“I told you things that I… oh my god, I’m such an idiot.”
“No, Harper, please,” he says, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to ruin everything.”
“Everythingisruined, Ryan. I trusted you. I was wrong.”
I leave him outside in the rain and go back inside. It’s almost the end of the day, so I pull myself together in the loos to say my goodbyes to the team, laughing at and apologizing for my bedraggled look as I explain I was caught in the rain on the hunt for a decent coffee. Then, without looking Ryan in the eye, I pack up my things at my desk. He lurks miserably nearby the whole time, any attempt to talk to me ignored. But with everyone watching, I muster the spoonful of professionalism I have left to hold out my hand to him.
“Good luck, Ryan. The team is lucky to have someone so hardworking andhonestjoining them permanently. Exactly what a good journalist should be.”
Visibly stung, he shakes my hand dismally.
With a final wave, I walk out ofThe Daily Bulletinfor the last time. As soon as I’m alone in the elevator, I get out my phone and block Ryan’s number.
With any luck, I’ll never see him again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stare at the article on Ryan’s wall, lost in a haze of memories.
I’ve spent the last eleven years convinced that Ryan’s betrayal proved that he was sneaky and conniving. But standing here, I’m realizing that we were just kids. Both of us were stumbling through the murky bit of real life that comes straight at you the minute you leave school or university—the moment where, suddenly, you’re on your own. We were trying to find our footing. When I think about it, I loved my experience atThe Daily Bulletin,and I’m grateful that I eventually ended up atFlair,where I met Mimi and discovered that my interest in pop culture and celebrity could actually become my calling card. I’m glad things happened how they did.
I don’t want to be mad at Ryan anymore. I want…
“You’re smiling,” Ryan remarks, interrupting my thoughts. I realize that he’s been watching me with an expression of concern.
“I’m remembering,” I inform him, nodding to the article.
“I wouldn’t have thought that would make you smile.”
“You thought wrong, then. Who wouldn’t have fond memories of photocopying and hours of transcribing?”
He relaxes, a small laugh emitting from his lips. “God, the transcribing. It really is one of the worst parts of our job.”
“Which is why you’ll be doing it for our Max Sjöberg interview,” I say, prompting him to give me a look that says,Nice try.“Do you remember visiting all the picnic spots?”
“I’ll never forget it. I was so nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I was going to be spending a whole day with you outside of work, and I didn’t really know how to be around you,” he admits coolly. “You weren’t my biggest fan.”
“We were in competition with each other for the job, and you were infuriating in the office.” I pause, adding with a mischievous smile, “Which hasn’t really changed.”
“I’mthe infuriating one? Have youseenyour desk?”
“Ryan, you’re a broken record. You have got to care less about the state of my desk.”
“I have to look on it every single day. You have no idea how much it stresses me out.”
“I knowexactlyhow much it stresses you out,” I retort cheerily. “It’s written all over your face whenever you sit down.”
“And here I was thinking I was hard to read.”
“Not to me.”
He pauses, those ocean-blue eyes fixed on me, his expression softening and making a swarm of butterflies flutter in my stomach. I swallow, nervous under his intense gaze, the heat rising in my cheeks.
“What was it like in the office after I left?” I manage to ask, trying to keep things light. “It must have been nice for everyone to get the coffees they actually ordered.”
