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I had finally told her about that part of my past, but it had been too little too late. If I had just opened up to her sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe she could be better prepared to ward off the insults Veronica threw, rather than be completely taken off guard in front of a roomful of fancy strangers. They’re all assholes anyways. That much was clear as I ran after Monica tonight, their laughter in my ears, only to find she was already pulling away in a cab.
I stood breathless on the sidewalk as I watched her go.
“Let her go,” I heard Veronica say next to me.
I whipped around to face her.
“How could you do that? How could you say those things?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Because she doesn’t belong here,” said Veronica with a simple shrug, as if that justified everything.
“Good!” I yelled.
She looked shocked.
“All off this is just for fucking show. Nobody here actually cares about what this event is for. Hell, I don’t even know what it’s for. But we all show up, year after year, to dress up and drink fancy champagne and judge anyone new who steps in.”
Veronica’s eyes widened slightly as she took in my words.
“Wow.” She laughed softly. “She really got to you.”
Maybe she did.
“Come back inside. Where you belong,” she said, wrapping her long fingers around my arm and pulling gently.
I almost did because it would be easier than knowing what I had to do, but I pulled my arm from her grasp and ran down the sidewalk with Veronica’s calls trilling after me. I didn’t bother trying to call for the limo. It would take too long, and too much time had been wasted already trying to fend off Veronica. I hailed a cab and gave the driver Monica’s address.
And now I stood outside her apartment. Alone. I could blame Veronica or my father even, but all of this came down to me. I had been the one to cause her pain because of my stupid past choices and my internal battle as a billionaire’s son. Why would she want to be a part of the mess that was my life?
That was why I left. As much as I wanted to open the door and take her in my arms, I didn’t. I wasn’t any good for her. That was clear. After a week of treating her like she didn’t exist, I thought I could fix it with a fancy party. I thought a dress and jewelry would make things right, but Monica wasn’t that kind of woman. She was different from the Veronicas of the world who only cared about money and their image. It made leaving that much harder.
When Monday morning welcomed me with the chill of the winter weather nipping at my face as dull sunlight came through my window, I pulled the covers over my head and groaned. I had spent the rest of the weekend either in bed or on the couch with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and my phone in the other, hoping somehow that Monica had changed her mind. She didn’t.
I lay in the dark of my comforter, warding off the impending headache from too much alcohol and too many thoughts. The last thing I wanted to do was go into the office today. It meant seeing Monica, and knowing I couldn’t have her. It meant accepting that I was back to being her boss and her being my personal assistant, but it had never just been that.
I could have called in sick, but with my father on my ass, that wasn’t an option. If I had lost the girl, I couldn’t risk losing my job too. So instead, I pulled the covers off and started getting ready for the day, after popping a few Advil for my headache. Nothing could help the unease in my stomach because I didn’t think it was from my hangover.
I arrived at the office a few minutes until 9 a.m., walking by a very surprised Kathy, judging by how high her eyebrows were on her head. I gave her a nod, trying to hide my satisfaction and reminding myself to be early more often just to see that look on her face. But the satisfaction quickly disappeared as I made my way down the hall toward my office, where Monica already sat at her desk.
I dared to steal a glance in her direction, but she ignored my presence and continued typing on her computer. She looked different today. More serious. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and she had simple makeup. She wore a smart pantsuit, which I had never seen before. No more red lips or clingy tops or curve-hugging skirts. She was sending me a message.
I swallowed hard as I stepped into my office. My iced Americano was where it always was. The perfect color peeking through the plastic cup. I took a sip.Perfect. If there was one thing about Monica, whether we were together or not, she knew how to do her job.
It was that professionalism that almost hurt more. She wasn’t trying to make things harder for me out of spite, she was simply doing her job. I couldn’t stand it. I had to talk to her.
“Monica, er, can you come in here?” I called through the door.
She hardly glanced up from her computer before walking over.
“Yes, Mr. Gunner?” she asked.
Mr. Gunner.I hated the way that sounded coming from her lips.
“I just wanted to make sure you looked over the calendar for the day.”
She nodded. “Just as I do every morning.”
“Good.” I nodded. “Good. Busy day.”