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“Twelve years…” I’m shocked he knows how much time has passed, but not nearly as shocked when he asks, “Couldn’t bother to call?”
I freeze like one of those fainting goats. “Excuse me?”
“You know what, forget it.”
“That sounds about right, considering how easily you forgot me.”
Those eyes hold mine with anger and something close to regret clashing behind them, and if I weren’t doing my damndest to keep it together, I might shrink away from him.
“Not a day has passed since we’ve been apart that I’ve forgotten about you, Penelope. Not. One.”
Air. I need it, and I can’t seem to get enough of it.
“I don’t believe you.”
My breaths grow unsteady with his lies. And fuck him, because this is cruel and it fucking hurts.
When he places both hands on either side of the chair, I turn toward the only window in the room and put my hand between us.
His breath glides across my cheek, sweet with mint, and I decide I hate his gaudy cologne. I have half a mind to tell him, too, but I can’t seem to find my voice.
Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
Eyes slamming shut, I try to control the urge to run, but I feel it as fiercely as his beating heart when he presses his chest into my open palm.
“Don’t,” I whisper, letting my hand fall to my lap.
The warmth of him lingers, dancing across my skin.
“Don’t what? Tell you something you’re not ready to hear?” More gently, he says, “Look at me, Pen.”
But I can’t. Not without remembering that he abandoned me.
I walked onto campus after that summer, only to be devastated that he wasn’t there waiting for me. I searched for him for days, hoping it was just a delay in approvals for his transfer, but the admissions office said they showed no record of him in their system.
And the shittiest part is that I did try to contact him, but the texts and calls never went through. I’d been blocked, and after one semester rolled by, then another with no word from him, I decided whatever future we thought we would have together was a fairytale we’d spun to survive our mutual wounds.
“Look,” I grit, finally meeting those burning blues. “I don’t want this job, and full disclosure, I’m going to make an awful assistant. But I need it. Nothing more, nothing less. So if the past is going to be a problem for you, then, as you said, forget it.”
His expression flickers before settling on icy detachment. He pushes off the chair, standing with unrecognizable arrogance. “All right. You can have the position, but there will be requirements.”
Relieved to have him out of my space, I sit back. “Whatever it is, agreed.”
He steps around his desk and gathers a stack of papers before mechanically attaching it to the clipboard. “You don’t want to know what they are?”
“Declan said I’d be doing menial tasks, possibly speaking with clients.” I shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle. You know I’m a talker.”
Logan plucks a pen off his desk before handing it to me. It’s thin and small between his long fingers, and I chastise myself for even noticing. “There will be times you’ll have to present yourself as a seasoned professional.”
Not appreciating the pointed look he gives me, I snatch the clipboard from him. “In other words, be drab and boring like you.”
“Think of it like acting. Sometimes you have to wear a different face to get what you want. Learn your opponent, note their every weakness, and then, when the time is right, you exploit it.”
I purse my lips. “Sounds unethical.”
“That’s business, baby.”
I blink up at him, wondering if the boy I once knew is still buried in there somewhere. The one who was never satisfied unless there was a smile on my face. The one who followed me all over Augustine in search of adventure. That boy was my friend, and the thought that he might be lost for good makes my battered heart ache.
