“Things can’t just end this way. There’s too much here.”
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Please don’t make this any harder.”
“So that’s it?” he asked, his voice simultaneously rising and deepening. “Did you think you would just come here and tell me it’s over?”
I nodded. “What else is there to say?”
“Everything.” He came to me slowly and gently cupped my face. “This was never a fling for me, baby. You mean so much more than that.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
Someone knocked. “Mr. Dylan?”
“Not now, Clare,” he called over his shoulder. He looked back at me. “Olivia. Now is the time.”
“For what?” I whispered.
“To leave Bill.”
Just hearing David say Bill’s name when he usually referred to him as my husband, I knew he wasn’t fucking around anymore. “There’s too much at stake, David.”
“Such as? Tell me all your concerns. I’ll fix them. I’ll be by your side every step—”
“Mr. Dylan,” Clare said again.
He groaned and dropped his hands. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Clare’s voice came through the door, “but there’s a very important client on line two.”
David stalked to the door, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I waited with bated breath. David was laying it all out now—and he wasn’t wrong. If ever there was a time to leave Bill, this was it. Was that why I’d come here? So David would make the decision for me and command me to choose him?
But then what? Bill had been the only home I’d known for five years. Had David ever committed toanythingthat long? What would happen once David realized relationships werework—that they were hard, and they relied on more than love to survive? What would happen if he left me after I’d given up so much for him? After I’d let myselflovehim?
David wrenched open the door to his office. “Where have you been?” he asked Clare. “Reception was empty for over twenty minutes.”
“I’m sorry, I had to make a quick call,” she said. “But there’s—”
“You’re fired.”
My mouth fell open. Even with his back to me, I could see him work his jaw side to side. He was frustrated, but not with her. “David,” I said, to try to get him to reconsider.
“Stay out of it,” he snapped over his shoulder.
“The call was an emergency, I promise,” Clare said. “I’m sorry—”
“Do you have emergencies every few hours? I’ve told you before, no personal calls in the office.” David cocked his head. “Pack up your shit. You’re fired.”
Oh, God. This was my fault. Clare’s expression was so crestfallen, I had to look away. My eyes landed on David’s desk—specifically, on a white manila folder labeledContractabove a familiar address.
With a frown, I stepped closer to the desk, trying to compute what I was looking at. One corner was stamped with a popular real estate agency. A scribbled Post-it note on top said, “Congratulations.”
Clare’s pleas for David’s forgiveness faded into the background. I picked up the folder, my heart thumping as I turned it over, unfastened it, and slid out the sales contract inside.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Right there, on top, an address I knew by heart.
