I’m pathetic, and everyone knows it.
Although, only me, Max, and Imogen know exactlywhyI’m so pathetic.
“You have a plane to catch,” Anderson says, bringing me back to him.
I shrug, then pull the Afghan tighter around my shoulders. “I’m not going.”
He purses his lips and levels me with a stare that tells me I’m about to get another lecture.
“You’re going. You’re gonna put on that insanely gorgeous dress, put some makeup on, do something with whatever is going on with your hair right now, then you’re going to walk into that gala with your head held high because you are a Hart. And Harts don’t wallow. We don’t wilt.”
“And we certainly don’t fucking let men rob us of ourlives, Sutton.”
I lift my gaze as Mo strides into my office, then glance at Anderson, who shrugs.
“I called in reinforcements. Sue me.” He and Mo share a look, then he motions toward me. “She’s all yours.”
“Thanks, Andy. Take the afternoon off.”
He snorts. “Already done.” He gives me one last glance before he leaves my office. “Try to have fun, okay?”
Fun. Right.
Mo steps around my desk, then spins my chair toward her. “Whatever this is…” She motions toward me. “Has run its course. You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Sutton. I’m serious. I don’t give a shit if Maximus Prime was the goddamn Prince of England, he doesn’t deserve the weeks of mourning you’ve given him.”
“I’m not mourning.”
Mo sighs, squatting down to meet my eyes. “Oh, babe, but you are. And it’s time to stop now, okay?”
I bite into my bottom lip as it starts to tremble. “When will it stop hurting?”
She smiles sadly. “I don’t know. Maybe it never will. But I do know that the only way to get back at a man who’s broken our heart is to live the very best life we can. To thrive. To show him that he doesn’t have power over you.”
I swallow, forcing the tears back. “It’s not just him, Mo…” Laughing bitterly as I wave my hand, motioning around my small office, I say, “It’s all of it. Look at how much time I’ve wasted chasing someone else’s dreams. And for what?”
She smiles sympathetically, rubbing my knee.
“It's just…I feel like everything is coming to a head at once. Max, Dominus, this agency… and I think I’m starting perimenopause!” The last word comes out on a dramatic sob, but I’m dying here.
She laughs, squeezing my knee. “That’s probably not helping, is it?”
“No,” I say loudly. “I can’t tell if I’m coming or going half the time, or if I’m sad about a stupid man—or I’m sad because my hormones are all out of whack.”
“Listen.” Mo stands, then grabs my blanket and carefully unwraps it from my shoulders. “The good news is you’re probably too young for perimenopause, but either way, there are doctors for that.Drugsfor that. And… I don’t know, maybe this is your midlife crisis, you know? You don’t know what you want, who you are… so the Universe gives you an opportunity to try something new. Maybe this is when you pivot.” She smiles sadly.“But you still have to finish what you started, sister. I know you well enough to know that if you fuck-off this gala tonight, you’ll regret it for as long as you live.”
“He’ll be there, Mo.”
She pulls me up to my feet, then grips my shoulders. “Then it’s a damn good thing we found that vintage Chanel over on Melrose. You’re going to make that man wish he’d never lied to you.”
“But hedid.”
Mo inhales deeply, then purses her lips.
“What?”
