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CHAPTER TWELVE

KATE

“Hey, Margo. Any messages for me?”

“Only that your eleven o’clock has pushed back to twelve, but your calendar was clear, so I went ahead and confirmed. How were your morning meetings?”

“Yeah, okay,” I say with a yawn, standing at the reception desk of Preston & Preston, the law firm I’ve worked at for the past six years.

“You did, um…get one more, but I don’t think it’s work-related.”

I stop scrolling through the emails on my phone. “Oh yeah?”

“From Tom Bennett. He said he’d tried to reach you over the weekend but was sent to voicemail. He was concerned and asked that you call him.” Margo wears an unsure smile as she delivers the message from my ex-boyfriend.

“Thank you for letting me know. I can take it all from here.” Signing the half dozen letters set out to go in the mail for various clients, I turn on my heel and move toward my desk. Felicity’s remains empty and has been for the past ten days. I’vefound myself counting down the time until she returns from her honeymoon. The pictures she’s sent from Barbados look insane, but I can’t wait to have my best friend back.

Setting my bag and jacket down, I begin replying to various emails that have come in over the weekend.

I’m halfway through an email when my phone vibrates, and a text appears at the top of the screen.

Tom

I miss you. Talk to me, and we can take things at your own pace.

It’s been like this for the past ten days since I got back from Oxford. I’ve sent him a few short replies, but really, how many ways can you kindly tell someone it’s over?

I’m sure he’d feel differently if he knew I’d slept with someone else.

And there’s the issue—Tom keeps blowing up my phone, but the guy I can’t get off my mind has sent two measly texts.

Two.

Dickhead

Landed ten minutes late. I hope you didn’t miss your important work commitments.

Me

You tracked my plane?

Flight BA1749.

That’s the extent of it. I slept with him, he pissed me off the next morning, and other than track my flight, he hasn’t been in touch.

Argh, why does that bother me?!

This is where I need a morning coffee in the kitchenette with Felicity. Except I can’t tell her about what happened. Not because I’m ashamed, but because she’d ask questions about us that I’m not prepared to answer.

I hate that I like him.

I hate that I should be replying to nice guy Tom and not sitting and waiting for Mr. Dickhead himself to show just a little bit of interest in me.

He only tracked my flight so he could message me and call me out for my bullshit work excuse. And he’d be right.

And he knows it.

He also knows what he’s doing in bed.