Steady breathing. Find three orange things in the room. Three books.
Focusing outside of my body was grounding, but it also helped me think about something other than the fact that I was in my boss’s office hyperventilating, that Dylan had strolled into the conference room and had hardly given me a second look.
My head dropped into my hands. Twelve years,twelve years, and his gaze had passed over me like I was a piece of furniture.
I bit my lip, wiping a stray tear off my cheek. I needed to get a hold of myself.
The door opened with a waft of stale office air.Too late.
Dylan stood in the doorway, framed by the fluorescent lights behind him.
Of course he would walk in right at that moment, when I was at my weakest. Unlike earlier in the conference room, I was the only one here. Our eyes met and that same familiar, gasping tightness closed in around me.
I was going to cry. Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no.
I shoved to my feet, pacing to look out the window, hoping the sunlight might dry the tears pooling behind my eyelids. But I wasn’t fast enough. I’d seen it all: The way his eyes had widened. The flash of emotion that passed across his face. Pity?
“Tess.”
The sound of my name coming out of his mouth was torture. I shook my head once, holding up a hand to stop him from coming any closer.
He stayed where he was, but I could feel him studying me. Was he remembering our life together like I was? All the good, the bad, and the ugly? Was he, like me, wondering where the hell it had all gone wrong and led ushere?
I swiped under my eyes with shaking hands. I would not cry. I wouldnot cry. But it was hard to hang onto that conviction as the thrum of the air conditioning system and a decade’s worth of regrets filled the air between us.
The silence stretched and solidified, dragging the weight in my stomach down, down, down. There was nothing to say, no way to break this horrible, heavy silence without—
“I like your hair.”
“What?” His opener was so unexpected, so stilted, it surprised a full sentence out of me. “No, you don’t.”
In the dim reflection of the window, I saw his outline shift, hands shoved into pockets. “It suits you.”
