"Okay," I say, my words softer now. "I'll think about it."
I'm left alone in silence, the city buzzing below—cold, unfeeling, impersonal. It doesn’t compare to the sunrise or the night sky back home, the way a drive down a country road and a good song can ease the worst kind of day. But, that isn’t my life anymore. This is my life.
And because the universe clearly hates me, in he walks—my ex-boyfriend. Also known as the managing broker of Windsor Real Estate. Also known as the golden boy of nepotism, courtesy of his father Jerry Windsor. I sigh, equal parts dread and annoyance. Apparently, todaycanget worse. And it just did.
"Got news," he announces. "We got the new luxury apartments over on Wacker. You've seen the plans… Give me one good reason why I should hand them over to you instead of Claire."
I twist on my heel, facing him. "Maybe because you didn't cheat on Claire with your assistant," I say as calmly as I can.
I used to think Harrison Windsor was perfect—wealthy, successful, the kind of man who takes you to Paris for the fun of it. Women at the company hated me for months, convinced I was getting special treatment. But every sale I closed? That was all me. All clients I found on my own. He never handed me a damn thing—until I walked in on him fucking his assistant in his office.
Now he’s desperate—wanting to bring me in on high-end projects, tripping over himself to make it up to me,swearing it was a big mistake. I tried to leave the brokerage for good. But oh, how he begged me to stay. Maybe deep down some part of me wants to believe him. Wants to believeweare still possible. That we’d be equal partners in the real estate empire he swore we were building together. And yeah… that’s a hard dream to let die.
"Are we still on this? I'm making it up to you, proving that I can be better next time."
"Next time?" I ask, leaning back against my desk, arms crossed.
He steps closer, forcing the puppy dog eyes. "Sawyer," he purrs, and the way he says my name never sounds as good as it once did. "It's only a matter of time before you officially take me back. I mean… name a better duo. You walk around here like you're the Elle Woods of real estate, in your pink suit jackets that drive me crazy."
I recoil, clutching my necklace, though I’ll happily take that as a compliment.
"And I"—he steps so close I can see the faintest stubble along his jaw—"quite literally get mistaken for that guy who plays Thor in those action movies. We're perfect together."
My breath hitches, equal parts disbelief andget the fuck out of here.“No one mistakes you for Chris Hemsworth,” I snap. “At best, maybe the stunt double they use for him when the others are on vacation?”
I fold my arms, nails pressing into my sleeves like a silent pep talk.Stay strong. No falling for his smooth talk or fancy gifts.I’ve learned the hard way—perfect is usually an illusion.
“I’m just saying… we’re meant to be, Sawyer. You’ll see. Especially after you close these next listings I give you, and we make a tiny fortune.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. If we were really meant tobe, he wouldn’t have cheated. Wouldn’t have shattered everything we built like it was nothing.
He leans in slightly, that same smug smile that used to work on me and adds, “Besides, you owe my dad and I for letting you have the commission split you do. He wasn’t happy about that.”
I fought tooth and nail for that, and it’s barely better than what everyone else gets after a year. But sure, let’s pretend it was afavor. Like I should be grateful for table scraps while he cheats, lies, and still expects loyalty.
He keeps talking about our future and what selling these luxury apartments will do for us, but his words eventually begin to blur. All I can hear is the dull thud of my heart and the sudden, quiet voice in the back of my mind that's sayingyou don’t have to keep doing this—being numb to it all. You don’t owe him anything.
I blink, realizing I’m still standing here, still pretending I care about closing the deals he wants, the schedules, the mess he made. And suddenly, I don’t want to anymore.
Shit, am I really about to say this?
I straighten and look him dead in the eye. “You know what? Give them all to Claire.”
He blinks. “What did you say?”
I almost laugh because even I’m surprised that I said it out loud. “You heard me. I need to take a leave.”
His face twists, and there it is—the flicker of panic. Not the for-me kind of panic. It’s the how-will-we-function kind. And that just tells me I’m making the right call.
“A leave? For how long? What about your clients?”
I glance toward the stack of files on my desk. They used to make me feel important. Now I’m not so sure.
“I don’t know how long,” I say. “But I’mdone fixing everything for everyone else. You can take care of it all for a while.”
“Wait—Sawyer, don’t be ridiculous. You’re just tired. You don’t mean that.”
I meet his eyes again. “No. For once, I do.”
