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Sure, at first, my insomnia was because of the way Cain left, but then I turned my sleepless nights into something productive.
I’m at my office cubicle, typing away at my computer, when Janet appears like the ray of darkness she is.
“Mr. Walker wants to see you,” she states flatly as she glares at me. My God, this woman can make bread stale.
I can only imagine this is about the article. I submitted it to him two days ago.
With a sigh, I stand from my chair and head over to his office.
“Take a seat, Layla,” he says, pointing at the empty chair. Once I’m sitting, I pull out my pen and pad, ready for him to tell me about what my next project will be. Instead, he smiles broadly at me. “They loved it. I loved it.”
“What? The article? And who’s they?” My mind is spinning; what is he talking about?
“The PR team at The Elysian. Of course, we would have run with the article regardless, but the whole team not only approved it but also gushed over your work. You have a bright future here, Ms. Marks. Now, with the project complete, I have to think of what you will work on next. Maybe I’ll send you to LA. There is a new development property there that could piggy-back nicely off Archer’s space. I was going to send Jon, but off the excitement of this project, it might be better if you go instead.”
My stomach drops. If he sends me away . . .
What does that mean for Cain and me?
Who are you kidding? The man hasn’t even called you. It’s time to get over this little obsession. It’s time to move on and figure out what you actually want to do with your life. For example, the article you are researching right now behind your boss’s back.
Maybe this is when I tell him I quit.
Say I hate it here, and I don’t want to write about concepts or spaces any longer.
No.
I can’t do that. Not until the article comes out.
I need to be able to use the success of the piece to leverage myself for a new job.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I give myself a shake and look up at him. “You’re pale. You look sick. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. Why don’t you go home? You deserve a break to recover from your successful writing adventure.”
I nod to him, but my words have dried up, my tongue heavy with emotion. I stand from the chair, the sound of the metal against the concrete floors grating against the silence of the room. “Thank you,” I mutter. “I’ll see you later.” Not waiting for him to respond, I head to my desk to grab my stuff.
Janet just glares at me as I walk past her desk with a slight nod and wave. Maybe Mr. Walker is right; home is a good place to be right now.
“Where are you going?” Mara asks, and I freeze, looking up from where I’m hunched under my desk, unplugging my laptop, to find Mara looking down at me from the cubicle divider.
“Home.”
Her eyebrow furrows. “Not feeling well? I noticed you looked off. I figured you were pulling all-nighters to finish the article, but you turned that in already. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just not myself.”
No. I’m the pathetic girl who let an unattainable, commitment phobic male make her feel less than worthy.
I’ve become a miserable, pathetic fool, and I recognize it’s not healthy.
The whole walk home, I think about what I need to do. I need to put this whole business with Cain behind me. It’s time to move on. Time to think of it as a fantastic one-night stand that lasted a bit longer than it should have.
It was a fling.
Yep. That’s exactly what it was.
I straighten my back and decide to no longer think about it.
Of course, that bitch, fate, has a way of laughing at what we choose for ourselves because no sooner than I step up to my apartment door do I notice a monstrous flower arrangement at my door.
Bending my knees, I grasp hold of it, and then I haul the giant arrangement into my apartment. Once settled, I walk over to where I placed the flowers on the kitchen table and pull the plastic down to look for a card.
I don't need to read it to know it’s from him.
The universe is mocking my decision to move on from my infatuation with Cain Archer with the largest, most stunning bouquet.
Who else would send me flowers? Especially after my boss mentioned how fabulous the article came out.
I should probably assume it’s from my magazine, but there is no way anything this beautiful would come from the place I work. Especially since the details and blooms are immaculate.
No. These are all Cain. And when I pull out the card, I see his words:
