“Lisa. The other woman up for my promotion.”
“Why do you have her photo on your desk?”
“We share this office,” I said. “When Lisa saw the picture of Lucy and me, she brought in one of hers.”
“To mark her territory.” He picked up a picture from this weekend. Bill and me at the cabin with Lucy and Andrew. “And it looks like you retaliated. That was quick.”
Lisa had been taking over the desk, as if she’d thought my photo had been a challenge. Her planner sat in the top drawer. Her stationery on the desk had multiplied. But that wasn’t why I’d displayed the picture taken over the dinner Andrew and Bill had caught us. Before my fight with Bill had ruined the weekend, we’d laughed, snuggled, and shared memories with our friends. I needed to keep that close.
David set down the frame. “Thank you for the help with the tuxedo.”
I flattened a hand on my desk and forced away the tempting memory. “How was the event?”
“That’s not why I’m here.” His jaw set, his expression unreadable. “I came to find out if you need anything else from me for the article.”
I moved my hands to my lap with his clipped request. “Well—we need to do a photo shoot for the spread. I may need some details to fill in the article—”
“Are you writing it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You said you prefer to edit.”
“I do.” I shifted in my seat. “But I write, too, as you know, and since you insisted ononlyworking with me, you’remybachelor. So I thought . . .”
Our eyes met, my claim over him hanging between us.
“You said you trusted me and only me to handle it,” I reminded him. “So that’s what I’m doing.”
“Things change,” he said abruptly. “I’d like to arrange for any remaining obligations of mine to go through someone else.”
“Like a liaison?” I asked.
“And do you need to be present for the photo shoot?”
In the short time I’d known David, determination had hardened his voice many times, but this was something else. Finality. Resolution.
Maybe even . . . good-bye?
“I should be present, yes, but I can have Lisa—”
“It’s best that we end our personal and professional relationships here,” he said.
My heart dropped. Except that I should’ve been grateful. I’d prayed for this, and my pleas had been answered.
David and I had crossed several lines. Not just personal ones, but professional, too. On Lucy’s balcony weeks ago, panic had risen in my chest at the thought of never seeing David again. It happened again now—and it had nothing to do with the fact that this could threaten my promotion.
I cleared my throat and slid a rogue paperclip across the desk, depositing it into its compartment in the top drawer. “The Meet and Greet is this weekend,” I muttered.
“I’ll be there. I’m not backing out. I’ve made a commitment, and I intend to see it through. But Iwillwork with—was it Lisa?—going forward.”
It was the dismissive tone I’d heard David use with others like my boss and even his associate Arnaud. But never with me.
And it hurt.
This was why I’d been honing my self-preservation skills since thirteen years old. This was why I acted on logic, not emotion.
Anything else ended in pain.
