“And while we’re eating,” Saif added, casually cutting a bite of his chimichanga, “you can tell me why you’ve lost so much weight.And why you’re working for a pathetic waste of oxygen like that man.”
Jemma stared at her plate.
He didn’t stop.
“You didn’t have to resign when you broke up with me,” he said, softer now.“That was your choice.”
Chapter 10
Jemma walked into the building beside Saif without saying a word.
The food she’d managed to choke down sat in her stomach like a rock.Every step forward felt like wading through wet cement.She didn’t want to be here.She didn’t want to trail behind Saif like some assistant while he verbally disemboweled Mark in front of the team.
But she would.
Because Jayla needed diapers and formula.Because Jasper had outgrown another pair of shoes last week.Because that meager salary from her humiliating excuse for a job was the only thing keeping the lights on.Because she wasn’t the only one stuck in this crumbling building with a manager who didn’t deserve the title—there were good people here, smart people, and they deserved better.
She added formula to the mental list.Again.At this rate, she’d have to put it on the store credit card and pray she had enough points for a discount.
The silence between her and Saif stretched, thick with everything unsaid.
He’d asked sharp questions over lunch.She’d given clinical, exacting answers—nothing more.She didn’t offer opinions, didn’t provide analysis.She needed to keep her options open.If Saif walked away from this company, she’d still be stuck here.If he shut it down, she’d need a reference.And she knew better than to expect one from Mark.
Then there was the comment he’d tossed at her:You didn’t have to resign.
What was she supposed to say to that?
Sorry, Saif, I left because I was pregnant with our daughter and I knew you didn’t want kids.I didn’t want to trap you.I just wanted to survive.
She glanced at him now, at the sharp line of his jaw.He had a bit of scruff again.He always let it grow when he was focused, when his brain was chewing through a problem and couldn’t be bothered with appearances.
Her fingers twitched at the memory of how that stubble had scraped deliciously against her skin.The way it rasped along her thighs, her breasts—
He looked at her.
Just a quick glance, but enough to catch her staring.
Jemma flushed instantly and turned her head, pretending to study the stained carpet runner along the warehouse hall.She wasn’t thinking about his mouth.Or how she used to scream his name.Or how she’d spent the past year celibate because no one, not even in her daydreams, could compare to the man walking beside her.
A man who didn’t even know he had a daughter.
Don’t think about that.
Too late.
The weight of the past year pressed on her again—her mother’s diagnosis, the whirlwind of hospital visits, the sleepless nights.The pregnancy.The postpartum haze.Jasper suggesting that he drop out of school to help.The guilt.The relentless juggling of everything.
“Brace yourself,” Saif murmured, just as they reached the open floor of the main office.
Jemma blinked, shaken from the spiral of memories.
Sinstack Designs occupied an old warehouse with soaring ceilings and massive windows that, during the summer months, let in more heat than light and during the winter months, allowed all the heat to sneak out, leaving the employees freezing.The central area was carved into a chaotic maze of gray cubicles, as if someone had bought a bulk pack on clearance and arranged them with a blindfold on.Boxes of unsold inventory lined the back wall—stacks of failure that had never made it to market.
Jemma knew those boxes well.They were dust-covered monuments to Mark’s ego.Designs that could’ve been salvaged, repackaged, sold off to discount chains.But no—Mark simply wrote them off.Better to pretend they didn’t exist than admit they were a mistake.
Her stomach twisted.
She glanced at Saif.
