“Jake, you should have texted me,” I say in a shaky voice.
Something turns somber in his green eyes as if I’ve offended him somehow. He turns around and looks at the crowd outside. They’re still staring like we are some circus attraction.
“This isn’t the kind of workplace where romantic partners and friends get to swoop in,” I try to explain.
As if God himself wants to make me pay for the half-lie, a blonde woman with a stroller walks into the lobby, accompanied by two young children. I wince when I recognize her as Chamberlain’s wife. The latter arrives in a tan suit with a broad smile to hug her and their children before they all head off to the elevator for lunch.
Jake didn’t miss the scene either, and he turns to me with a cocked-up brow, challenging my statement. “I meant it very rarely happens,” I try to justify, speaking the truth.
Something else catches my eye out there, and dread fills me. Mr. Sinclair is making his way through the open floor, and he glances our way. That only aggravates the stress clogging my throat. Before things can get worse, I close the privacy curtains of my office to isolate us for good.
I have no idea how to handle this, and I hate that the messed-up situation spoils our reunion. When I look up at him again, he seems to be experiencing his own crisis.
“Are you ashamed of me, Gen?” he asks. The hurt that lingers in his tone breaks my heart.
“No! I’m not. It’s—”
“You are. You’re ashamed that your colleagues know you’re with a man like me.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Expecting to be treated with the same decency I treat you? I know who you are, Gen, and I want you exactly that way,” he answers with contained frustration. “I would never try to hide you because we’re an atypical match.”
“I’m not trying to hide you. They just—they wouldn’t understand.”
“Why do you give a fuck about that?
“Because I’ve been working toward this for a decade! I’ve sacrificed too much for this job, this position, this career…”
Silence follows my words, and I’m torn at the idea that I might have ruined his much-awaited return by being so cautious. Maybe he’s right, and I shouldn’t care about what they think of him. He matters infinitely more than they do. But it’s hard to overcome my insecurities. I can’t jeopardize everything I’ve worked so hard for. Not when we can be discreet about it.
“I’ll go,” he ends up deciding. “You’re right, I should have texted you instead of trying to surprise you.”
“Jake, please. You have to understand—”
“I don’thaveto understand anything, Genevieve.”
Before I can stop him, he opens the door and leaves my office. Everyone outside hastily returns to their work, pretending they weren’t listening through the poorly insulated glass.
Completely lost, I stand there for a couple of seconds, unsure what to do. I don’t want him to leave like this, but I also can’t cause a scene. My eyes are glued to his broad back, watching him walk away with frustrated and determined steps.
I genuinely can’t believe he’s doing this to me—having a temper tantrum at my place of work. Anger mixes in with my confusion, and that fuels my body into action. With hurried strides, I go after him, ignoring the looks my coworkers give me.
“Jake!” I whisper-shout after him. When he doesn’t stop despite surely hearing me, I try again. “Jacob! Stop walking away from me.”
This is ridiculous. I’m making a spectacle of myself. I catch up with him as he reaches the elevators, and to my dismay, one opens just in time for him to step inside. I don’t have a choice, so I get on the ride with him. His expression as I join him in the back is closed off, and he barely grants me a glance, looking ahead to the doors that soon close, imprisoning us with ten people from my floor—including my boss. Today isn’t going anywhere near as planned.
I’m unable to voice my frustration, so it builds up within me, ready to explode. I glare up at Jake, letting him know just how much I hate this ridiculous fit he’s throwing.
The elevator slows down only a few floors below, so I grab his arm and pull him toward the parting doors. To my surprise and reassurance, he doesn’t resist, allowing me to lead him out and then to the nearby stairwell.
“I can’t believe you did this to me!” I explode once we’re isolated, barely containing my voice.
He’s just as annoyed as I am when he answers, “Did what? Surprise you for lunch?”
“You know those people are a bunch of gossiping snakes, and you still humiliated me in front of my entire floor! I don’t need them to think that Edward dumping me has me spiraling into madness.”
Although it wasn’t my intention, the rational explanation that I fail to formulate offends him even more, the crease between his brows deepening. “Right, because you’d have to be completely mad to date me,” he sarcastically replies, clearly hurt.
