I push the door open and step inside.
TWENTY
THE DOOR SWINGS open, revealing a scene as sickening as it is predictable.James is sprawled back against the cushions of the black leather sofa.His shirt hangs open, chest exposed.His assistant is straddling his lap, facing him.I vaguely recognize her from office parties.One of the many assistants he’s had over the last few months.Her hands are tangled in his messy hair.She wears nothing but a flimsy scrap of black lace that barely qualifies as a bra.A half-empty bottle of whiskey and two tumblers sit on the coffee table, the amber liquid glinting in the lamplight.The room reeks of James’s heavy, cloying cologne, clashing with an unfamiliar floral perfume.
Hers.
I stand frozen, hand gripping the door handle.The scene is a brutal confirmation that rips the air from my lungs.
They haven’t seen me.
They’re lost in their own sordid world.
Then, a tremor of white-hot rage travels up my arm.I shove the door.It swings shut with a resounding SLAM that echoes off the polished walls.
The assistant’s laughter cuts off, strangled in her throat.Her head snaps toward the source of the noise.Then James’s.
They stare at me, framed against the closed door.James’s eyes, hazy with whiskey and arousal, widen in shock.Color drains from his face before his expression hardens into defensive anger.The assistant, face flaming crimson, makes a frantic, clumsy move to untangle herself, to find something to cover her skin.
I hold up a hand.“Don’t bother.”
I pull the engagement ring off my finger and drop it on the glass coffee table.It hits with a sharp click.
“It’s over, James.”Disgust curls my lips.My voice trembles with anger and relief.
My gaze is fixed on him, my chin lifted in a dare.
Without another word, I turn and walk out, leaving the door wide open behind me.I rush down the hallway, driven by the need to get out.
Away from him.
Away from this place.
Heavy footsteps close in behind me.
James catches up with me at the reception desk.His hand clamps down hard on my upper arm, spinning me roughly around.His shirt still hangs open, his hair wild.He looks nothing like the polished, meticulously controlled man the world usually sees.
“What thefuckdo you think you’re doing here?!”he hisses, eyes burning.
He barely looks at me, fumbling to fasten his trousers.He yanks me toward an open door and drags me inside.Light filters in from the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the far wall.Outside, the city sprawls, a glittering tapestry of lights.The faint glow illuminates the room just enough to make out the long, polished table and the shadowy outlines of chairs.
The sudden darkness blinds me.
James is a silhouette against the cityscape.His features are obscured, but the rigid set of his shoulders and the rapid rise and fall of his chest radiate fury.
“You can’t just barge in like that, make a scene, and walk out.”
“Make a scene?”I laugh, tears welling up in my eyes.“Is that all you ever care about?”
“Did you even stop to consider how your intrusion would make me look in front of Candice?”
“Candice?How you look to Candice?!”I shove the conference chair.It crashes into the edge of the table.“You look exactly like what you are, James.A lying, cheating bastard!”
“Don’t you dare forget who you’re talking to.”He advances on me.
“Oh, I know exactly who I’m talking to.”I slam my palms against his chest, forcing him back.“My fiancé.”
I shove him again.“Who left me.”
