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His heart squeezed as though it were in a vice.
“Do you have a second?”
A lengthy pause. He heard her hurt there, too, even when she said nothing.
“Do you need me?”
I don’t need anyone, and no one with half a brain would let themselves need me.
“Just for a moment.”
“Fine. I’ll – see you soon.”
He paced until she knocked on his door a few moments later.
“Bronte, come in.”
She was wearing pale pink, just like at the wedding. He ignored his body’s immediate response.
“How was your evening?”
Don’t apologise. Don’t give her any false hopes. Cut to the chase.
“I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”
Her hands fidgeted at her sides; she was otherwise still. “Go on.”
He had to get this over with. It was for the best. The only way to stop her from being hurt by him – this – was to be brutally honest. Even more honest than was necessary.
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
Her skin paled and she swayed a little before righting herself, nodding once. “I see.”
She didn’t see. He hadn’t been clear enough.
“You want things I cannot give you.”
It was more than he’d intended to tell her.
Her eyes flew wide. “What do I want from you?”
“I can only guess at that,” he admitted, moving closer to her, but stopping when he saw her flinch and withdraw. He jabbed his hands into his pockets. “My guess is that you’ve tricked yourself into thinking I could be someone important to you. My guess is that you think there’s something going on between us besides sex.”
Her trembling lower lip confirmed his suspicions. Hell, he didn’t need her to confirm his suspicions. Obviously this wasn’t just about sex. If it had been purely sex, he’d have simply replaced her, not pined after her and ached for her for days straight. But telling her it was a purely physical thing was safest. It would help her get over him quicker.
“There’s not.” The words actually hurt him to say. They were pointy in his mouth, like sharp-edged stones.
“I see.” She pressed her lips together, her fingers fidgeting some more.
“Yesterday was – a perfect goodbye, cara.”
“Goodbye,” she repeated, and he had the horrible feeling she might be about to cry.
“I like you,” he continued, with the sense he was digging a huge grave, one from which he’d never escape. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, in the future, when we’re working together again.”
She opened her mouth and he waited, a pain in his chest as he hoped she could say something that would make this seem better.
She didn’t. She simply stared at him, accusation in her eyes, so he felt like the worst sonofabitch in the world.
