CHARLEE
He’s here.
I stare at the text from Rath’s driver and prepare myself for what I can only imagine is going to be a horribly awkward, incredibly emotional day.
I said from the very beginning that I’d always do my job, even if things fell apart, because I love this job. I love what I do, and I’m not going to give it up because of something personal.
That’s why I’m standing near the elevator waiting for my boss to show up.
My boss.
Not my boyfriend.
Not my fiancé.
Not the man I fell hard for.
No, he’s my boss now, and he’ll stay my boss until he decides to change that.
I spent the rest of Saturday night crying myself into the wee hours of the night until I finally fell asleep, only to wake up to around ten to twenty more texts from Rath and a severed heart. I turned my phone off, and went back to bed, promising myself I would take one more day, and then I’d get my life back together. Again.
By no means do I feel powerful or ready to take on the world today, despite wearing my favorite trousers and blouse. I feel ill, like I could throw up any minute. My mind is whirling with what he might say to me, and I’m terrified that with one look in my direction my shield will snap in half and I’ll be exposed to him once again.
But I will not falter in my everyday life. I will keep moving forward and do my job like a professional, because that’s what I am.
The elevator dings and my breath catches in my chest.
He’s here.
I stand tall, hold my notebook close to my chest and pray that I can keep it together while in his presence, despite the emotions gnawing away at my resolve.
The doors part and a disheveled Rath steps off the elevator. His hair is a mess, his clothes are askew, and he looks like he slept in his suit rather than got ready this morning with precision like I’ve seen him do many mornings.
He doesn’t see me at first, so I say, “Good morning, Mr. Westin.”
His head snaps up and I get the first look at his bloodshot and sunken eyes. Oh God, he looks positively awful. Was I wrong with what I said this weekend?
No, he even said that his intentions were anything but pure. He’s probably just distraught that he got caught.
“Charlee,” he says on an exhale. “You’re here.”
“Of course, I’m here. This is my job, after all.” I hold my hand out. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my list now and let you get on with your morning. There’s oatmeal waiting for you.”
“Fuck the list and get into my office. We need to talk.”
I put up my hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Before this goes any further, you need to know one thing. What happened between us is over, completely over, which means we’re returning to a simple boss and EA relationship. There will be no personal demands, no touching, and no sexual innuendos. I’m not above reporting you, Mr. Westin.”
“Charlee,” he says, deflated, “you can’t be fucking serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. I’m here to do my job and nothing else.” I wiggle my fingers and say, “List please.”
“I don’t have one.”
“What do you mean you don’t have one? You always have a list.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I fell for my assistant and got my heart broken this weekend.”
I lower the notebook, shocked that he would try to claim victim to this mess. “Your heart was broken? Are you kidding me right now?” I point to my chest. “My heart was the one that was broken this weekend. I was the one who got hurt, who got screwed over, who thought she was so much more than she actually was.” Emotion clogs my throat and I curse myself for not being strong enough. Whispering, I say, “You made me feel special, like I mattered, and within seconds, that was taken away from me as I realized it was all a lie.”
“It wasn’t a goddamn lie, Charlee,” he says growing angry. “You are special to me. You do mean everything to me. Fuck, Charlee . . .” He grips the back of his neck and looks to the side before he takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “I fucking fell in—”
“No,” I say, not wanting to hear the words, not when I know they can’t possibly be genuine, not when I’m so confused. Not when my heart can’t take any more blows. “This was a bad idea,” I say before I can stop myself. “Coming here, acting like it’s all going to be okay, so close to Saturday. This was a very bad idea.” I ditch him at the elevator and start gathering my things at my desk. I feel him follow me closely.
“What are you doing? Are you . . . quitting?” he asks, the word quitting so strained I’m afraid he might actually be on the verge of tears.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m going to take a few vacation days, visit my parents. Get away from everything. This city, my grandma . . . you.”
“When are you going to be back?”
“I don’t know.” I look up at him and say, “But when I do come back, I won’t talk about this, about us. I can’t. And I ask that you respect that decision. This is it, Rath. We’re done, and if you can’t handle that, then fire me. Let me out of my contract and send me on my way.”
“Never,” he says softly while shaking his head. “I could never send you away.”
I hoist my purse on my shoulder and head toward the elevator. “Then respect my wishes and drop this. We’re done. There’s nothing more to discuss.” I hit the elevator button and hop in when the doors open. I press the button for the lobby, and I’m very grateful I don’t have to wait long.
Staring at the ground, I don’t look back and just as the doors are about to close, Rath’s hand stops them. Startled, I look up to find him tortured and desperate.
“Stay,” he says. “Stay and work on this. Work on us. Don’t just give up. I know you were hurt before, but don’t put me in the same box as the guy who left you at the altar. You know I’m not the same man.”
“You’re not,” I say quietly. “Because you are so much more than him, and that’s what hurts, because looking back, I would expect this from Chris. I never expected you to be capable of this type of . . . cruelty.”
“Fuck, Charlee, it’s not the same. It’s not even close to the same because unlike him, I want you. I need you, Charlee. Don’t fucking leave. Stay here, work it out with me.”
Eyes watering up, I take a step forward, his body straightening and I remove his hand from the door, letting it drop to his side.
“Goodbye, Rath.”
The doors close and I lean against the elevator wall. I let out a long breath and then let the tears flow. He’s right, he is nothing like Chris. He’s so much more.
Rath was the man I was going to marry, and not because of a silly agreement, but because I loved him, because he was the man I wanted to be with, because he was the be all and end all when it came to men.
Once again, my instincts were wrong.