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There’s this part of me that wants to slip my phone under the table to unlock it and take a peek at what he said. He’s been texting since I ran out on him, even going so far as to call me twice last night. I had to put my phone on do not disturb yesterday just so I wouldn’t see the little red notification dots on my message app and be tempted to check them.

I want to hear what he has to say, but I can’t afford that risk. He is too tempting, too smooth with his words. My resolve isn’t strong enough to deal with that. I have to ice him out completely if I have any hope of killing this crush.

When the meeting ends, I can recall probably ten percent of what was discussed. My head is total mush as I gather up my things to numbly file out with everyone else.

“Verity.”

The voice roots me to the spot, and I slowly swivel around to face it.

“A moment?”

Celine breezes past me, heels tapping on the floorboards to her office. I just about pee myself, shuffling to catch up to her, as my nerves take hold.

I slip into her office, the glass door snicking shut behind me as I awkwardly stand in the middle of the room. My laptop is hugged close to my chest, and my empty mug is clutched in my other hand. I squeeze them both, trying to keep myself together. That entire cup of tea I drank did nothing to help—in fact, it’s made things worse since now I have a nervous bladder.

“Take a seat.”

Celine gestures to the leather armchair in front of her desk, and I stiffly comply with her request. I keep reminding myself not to fidget, not to do anything to give away the emotions rattling in my chest.

I’m cool.

I’m calm.

I’m a summer breeze, floating over the ocean, dancing with the gulls as they take flight.

I’m—

“I wanted to address the Kelton event with you.”

I’m so fucked.

“Yes?”

Celine rolls her chair so she is facing me front on. She clasps her hands in her lap and levels her gaze at me, giving me her full attention in the most intimidating way possible.

She knows.

She knows I kissed her ex-husband, and she is going to fire me.

Maybe if I apologize first, maybe if I confess, she’ll let me off easy? Maybe she’ll let me quit so I can save my dignity and get another job without having this mar my resume. If she fires me and word gets out, no one will take me on. I’ll be viewed as an HR nightmare.

“Celine, I—”

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior that night. It was unsightly and unprofessional.”

What?

“I hadn’t seen my husband in ten years, and my emotions got the better of me. It’s no excuse and not an example I would like to set for my employees, but it was brought to my attention that I should take the time to address it with you so there are no further issues.” The cool indifference in her gaze chills me. “I noticed you seemed uncomfortable during the meeting.”

Of course, she did.

“I didn’t know you were married.”

That’s not what I meant to say.

And definitely not the right thing to say, either, as the tail of Celine’s manicured right brow hitches ever so slightly.

“We’ve been separated for ten years. He’s not the type of person I like to waste my breath on.”