I grab my phone, my fingers steady despite the heat in my chest.
Liz: I cannot keep doing this. Working too much is one thing, broken promises are another. Would it have killed you to call or text? I’m done waiting. I will get my things tonight.
I set the phone down. No frantic checking, no pacing. Just calm, purposeful breathing. When the food arrives, I pay the bill, grab my bag, and stand. I give the waiter a polite nod. “Thank you.”
Out the door I go, the city air hitting my face, crisp and clear. I don’t wait. I don’t second-guess. The car is waiting, and I slide into the driver’s seat with a sense of resolve I haven’t felt in months.
No answer from Matt. Fine. Doesn’t matter. I start the engine, let the tires hum against the asphalt, and decide right then: I will not let anyone else—Matt, work, fear—dictate my day, my life, my choices.
I glance down at the phone on the passenger seat. Whatever. I’ve made my move. No regrets.
Chapter 50
Ben, March 23
Normal. Work. Overtime. Restless sleep. Eat something. Work. Nap at the desk. Work. Eat. Repeat.
And yet… everything feels off. Not because I’m obsessing over her buying a wedding dress or planning tables or writing invitations. I’m not. I’m definitely not. Stop.
I have no business caring. I’m a single, handsome, wealthy bloke. I can have any girl I want. Anyone. Anyone. And yet… a small, stupid part of me wonders if she’s laughing at some stupid seating chart and rolling her eyes at the napkin colors. I immediately shove that thought away.
I grab my phone off the desk.
Ben: We’re going out tonight.
Zach: Where to?
Ben: Pub. Going lady hunting after work. Text Kyle.
Zach: Done.
I stare at the message like it’s a weapon. Maybe it is. Tonight, I reclaim my evenings. Tonight, I do something for me. Not her. Not anyone else. Just me.
A tiny, mocking part of my brain mutters, Yeah, right. Just you. I laugh quietly. Let it mutter. Let it know I’m in charge tonight.
Chapter 51
Ben, March 24
“Zach, seriously mate, 20 pounds to find out her bloody name? That’s your best offer?” I groan, hating every second of begging. Zach, on the other hand, is laughing his arse off.
“Are you gonna help me or what?” I snap. More laughter. “Aw, fuck it, I’ll ask Kyle.”
“Oh calm down, wanker. I’ll find out. Shit, can’t a bloke just take a second to appreciate the return of the fucking walk-of-shame champ?” Zach’s still chuckling as he ambles down the thin stairs from our kitchen. I grudgingly follow.
At the foot of the staircase, our sitting room comes into view. Sprawled out on her stomach on my couch, using my laptop and wearing my bathrobe, is a small-framed, sexy little brunette. Her hair is still damp from my shower, which she’d taken after waking up butt naked beside me.
Zach clears his throat theatrically. She glances up. He thrusts out his hand. “Hey, I’m Zach.”
She sits up, careful to hold the robe closed at her waist, though a generous amount of cleavage is visible. Clearly she’s still naked beneath the fabric. “Lindsey,” she replies happily.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same.”
They shake. Zach winks at me as he exits toward his bedroom. “Have a good day,” he calls cheerfully.
“Thanks,” she says, turning her smile to me.
