Outside my office, I can hear Thatcher talking to Priya, his voice bright and cheerful. He’s already putting on the performance, already pretending everything is normal.
I pick up the coffee he brought me and take a sip. It’s perfect, exactly how I like it, made with the care and attention he brings to everything he does for me.
I set the cup down and try to focus on work, but all I can think about is how empty my office feels without his chaos, how quiet my life is going to be without his laughter.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Order, control, everything in its proper place. It’s what I’ve always had and always craved.
So why does it feel like I’ve just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me?
The coffee grows cold on my desk as I stare out at the man I love and can’t have, wondering if James has any idea how completely he’s already won.
29
THATCHER
The paint fumesare probably toxic at this point, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m balanced precariously on my kitchen stool, which definitely wasn’t designed for this purpose, trying to reach the corner above the shower where I somehow managed to get more paint on the ceiling than on the actual walls.
How did I even get paint up there? The laws of physics should have prevented this.
The paintbrush dripsCalming Sea Blueonto my already paint-splattered face as I stretch toward a particularly stubborn white patch. The stool wobbles. I grab the shower curtain rod for balance, which is clearly a mistake because it’s not designed to support the weight of a grown man having an artistic crisis.
The rod comes loose with a metallic screech, sending me stumbling backward. I windmill my arms, paintbrush flying, as I try to regain balance. The brush hits the opposite wall, leaving a perfect blue arc across the white tiles like some abstract art statement.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, finally steadying myself. Thebathroom now looks like a crime scene, where the victim was a can of paint and the perpetrator was someone with no understanding of basic home improvement.
There’s blue paint on surfaces that shouldn’t even be reachable. The mirror has splashes across it. My reflection looks like I’ve been attacked by a very artistic Smurf.
The worst part? I’ve been at this for three hours, and I’ve covered maybe two square feet of actual wall.
It’s been a month since Pierce and I ended things, and every day at work feels like walking through quicksand with a smile plastered on my face.
For two of the four weeks, Lior and Noah went away on vacation, so Pierce was in charge of VSE. Those were two blissful weeks when we had so much work there was barely any time to breathe, let alone mope or waste time with secret glances. But then they returned, and everything went back to as it was.
Still, weekends are the worst. Endless hours with nothing but my thoughts and an empty apartment that still feels his presence, even though it’s been weeks since he was last here.
The bad news? Jennifer’s publisher decided not to pick up my story.
The good news? The agent I found through Jennifer’s recommendation believes in my work so much that she said she won’t rest until we have a deal. So now it’s just a waiting game while she shops it around to publishers.
The problem is having nothing to do while I wait except stare at my walls and think about Pierce’s hands, Pierce’s smile, Pierce’s voice saying my name like it meant something.
Hence, the bathroom renovation project that’s clearly beyond my skill level.
I didn’t start out by renovating my apartment. This is all Alli’s fault because she banned me from her pet store.
Apparently,I made three different dogs depressed just by existing near them.
So I decided to paint my bathroom. How hard could it be?
Turns out, very hard.
I’m trying to figure out how to clean paint off the light fixture when I hear the front door burst open.
“Meatball! Emergency family meeting!” Noah’s voice carries through the apartment, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps until my three cousins appear by the bathroom door.
“We brought Chinese food and— Oh my god, what happened in here?” Adam says.
“It looks like a paint bomb exploded,” Lex adds helpfully.
