Page 71

“Yeah, right.”

I toss the tea bag out and pick up the hot mug as Imani and I walk back into the bullpen.

“You never know.”

“Imani, the odds of that are one in a million. We didn’t even get today off after working Saturday.”

“Valid. All right, I’m going to grab those samples from Sally.”

“’Kay.”

I drop onto my office chair and place my mug on the cute little star coaster in the corner. My computer chimes, reminding me that the Monday Weekly starts in five minutes. Which is just fantastic.

Not only will I have to listen to Anne present the Frankie Jones proposal, but I’ll also be stuck in the same room as Celine for thirty minutes. I don’t even know how to look at her without feeling this bone deep fear.

I busy myself by responding to an email from an old client requesting an update to one of the brand packages we created for them and get started on tweaking the files to send back over.

My computer chimes again on the hour, signaling for the nausea in my stomach to return. I swallow thickly, disconnecting my laptop from my desktop and picking it up, along with my phone and mug, before making my way to the meeting room.

I take my usual seat next to Jenna and sip on my hot tea, willing the peppermint to stave off the sickness roiling through my stomach.

It’s not helping. When Celine finally waltzes into the room, the sickness turns into a churning guilt.

“I want to start off by taking a moment to recognize the work Jenna’s team put into the branding of the Kelton Honors Club. I’ve had countless other hoteliers and luxury chains reach out today inquiring about our services. Well done.”

Celine nods to our team, and everyone around the table gives a short applause. Imani even wiggles her eyebrows a little as if to saytold you.

I’m unable to bask in the rare compliment from our perfectionist boss.

I kissed your ex-husband.

The words play on a loop in my brain.

The meeting continues on, but that’s all I can hear.

My guilt keeps stacking with every minute that passes, and all I can do is pray that the shame isn’t leaking from my pores. My toes curl in my shoes, the tension in my body needing somewhere to go that isn’t my face.

Imani already knew something was off, but she’s the person I’m closest with in the company. I just have to hope that no one else knows me well enough to realize that my placid smile is full of secrets.

I barely register Anne’s proposal, only half paying attention as Jenna chimes in about some of the logistics.

My phone lights up, and I glance at the notification.

My heart explodes in a flurry of high intensity beats.

I flip my phone over with lightning speed. The slap is loud enough that it creates a break in the conversation, and I feel even more like a criminal as faces turn toward me.

“Sorry.”

I practically melt into my seat, wishing that I could turn into a puddle of nothing. But seared onto the lids of my eyes is that damn notification.

A text message from Cullen.

Cullen, whose name still has a little heart emoji next to it.

Dammit. I should’ve changed his contact name or blocked his number or, God, at least gotten rid of the stupid heart. Why didn’t I think of these things? I am trying to erase him from my life, and I can’t even do something as simple as that.

I fiddle with my hands in my lap.