"I know."
And I do know that.
I went through six rounds of interviews, completed two case studies, and competed against hundreds of applicants. "It's just..."
"Impostor syndrome is a bitch?" Sasha offers.
"Impostor syndrome is a bitch," I agree. “There’s always a nagging thought in the back of my mind thatmaybe I’m not as good as I think I am. Or as talented. Or—“
"Stop." Riley grabs my shoulders. "You have an MBA from Northwestern. You graduated top of your class. You are absolutely qualified."
"But—"
"No buts. You're qualified. You're prepared. And you're going to walk into that office on Monday and show them exactly why they were smart to hire you. You're going to prove—to them and to yourself—that you don't need a man to validate your worth. You're Emma freaking Sinclair, and you're going to kick ass."
I take a breath. Another. "Okay. You're right. I'm qualified. I'm prepared. I'm not going to think about Miami or Don or the fact that I still have his shirt."
Silence.
"You have his shirt?" Sasha's eyes widen. "The expensive one you ruined?"
“There was no way I was walking out of that hotel without something to cover up that itty bittyoutfit," I say defensively. “Those outfits work at night. But in the morning? In daylight?”
Sasha nods, chewing on her bagel. “Hookersville.”
“Exactly!”
Riley laughs, followed by Sasha, and I join them.
I release a long breath, sighing. “But I’m getting rid of it. Today."
"You don't have to—" Riley starts.
"No, I do. It's weird to keep it. It's a physical reminder of something that's over, and I need to stop...I need to stop this. Whatever this is. I need to stop hoping he'll somehow find me or that I'll magically run into him again. That's not how real life works.”
Newly determined, I march to my closet, yanking open the door and reaching for the garment bag I'd carefully hung in the back.
My hand closes around it just as a wave of nausea hits me like a truck.
"Oh no," I whisper.
"Emma?" Riley's voice sounds distant. "You okay?"
I'm not okay.
I'm very much not okay.
I stumble toward the bathroom, barely making it before I'm violently sick into the toilet.
This has been happening for a week now.
Random waves of nausea, usually in the morning but sometimes—like now—at completely inconvenient moments.
I'd convinced myself it was stress.
Excitement about the new job.
Maybe that questionable Thai food from three days ago.
