“Good.” She shuffles over and hugs me again. “Want to grab lunch later?”
I squeeze her back. “Please.”
My computer has just come online when Sienna’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Hey, do you have a minute?”
I pick up the phone and wedge it between my ear and my shoulder as I type in my computer password. “Sure, want me to come to your office?”
“If you don’t mind,” she says, her tone subdued.
My stomach flips with nerves. It’s rare that any of my bosses requests a meeting like this. Considering I went off script with this week’s column, I have a feeling that’s the reason behind the impromptu meeting.
“Of course. I’ll be right in.”
I take another big swig of my coffee, push back from the desk, and stride to her office.
Her door is open when I approach, and when she sees me, she motions for me to come in.
“Hey, how are you?” Her tone is laced with genuine concern. Like she actually knows just how bad I am.
I shrug, swallowing back a wave of emotion. “I’m guessing you read the article.”
She nods. “I did. And I’m not the only one. Have you checked the comments? There are thousands of them.”
My breath wheezes from my lungs. “What?”
She nods. “Your article was honest and beautiful. The entire segment has been. The readers are really connecting with it. They’re leaving comments about their own experiences. How they thought they’d found the one, only to later realize how many red flags they missed.”
I scrub a hand over my face, my heart pounding. “I really didn’t see them.” My shoulders slump and a sigh escapes me. “Honestly, I think that should probably be my last Calliope column. I think I need a break from writing about my own life.”
Sienna pushes back and stands, her heels clacking against the hardwood floor as she rounds her desk. With a gentle smile, she perches on the edge, much closer to me. “I don’t want to overstep…”
She pauses there, the silence making a nervous energy race through me.
“But before you do that, I think you should see this.” She pushes her phone into my hand.
My stomach drops. I don’t even want to look down. If this is what I think it is, I’ll be livid. If Camden has used his connection with my boss to send me a message…
When all I do is stare at her, she points to the phone. “Don’t kill the messenger. The advertiser paid a lot of money for this.”
Confusion shrouding me, I finally tuck my chin and focus on the screen.
How You Get the Girl:
It Wasn’t Her. It Was Definitely Me. And I’m Working on It. I Promise.
My stomach flips.
“I’m going to give you some privacy.”
Blinking, I look up at her, and a tear breaks free, trailing down my cheek. Swiping it away quickly, I shake my head. “No. I’ll go back to my desk.”
She snags a tissue from her desk and hands it to me. “Take it from someone who pushed away the man who loved me for a good long while and made him work for it,” she says. “Let him put in the work. But make sure you do too. You deserve to be happy. Your job is safe. Take the time you need away from the column. Calliope will be here when you’re ready.”
Nodding, I mutter a thank-you. Then I rush out of her office. Instead of going back to my desk, I head to the bathroom, and when I’m safely locked in a stall, I slip my phone from my pocket and searchfor the article. Then, through blurry, tear-filled eyes, I read every heartbreaking word.
How You Get the Girl:
It Wasn’t Her. It Was Definitely Me. And I’m Working on It. I Promise.
