“Hi. It’s Leo, right?” I ask. I’m trying for polite.
Does it work?…
He glances down at my hand, not touching it, then returns his gaze to mine, obviously displeased.
…No. It does not work.
“Yeah. You’re… Trina?”Asshole.
“Tori,” I correct, my tone firmer. “I’m Alis’s friend. We met at the apartment a couple weeks ago.”
His eyes narrow slightly in recognition.
“Right.” He scans my body, top to bottom. Still not impressed.Still an asshole.
“You’re the one who ditched her husband.”
The words slap harder than I expect, and I freeze.
It takes every ounce of composure not to let my expression crack.
I could explain. Could tell him how many times I begged Chase to care, to show up, to try. I could even tell him about thetherapy sessions I booked alone, the nights I cried myself to sleep next to a man who didn’t even notice.
But what’s the point? He’s already made up his mind about me.
Instead, I clear my throat.
“I’m filling in for MaryAnne while she recovers from surgery. She’ll be out for around six months.”
“Fucking hell,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “What kind of surgery takes six months to recover from? I thought she just fell or something.”
I shrug, because honestly, I don’t know.
“That’s all I was told. But I’m here to help while she’s out. If you need anything?—”
“I’ll handle my own shit, thanks,” he cuts in, brushing past me.
He disappears into his office and kicks the door shut behind him.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I stare at the closed door for a beat too long, trying to decide whether I’m more embarrassed or furious.
Probably both.
My stomach clenches, but I square my shoulders and turn back to my desk.
Fine. Handle your own shit, then.
I didn’t come here to be liked. I came here to rebuild, to prove to myself that I can start over.
Still, a knot sits heavy in my chest.
It’s one thing to be judged by people who know me—family, friends, Chase’s side of things.
But Leo? A stranger who knows nothing about me?
And yet, his words linger.
