REGAN
New blouse. Favorite blazer. A pair of matching slacks. I march into the office with my chin held high struggling not to look like I spent half the morning crying in front of the mirror.
Strength, Regan, don’t let them see you hurting.
Everyone at work knows by now. Kieren’s sudden departure was a big deal when it happened, and our breakup must’ve filtered through the office rumor mill by now. I feel eyes on me, judging, maybe empathetic, but mostly curious.
The boss’s daughter brought low.
They probably love that.
I slip into my cubicle in accounting, dump my bag, and log in. Emails are waiting, like always. I toss aside the junk and try to focus on my job.
“Hey, girl.” Kelly pops her head around the corner, her big blue eyes practically swimming with empathy. “How’s it going?”
“Morning, Kell.” I swivel to face her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?”
“I’m good.”
“Yeah? Good?”
I bite my lower lip. “Super good.” I fight back tears.
“Oh, shit.” She comes over and hugs me tight. Kelly’s my best friend at the office, one of the few female CPAs working for my father. We’re both in our early 20s, though we didn’t know each other before coming here. She’s curvy, soft, kind, and a fantastic person, and it takes all my effort not to break down into ugly sobs.
“Seriously, I’m okay.” I extract myself from her hug and she props herself against my cube wall. I find a tissue and dab at my eyes.
“He’s a dick. Seriously, he’s so stupid. I mean, I know I’m not supposed to talk bad about a recent ex in case you two get back together, but?—“
“It’s not happening. Just… it’s never happening.”
Sympathy floods her face. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I take a moment to gather myself before thanking her again. She promises to help with whatever I need, work or otherwise, and disappears back to her cube. I face the company, hands shaking, feeling small and stupid.
I wish I could scream. Smash a computer, break a light, throw a chair through a window. Do something, anything, except for sitting here like an idiot.
Good, nice, follow-the-rules Regan.
Except I’m not, right?
At least, last night I wasn’t.
I still have a faint buzzing headache from drinking, and there’s an ache between my legs. I don’t want to think about it too much. Because if I do, I’ll think about how it happened, which leads me to Liam, to his massive dick, to the obscene ways he used my body and the way I relinquished myself to him in a frenzy of physicality and lust.
Nope, no way, don’t go there.
Instead, I spend half the morning doing routine tasks, and the other half considering my situation.
The more I think, the stranger it feels. Questions bubble to the surface, the sort I’d normally ignore. I’ve been good at that, ignoring problematic things. I’m a horse with blinders on, galloping at high speed, most likely straight at a cliff.
But after my run-in with Liam, I can’t help myself anymore.
My father’s a creature of habit. Every day at lunch, he has a single martini. Which means he’s in his best mood around one-thirty when he gets back to his office before the alcohol has worn off.
I make sure I slip past his secretary and I’m waiting for him the second he steps in through that door.
