Page 490 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Obviously when he came home, he needed more time to process everything. To grieve the life he thought he was going to have.” James’s voice was soft and he went quiet for a few seconds. “Christopher told me that he wasn’t ready to come back to work, and I was fine with it. Clint was working with him closely—he actually stepped in and covered for Christopher a lot when he kept disappearing on us—so promoting Clint seemed like the natural step, even though in retrospect it was my worst business decision ever.”

I laughed softly.

“I wanted Christopher to have all the time he needed to feel whole and stable again, but I worry about his progress. If staying in was making him feel better, then that would be one thing, but I feel like shutting himself off is just leaving him without much of anything that brings him joy, you know?” James turned to look at me. “In a way, I’m grateful that you’re a meddling rule breaker.”

My mouth dropped open and he reached out to quickly squeeze my hand.

“I’m kidding. I think you being there, making him part of the business again, is good for him. Thank you.”

My face went hot. The brief grasp of his hand coupled with the compliment knocked me off my axis for a second.

“Well, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s toxic exes.” I huffed out a laugh to try to ignore the warmth simmering where he’d touched me.

“Oh?” James raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m listening.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to spill my messy past. I’d finally convinced James that I had my shit together…would talking about Dylan make me look like a loser?

But then again, he’d trusted me enough to tell me about Christopher. For whatever reason, the Mercedes sedan was a temporary safe space. A luxury confessional of sorts.

“It’s not as awful as what Christopher went through, but it was still pretty heart-wrenching to me. I fell in love with someone who made me question everything about myself. I went from this confident, can-do person to, well, to a shadow. I realized after the fact that my ex, Dylan, was a gaslighting narcissist, but in the moment, I just thought he was controlling because he loved me so much.” My voice went quiet. “It wasn’t like I had many role models when it came to healthy relationships.”

“Did he ever put his hands on you?” James growled, leaning towards me.

I shook my head. “No, thank God. But towards the end I really thought he might. So, I shut up and backed off, just wanting to maintain the status quo. Because I was terrified of losing him.” My voice shook at the memory. Not because I missed Dylan, but because the empty feeling of being on my own was always right there below the surface. I’d stayed with him for way longer than I should've back then, solely because the idea of being alone wrecked me.

“He dumped me,” I said. “Told me I was a loser and no one would ever want me. That I was damaged goods. And I believed him for the longest time.”

“Natalie…”

“You know what’s worse? He found someone else immediately. Like, it was so fast I bet he’d been cheating on me the whole time.” I sniffled. “But I feel bad for her, you know? Because she got pregnant, and now she’s trapped with him forever.”

James didn’t say anything for a minute. He stared out the window, and I felt stupid for sharing my story, because he obviously didn’t feel the need to talk about it.

He finally turned to me, his expression a mix of anger and compassion. “That man was an idiot. For the way he treated you, and for what he made you believe about yourself.”

I let out a harsh breath. “You know what’s weird? I still wonder if I’m to blame. Maybe there’s something broken in me, you know? Maybe I’m replaceable, and he sensed it. That’s probably why he was able to move on so quickly.”

James, to his credit, looked genuinely bewildered. “What are you talking about? That makes absolutely no sense, Natalie.”

I glanced out the window and saw that we still had a long way to go. No matter if I took the train or caught a ride with someone, the trip from Manhattan to my apartment always felt like it took an eternity, and the conversation during this drive was making it feel even longer. I stared out at the Brooklyn Bridge while I gathered my confidence to keep talking. Since we were in full confessional mode, I decided to open up even more.

“No, if you look at my history it sort of makes sense.” I swallowed the emotions welling at the base of my throat and forced myself to keep talking. “I’m a former foster kid. I don’t even remember my parents—they died when I was a baby. My childhood was spent packing up all of my belongings in a Hefty bag and moving from house to house. I didn’t even have a proper suitcase. It made me feel worthless, like I was trash.”

James made a pained noise and reached out to take my hand again. I forced myself not to thread my fingers through his. He was offering me comfort, not intimacy.

“No one ever wanted me to stay.” My voice was a whisper as I admitted my deepest, darkest secret to him. “All those foster homes, and there was only one person who I ever got close to—my foster sister Steph. We’re still best friends and roommates, and I love her more than anything…but it does something to you, growing up knowing that there’s no adult you can turn to. I was a confused, scared, unhappy kid just looking for someone to love her, but I kept getting tossed out the door, over and over. To this day it makes me wonder if I’m not…” I struggled to say it. “Not loveable.”

I cleared my throat to keep from succumbing to the tears welling in my eyes.

“Natalie.” James squeezed my hand. “Look at me.”

I didn’t want him to see the raw emotion I knew was written all over my face. I was embarrassed that I’d confided in him, because the man was my boss. There was no reason for him to get mixed up in my mess. I stared at my lap.

“Look at me,” he said a little more forcefully.

I finally composed myself enough to raise my eyes to meet his, and his expression was so tender that I almost didn’t recognize him.

“Unfortunately, you’ve spent your life mostly surrounded by people who didn’t appreciate your special magic. But that’s on them, not you. I hate that you were hurt so badly, and so many times. But the way they treated you shouldn’t define the way you feel about yourself. I know there’s a part of you that’s still hurting, but I also know that you’re willing to fight for yourself. You’re a warrior. You lead with your fists. I know firsthand what you can do with a mop.”