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“Answer the question,” I said. “Are you done with me?”

“We’re always going to be in each other’s lives in some way,” said Vincent.

“I think that means yes,” I muttered. I went over and picked up my coffee from where it was sitting on the floor. I glared at them. “Both of you, get the fuck out of my building.”

They looked at me and then at each other.

And then, they left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I COULD HAVE let that ruin my day, but I was really, really done with letting men dictate my moods. So, I decided to spend the day exactly as I had planned when I did not think that Vincent was even going to be there.

I met the tenants in the building on the top floor, and I told them nothing was changing, that their rents were still going to the company contracted to take care of everything, but that I wanted them to know it was me who was their landlord now.

I talked to the owner of Bistro St. Francis, who was really gung-ho for the idea of an art studio next door. “Oh, we could provide some appetizers for you if you have openings!” she said. “It would be such a great chance to collaborate!”

Overall, I felt sure that I was not going to sell the place.

I went back to my dad’s place and I ended up out on the river that afternoon. I lay on the dock in the sun. I swam. I even thought about taking my dad’s kayak out, but I didn’t do that because Vincent’s car pulled up.

I could have called to him and told him I was down on the dock, but I let him knock on the door and walk all around the house. Eventually, he folded something up and stuck it inside the screen door, and he left.

I waited until he was gone to go and see what it was.

It was Opal’s manuscript.

He’d put a note on it. I’m not done with you. The timing’s not right, though. Damian needs me and I’m all he has.

I ripped the note off and crumpled it up in one hand. Who was it, exactly, that he thought that I had?

I had to grudgingly admit that both of my parents were still alive and I had two older sisters and an extended family and things like that. But. Still.

Screw Vincent for putting Damian first.

I still could not forgive Damian. I’d been close, before, when I thought that maybe I could move on, but now Damian was taking that from me, too. He was taking Vincent.

I hated Damian Lowell. I despised him.

I didn’t read anything else Opal had written. I was too annoyed in that moment to entertain any more of her whining and excuses. Maybe things had been hard for her, but how about for me? Things had been really hard for me.

I stayed one more night, and I got up in the morning on Sunday and drove back to the city. Back in my apartment, I set Opal’s manuscript out on the kitchen table (where I never ate anyway) and I went back to my life.

Monday morning, I was back in the office, but the city felt dirtier than it ever had. When I looked out the window, I felt as if all of the buildings were crowding out the sky. It was like being trapped in a tight, tight corset, and I could hardly breathe.

I could not stay here.

I didn’t know how to tell Casey.

So, I didn’t. But I started looking for someone to replace me. I actually placed an ad and started setting up interviews. Casey didn’t know why I was meeting with people. As part of my job, I did bring in people all the time for various aspects of the events we planned, and I could have been interviewing florists or string quartets for all she knew.

Except one night, after the end of an event, she came to me barefoot, her heels dangling from one hand and a flute of champagne in the other, and she said, “You going to explain to me why you’re interviewing your own replacements?”

“You know about that?” I cringed. The lights were coming up on the room because the cleaning crew we’d hired were coming it to tear everything down. There were empty glasses on the tables, glitter on the floor, drooping balloon bouquet centerpieces. The room was tired, and so was I.

“I found the ad,” she said. “Call me crazy, but I think I should hire my own assistant.”

“I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch,” I said.