Page 42 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

I tune out the two in the front and watch as she sits at the small table in the window of the bakery. She looks composed now, as if the events of the last hour never happened.

She picks up the plastic fork and cracks open the plastic container…

…and the look on her face. I remember that look on her face.

My head lands on the glass, and I close my eyes to encourage the memories to come to the forefront.

But then Axel says, “Oh, damn.”

My eyes snap open, immediately going to Shae.

A beam of light shines through the shop window as if God wanted me to witness this moment.

Maybe as a blessing. Maybe as punishment.

Shae’s shoulders shake as she holds her head in her hands. It’s easy to see she’s crying, sobbing, as a woman sits across from her.

It goes on for minutes, the inside of the car quiet like a tomb.

And that’s when I realize…Shae can’t possibly be over me. Not when she’s clearly in so much pain.

The thought isn’t comforting. It’s heartbreaking.

Because clearly, I’m not over her either.

“Let’s go to the firm then,” I say, my voice rough. When I face Axel and Riale, Axel’s face is flat, neutral. Riale looks uncomfortable.

After a moment, Riale starts moving us toward the law office, and I run through all the scenarios in my head. All the possibilities.

And I know the only way to save Shae is to hurt her more.

ELEVEN

SHAE

Iexit my office bathroom to find Melissa sitting in front of my desk.

I’d been looking for her desperately, asking everyone on the floor where she went, marching down to HR, and even calling her roommate, all to beg for her to come back.

The reason why?

The sticky note I found on my desk when I returned from my break at the bakery.

In the same handwriting I’d recognize anywhere, Storm Sandoval wrote:

Sorry about hacking your email. It was the only way to get on the schedule. Don’t take it out on your assistant. Good help is hard to find.

- S

After reading the message three times, I logged into my iMac and navigated to my email, only to find that “I” sent Melissaan email at two o’clock in the morning demanding she add a conference with Storm and his team at nine a.m.

The problem? I most certainly never sent that note.

The other problem? Melissaimmediatelyresponded, despite it being the middle of the night, confirming that she’d gotten everything sorted.

Every CEO should have a Melissa, and I just fired the only person keeping me from spinning out into the galaxy.

“Oh, thank God,” I blurt out, feeling myself lose control. It’s three p.m., and I’ve been beyond frazzled all day. Not even Gloria’s delicious almond-flavored petit fours could save my mindset.