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“No. I see clearly.”

He lands a peck on the phone, and says, “Good.” Though he could have said about time as easily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tate. Have a great day.”

“I’ll see you then. I can’t wait.”

Giving in to the good things in life isn’t so difficult, after all. I can find happiness. It just took finding the right person to make me see what’s right in front of me.

The next day

“Look, Mr. Daly. As I appreciate the compliments regarding my job, we will need to keep our relationship professional and focused on your anniversary gift for Mrs. Daly, or we’ll need to part ways. How would you like to proceed?”

I shouldn’t have given him an option. I could have walked away when his hand landed on mine. Natalie would have backed me. Doesn’t matter how big a client he is.

But taking a breath, I know I have done everything that I should by not only calling him out on reprehensible behavior but also giving him a second chance not to be an asshole.

He slides his hand back to his side of the table, his gaze going to the printout in front of him, next to the scraped clean plate of pasta. “I think Mrs. Daly will like the ring.”

I smile. “Excellent choice. Your card will be charged, and I’ll make sure it’s on the yacht by noon on the day of your anniversary. I’ve already handled the catering per your requests, so I think we’re all set. Do you have any questions?”

“How is a pretty girl like you still single?”

Standing up, I grab my purse, sliding it down to the nook of my elbow. I pick up my pad and pen and tuck them into my bag. Resting my hand on the table, I lean forward, and say, “Because most men can’t handle my bite.”

I walk away from the table, not shaking like I would have done two years ago. My voice didn’t tremble. I walk out of the restaurant feeling proud, proud of the career I’ve built, and that I stood up for myself.

Outside, I take a deep breath, letting the warm summer air wash over me. But then I get going because I don’t want to sweat.

When I get back to the office, I give Natalie a play-by-play, but when she has to leave early for an appointment, I get back to work. I used to have to network to get new clients. Now I just have to check my email.

After ordering the ring for Mrs. Daly, I hang up with the jeweler and check my phone just in case I’ve missed anything. I notice the little monthly star highlighting my menstrual app. That’s odd. I could have sworn my period isn’t due for another day or two.

I double-click it to clear it and start going through the extensive list of emails. If I don’t, I’ll never get out of here, and I don’t want to be late, not tonight.

Renee comes in, and asks, “Working late?”

Late? I glance at my phone. “Oh shit.” I jump up, scrambling to toss everything in my bag. “I am late.”

“For?”

“A date.”

“A date?” she asks, her interest piqued as she leans against the door. “Do tell . . .”

I glance up, but I’m not looking to spill the beans. She says, “Wow, he must be special to make you smile like that.My, my, Tatum.”

I giggle, letting it out like a little schoolgirl. “He is.” I grab my phone and toss it in my bag just as I reach her. “He’s special, all right.” I pass her, and as she trails me toward the elevators, I add, “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“My lips are sealed.”

After we part ways, I hurry. I know that app is probably unreliable, or I forgot to enter something correctly, but I had wanted to stop at a pharmacy to grab a pregnancy test to put that niggling in my stomach to rest. I’m undecided if I actually need one, but feel I should have one handy if I get worried again or . . . just in case. It’s good to have one or two on hand. If I catch a cab, by the time I get home, I’ll have just enough time to change clothes.

I’m kicking my shoes off as soon as I enter the apartment, my bag dropped by the door. My dress is unzipped in the back by the time I reach the bedroom and I’m naked when I’m standing in front of my lingerie drawer. I pull the teddy Harrison bought me and slip it on. A little black dress over it may not be original, but it’s a classic for a reason.

T-minus ten minutes.

I have a date, and with a man I thought I hated. Life sure does throw some curveballs. I squeal with giddiness, running into the bathroom, but my stomach clenches, causing me to stop. Resting my hand on the doorframe, I pause as the taste of bile coats my throat.

I rush to the toilet and lift the lid. The thought of throwing up messes with my head, and I’m not sure if that’s making me sick or . . .Surely not . . .