Christina shot to her feet. “That is incredibly rude!”
I smiled. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last two days.”
Silence filled the room. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to respond.
“You’re being very ungrateful,” she finally said.
“No,” I replied calmly. “I’m setting boundaries, just as you should set your foundation. Have you seen how cakey it looks today?”
She stared at me. “You think Callahan will tolerate this attitude?”
I met her gaze without hesitation. “I think Callahan married me and not you.”
Her expression faltered.
“And if he wanted someone who looked exactly like his exes,” I added calmly, “he would have chosen one of them.”
"What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm trying to say is, before you try to steal my husband by playing games with my self-esteem, you should consider the fact that you aren't his type either."
Her eyes flew to mine. "Yes, I am."
"Physically? Maybe. Although the bleached blonde hair and stick-like physique might not be as interesting as you thought. Not to mention you have the emotional depth of a pebble whose only purpose in life is to be thrown into the ocean, never to be seen again."
Christina opened her mouth. Closed it. Then grabbed her bag stiffly. “I don’t believe my services are required here anymore.”
I smiled politely. “You’re absolutely right.”
The sound of the door slamming echoed down the hallway, leaving a strange quiet in its wake. I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway where she had stood seconds earlier. I probably should have felt bad.
I had given her every opportunity to admit where she went wrong and to take responsibility for what she had said earlier. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d doubled down. So no. I didn’t feel guilty.
Three hours was a long time to sit around doing nothing, and I wasn’t in the mood to replay my argument with Christina in my head. My eyes drifted to the book sitting beside my phone. Emily’s latest release.
I had been saving it for when I had a quiet moment.
I picked up the book, turning it over in my hands before opening it to the page where I had left off earlier. The familiar comfort of printed pages and Emily’s elegant writing style wrapped around me almost immediately.
I settled deeper into my chair and started reading. Minutes slipped by without me noticing, and before I realized what was happening, my vision blurred. A tear slipped down my cheek.
I blinked. Then another tear followed.
“Oh no,” I whispered softly.
I kept reading anyway.
Because stopping wasn’t an option. The moment the chapter ended, I dropped the book onto the table and pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes.
I was crying.
Not just a little either.
My chest shook slightly as I tried to calm down, but it was impossible. Emily had absolutely destroyed me emotionally withthat chapter, and I couldn’t even be mad about it because it was written so well.
I sniffed and reached for my phone.
If anyone deserved to deal with the consequences of this emotional trauma, it was the author herself. I opened my contacts and pressed the video call button next to Emily’s name. The call barely rang once before the screen lit up with her beautiful face.
