Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I had no idea what to do with the jumble of lust, affection, and joy that I felt. But it was too wonderful to let shame taint it. I would be honest with them. Maybe they had some method—arm wrestling or rock paper scissors—to decide matters like this. I hoped they did because I was completely unable to say I had stronger feelings for one than the others.
10
NOAH
She was here. Again. I should have been angry, but it was a wave of mortification that hit me instead. Why couldn’t she stay away? The beginning of a tension headache started at my temples as I took a deep breath.
“I’ll be right out,” I told my secretary. I closed out the document I’d been working on and stepped out of my office.
There she was. Olivia Rade. My one-time girlfriend of about a month, late last year. We were broken up by Christmas, yet here she was. Turning up at my office, acting like we were sweethearts. I bristled at the wide smile she gave me as she rushed to throw her arms around me. I took a step back and held up my hands.
“No,” I said, “I’m not doing this. Let’s go.”
“Ooh, are we going to dinner? Are you surprising me for our anniversary?” she squealed with delight.
“We don’t have an anniversary. Keep your voice down,” I said.
“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me that you remember our anniversary!” She trilled, every inch the offended girlfriend. I wanted to shake her, scream at her, and let security drag her away.
I couldn’t do any of those things because I didn’t want the spectacle or the scene it would cause. Not when I was trying to prove myself an asset to the firm and make partners. I didn’t need the drama, the gossip, the appearance of an out-of-control personal life. So, I gritted my teeth.
“You’re leaving. Now. I don’t want to call security. Let’s keep this quiet. You know we’re not together. We haven’t been since last December. You’ve got to let this go and move on. Please,” I said, taking her elbow and steering her to the elevator.
As soon as the doors slid shut, I turned on her. “Olivia, you can’t come to my office. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. All you’re doing is embarrassing yourself. Stop contacting me. Stop coming here. You are not my girlfriend. You will never be my girlfriend, and once you leave this building, I hope you have a great life far away from me. Because if you don’t stay away, I’m going to—” I stopped.
She was crying. Her manicured hands fell to her sides, and she slumped against the elevator wall, tears streaming down her face. I used to kiss her, used to comfort her when she was upset. But she had been so chaotic, jealous, always picking a fight. It wasn’t worth the effort. A year later, she dogged my footsteps and popped up, pretending we were lovers. It was a horror show at this point, and now that I had been direct and mean, she was crying, looking helpless. Her long coat fell open, revealing thigh-high stockings, a garter belt, and a bra. She had come into the building where I work dressed in nothing but lingerie and a coat. Aghast, I yanked her coat around her.
“What is wrong with you? Walking around in public like that?” I demanded, tying the belt firmly.
“I wanted you to want me again, Noah,” she bleated. I shook my head.
“I won’t,” I told her. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Go home and get some sleep. Start fresh tomorrow and forget about me, okay? Please.”
I walked her out the front doors and felt the tension leave my body as she walked away. She was gone. Thank goodness. I was exhausted by it, by the fear she’d show up, what she’d do or say that could potentially derail my career. I didn’t understand when we were together how unhinged or unwell she was. I’d tried to get her help a few months ago. I’d called a social worker and had a wellness check done, asked if they could get her some resources, therapy, a doctor. Nothing came of it. She’d convinced them she was perfectly rational, just sad that I had broken her heart. I wasn’t concerned about what they thought of me. I didn’t mind if she needed me to be the villain. I wanted her to get help and to get away from me. Her intrusive visits to my work, the building where I lived, the gym I went to or the coffee shop I frequented had led me to change my routines. I made a point of varying where I fueled my car and where I had my hair cut and when. I had accepted so many changes and inconveniences in my daily life to try to ward off her harassment.