1
Morgan
The keys in Morgan Reeves' purse jangled like tiny alarm bells as she dropped her massive black handbag onto the entryway table. Another day of crushed creativity. Another night alone, waiting for Jason to call from his business trip—telling herself that relationships took work, and that the knot of uncertainty in her stomach was just her overthinking things.
She’d always wanted the love her parents shared, their complete trust in one another, the way they helped and supported one another. How they would dance in the kitchen together when a fun song came on the radio just to be close to one another.
Her shoulders ached from hunching over her graphics tablet, redoing the same logo concept for the fifth time this week only for her boss, Richard, to circle back to the design Morgan had originally presented on Monday.
“Just making sure we’ve explored all the options,” Richard had said with that practiced smile that never reached his eyes. As if she lived for his validation.
She should have been gaining weight with all the stress baking, and therefore stress eating, she was doing. But with the elevator being out the last few weeks, the six-flight climb up to her apartment had been keeping her fit, even while sitting at her desk most of the day.
Morgan kicked off her heels, wincing as her tired feet met the cool hardwood. 8:48 PM. Jason would be calling soon to check in from his business trip in Chicago. The thought provided little comfort. Nine months together and she was still waiting for that spark, that breathless anticipation that was supposed to come with being in love.
But he’s stable. He’s there. Usually.
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket—speak of the devil.But when she pulled it out, it wasn’t Jason, but a text from Tessa. Her best friend since college, brutally honest and armed with zero tolerance for bullshit.
So apparently Chicago has a red dress, candlelight, and Marcello’s breadsticks now? Just spotted your man with some blonde. I’d crash it, but I just wrapped up a work dinner and we carpooled or I’d be front row. Don’t let him talk his way out of this. I’ll call you later.
Tessa never sugarcoated a thing. And after weeks of Morgan quietly second-guessing herself—and where her relationship with Jason was headed—she finally had her answer.
Morgan’s stomach dropped even before she opened the image. Marcello’s was the upscale Italian place just outside of San Francisco that Jason had once deemed “too expensive” when she’d hinted at going there for her birthday. Now he sat in a plush corner booth, but not alone. A blonde in a red dress leaned into him, laughing at something he’d presumably said. Their fingers were intertwined on the table, his thumb caressing her wrist in the exact way he did with Morgan when they were alone.
Her fingers trembled as she held the phone, the photo still glowing like a betrayal burned into her retinas. Her throat was tight, her breath shallow. She should scream. Cry. Something. But all she felt was cold rage pooling in her chest.
“That lying piece of..."
Her body moved before her brain could catch up. Keys and purse back in hand, heels shoved back onto aching feet. The exhaustion of moments before was gone, replaced by a white-hot rage that propelled her down the stairs to her car, and through the evening traffic.
She parked haphazardly a few blocks away, feeding the meter without counting the coins she shoved into it. Marcello’s glowed warmly against the darkening sky, all gold light and promises of romance making her stomach twist with the regret of wasted time. Morgan caught her reflection in the windows of a closed boutique—cheeks flushed, eyes bright with fury, chestnut hair escaping its once-neat bun. She looked dangerous. A little unhinged.
Good.
The maître d’ looked up as she entered, his professional smile faltering at the storm in her expression.
“Table for one?” he asked cautiously.
“No need. I see my party.” Morgan swept past him, making a beeline for the corner booth where Jason was now feeding the blonde a bite of what looked like tiramisu from his fork.
He saw her three steps before she reached the table. His face performed a comical series of expressions—surprise, confusion, guilt, and finally, a pathetic attempt at casual nonchalance.
“Morgan! What are you doing here?”
She bared her teeth in something that might have been a smile. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing. Especially since your Chicago trip seems to have wrapped up rather quickly for you to make it back into town so soon.”
The blonde looked between them, perfectly manicured fingers still entwined with Jason’s. “Wait, who is this?”
“My ex-girlfriend,” Jason said.
“His girlfriend,” Morgan shot back at the exact same time.
Morgan’s jaw dropped.Oh, no he didn’t.
“You’re exactly right,” she bit out. “Your ex-girlfriend. Don’t ever contact me again.”
Her tone was ice. Her hands, not so much.
