Page 109 of I Choose You

“Hey.”

There. I’d left zero emotion in that word. I couldn’t afford to spend any more on her. I’d used it all up in my mind as I thought back again and again about how I’d missed the signals. She’d never been into me. She’d only wanted revenge.

Fuck, did it hurt to be used—or almost used.

“What’s up?” I cursed the catch in my voice.

“Todd wanted something signed.” She lowered her hand from behind her back and showed me a file with documents.

“Right. I suggested we try the e-documents going forward.” I’d noticed she hadn’t argued that when I’d emailed that to Todd and carbon copied her. I wouldn’t renege on the deal with Halden Inc. Wagner Industries would benefit from them. But it didn’t hurt to cut down on the reasons I had to see her in the office.

“But I guess that’s not happening today,” I said, gesturing for her to enter.

“Sorry about the inconvenience.” She stepped forward, holding out the file.

I shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

She pursed her lips and looked away.

It wasn’t one thing to sign, but a stack. Of all days for the wi-fi to be messed up.

It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest she sit and make herself comfortable, but I couldn’t risk it. Her sweet vanilla scent already hit me, and I didn’t want to subject myself to any more torture.

I flipped through the pages, penning my name on each indicated line.

What a waste of paper. Maybe that was why Todd insisted on using it—his company distributed it. Job security? Or resistance to technology?

The rambling thoughts didn’t distract me. I knew she was there, walking around my office as she waited. I appreciated the way she strolled away from my desk, perhaps sensing from my curt personality that I wasn’t in the mood for entertaining her.

But I was aware. I fought not to track her through the room, admiring her sexy ass in that tight-as-fuck skirt and the way the green blouse made her eyes pop.

When she lingered at the shelves of the built-in bookcase, I held my breath. My graduation picture was up there. Would that trigger her to think back to that year again?

She picked up a framed photo, and I glanced up, pausing my pen as I watched her peer at the image captured in time. My uncle had snapped it of me, Kody, and Dad. We’d gone fishing, and instead of bragging and competing about who’d caught the biggest one, it turned into razzing each other for catching the smallest.

“That was the first summer we went back there after my mom passed.”

She flinched, like she’d been caught red-handed. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she reached back to set it down again. “Looks like a pretty location.”

“It is, especially in the fall. Our summer cabin in Maine.”

She raised her brows. “That’s a cabin?”

“Not a rustic one,” I admitted. It was practically the same size as my house.

“Looks like you were having a fun time,” she said.

I drew in a deep breath. “It took all three of us a lot of effort to go back to her favorite place without her.”

She opened and closed her mouth, stammering. “I meant—it’s—you looked like you were enjoying each other’s company.”

I nodded and lowered my gaze back to the stack of papers. Only a few more. Thank fuck.

It wasn’t my intention to make her feel like she’d said something out of turn. That was the reason why my uncle had taken the picture. Because for a brief moment, we’d found a spot of lightness in the darkness of grief. After I considered what I shared, though, I wanted to kick myself. Why am I sharing anything personal with her? She clearly doesn’t care.

“You must miss her,” she said, still keeping a healthy distance from my desk.

“Every day.” I looked up a moment later, handing her the forms.