Page 98 of Kiss and Tell

Because, despite my anger, I cared for him.

I… loved him.

I slumped over on my bed and buried my face in a pillow.

I wished I didn’t feel that way. It would have made our break up easier. But he’d betrayed my trust. He’d told somebody about our relationship when I’d made it expressly clear that no one could know.

And it wasn’t even like I was being paranoid. Look at what had happened. Peter had found out and squealed on me.

I’d been avoiding work not just because I felt like garbage, but because I didn’t know if I could face Peter without putting my fist through his face. And I knew that, as bad as fraternizing with a client was, assaulting a coworker was even worse — even if the asshole did deserve it.

Even re-reading my favorite books did nothing to improve my mood. I sat like a lump, alternating between my bed and my sofa as I moped and read, in that order.

I kept my phone in the kitchen on silent, not wanting to deal with emails. Not wanting to deal with Peter’s emails. Because I just knew he would have emailed me. I was sure he’d known I was called into that meeting and I had no doubt he would have taken the time to gloat. He would never say anything incriminating, but he would have said enough for me to read between the lines and know exactly what he meant.

His little stunt had been a show of power over me. To show me how much of my career he held in his hands. He was threatening me without saying a word, telling me that I better make him and the work he gave me more of a priority.

The thought of doing even a single piece of paperwork for that asshole made the rage increase tenfold. I was three seconds away from sending the nastiest email and cc’ing everyone in the company.

But of course, that David guy had been right. Peter was highly regarded in the company and I had no proof of his threats.

I fumed about Peter for several more minutes, letting the fury wash over me.

As much as I hated thinking about work, it was better than letting myself wallow in the sorrow I felt over losing Connor.

Every time I thought back to our fight, every time I recalled the glare on his face, I couldn’t help but wonder about that glint I’d seen underneath that expression. The hint of pain, of distress.

I’d hurt Connor by walking out on him.

But, I kept on reminding myself, he’d hurt me as well. He’d betrayed my trust. He knew the deal going into our relationship. No one could know. At least, not for a while. Not until long after this job was done, at the very least.

He hadn’t been off the mark when he’d asked about how long exactly it would take. Because I didn’t know. How long was long enough for things at work to calm down and for people to forget about me working on the Moore project? How long was long enough for it not to matter that I was involved with the client? Weeks? Months? A year? How long should I have expected Connor to wait?

A tiny sliver of guilt wormed its way through me. Connor had been in the wrong, but I wasn’t blameless, either.

I heaved a sigh and burrowed deeper into bed.

This whole thing was a mess.

My phone rang from the kitchen. I peeked out from under the blankets. I had it on silent. Only emergency numbers should have been able to get through.

Alarmed, I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone without looking at it.

“Hello?” I asked breathlessly.

“Hi, honey,” my mom spoke from the other end.

I relaxed, leaning against the counter.

“Hi, Mom,” I replied. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, honey. I’m just calling because you didn’t write back to my email.”

“Email?” I took the phone from my ear and thumbed through my inbox. Sure enough, there was an email from my mom a few days ago. I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been watching my inbox. I’ve been… sick.”

“Oh no, have you been to the doctor?” she asked.

“No, it’s fine, I’m on the mend,” I reassured her. “What was the email about?”