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Julie opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she let the truth of Camille’s observation run over her.
Her boss was right.
The Dating, Love, and Sex department rarely tackled the messy bits. Sure, they talked about how to patch up squabbles, how to get the right leverage in reverse-cowgirl position, and whether men prefer women to wear lip gloss or lipstick. But they didn’t take on the hard stuff.
They didn’t touch the end of relationships. After being through one, Julie understood why.
“Writing about it might help you,” Camille said thoughtfully. “I understand it’s uncomfortably personal, but you could omit names, and of course keep the most sacred moments to yourself. But other women are out there hurting from breakups. Write this story for them.”
Julie opened her notebook without realizing it, and tapped her pen thoughtfully against her knee. “A breakup article. I could do that.”
Camille smiled sadly. “Yes, you can. I hate that you can.”
Julie closed the book without writing a single note. She needed to think.
Could she really do this?
Yes. She could, and she should. She wanted to tell the truth. And the truth about what had happened between her and Mitchell—the real truth—wasn’t about the facade under which it had started. It was about what happened after all that. About the slow, unnerving process of falling in love, and the ripping moments when that love was taken away.
Julie gave Camille a nod and a promise to have notes delivered by the end of the day tomorrow.
With each step back to her office, she felt her writer’s block begin to lift. Julie could write this story. She owed it to herself. She owed it to her readers.
And most of all, she owed it to Mitchell.
Chapter Nineteen
“Mr. Forbes, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a woman here to see you.”
Mitchell almost laughed into the phone. Once upon a time, a woman wanting to see him had been a good thing. But that was before his home had been invaded by a manipulative, social-climbing heartbreaker and an endless bevy of nosy journalists.
“Get rid of her, Christian,” Mitchell said to his building’s doorman. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
“But she says she knows you, sir.”
Mitchell pushed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets in exasperation. “I’m sure she said that. But so have a dozen other women who’ve been by here wanting an exclusive.”
Christian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think this one’s a reporter. She’s quieter, you know?”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow. Couldn’t be Julie. There was nothing quiet about her.
Curiosity got the best of him. “What’s her name?”
“Grace Brighton. Says you work with her ex-boyfriend?”
That had Mitchell pausing. Ex-boyfriend? Greg and Grace’s relationship predated cellphones. They were over?
And he noticed that Grace had failed to mention their other connection. Julie.
What the hell was she doing here? They’d only ever made a little small talk. And he highly doubted Julie had sent anyone to plead her case. It had been almost three weeks, and he hadn’t heard from her. Not a text, not an email, not a missed call.
They were over.
Exactly what he wanted.
And yet …
“Oh, what the hell. Send her up.”
