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‘For my job.’
A second passes while we both absorb the reality of that.
‘She’s excellent. Highly qualified. You’ll like her.’
His face drains of all colour. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Obviously I can’t continue to work for you,’ I say with quiet determination, zipping my laptop case. My fingers are shaking, making a mockery of my calm delivery.
‘Stop. That’s bullshit, Gemma. Utter nonsense.’
‘That you think so underscores why I need to leave.’
Fuck it. Tears are rolling down my cheeks now but I don’t bother to check them. What does it matter?
I stuff the laptop into my handbag with relief.
‘You’ve worked for me for two years. You can’t just...because we...you can’t quit this job. You can’t quit on me.’
Quit on him? The nerve! He’s the one who’s quitting. I bite my tongue. More tears are stinging my throat and I don’t want to indulge them.
‘I can’t work for you, Jack. Not for another minute.’
He’s truly aghast. ‘Why the fuck not? We’re a team, aren’t we?’
‘Yeah. In bed. In the boardroom. But not in real life. No, thanks.’
He waves the résumé in the air. ‘I don’t want this...Carrie Whoever.’
‘You’ll need someone, and she’s got what it takes to put up with you. She’s got killer legs and a great rack. You’ll probably get her into bed in a week or so.’
Jealousy rings in the statement. I don’t care about that either.
‘Christ, Gemma.’ He drags a ha
nd through his hair and it spikes in a way that makes my stomach roll. ‘Don’t do that. You’re making it seem like that’s all we were...’
‘No. That’s what you did,’ I say angrily. ‘You just said it. We’re lovers. We work together.’
He tilts his head back, a growl escaping his lips. ‘At least stay for the week. Let’s just let the dust settle on all this...’
‘I can’t.’
I’m emphatic; my life depends on his acceptance of this.
‘Why not? It’s just a week. Seven days.’
‘It’s so much more than that. It’s all of me. It’s my heart. Don’t you get it? This might have been just convenient sex for you, but to me... It’s everything. I’ve fallen in love with you, Jack. I love you completely.’
I wait. And a part of me waits in hope. In the desperate, unfounded hope that he will say it back. That he feels it, too.
But he says nothing. He stares at me, and I stare at him, and finally—well beyond the time I should have given him—I lift my bag onto my shoulder and walk out of my office. I keep my head bent and I don’t even acknowledge Hughes when I pass.
I’m so fucking done.
Chapter Thirteen
We need to talk.
