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If I find the evidence I need, Jack and Ryan will forgive my unorthodox methods. And if I don’t, neither of them needs to know I went looking. But I have to look, not simply to finish what I started, but to protect the company and the men I love.
I do love them. Both. So much.
And I get to keep loving one of them.
Ryan will eventually forgive me. Blood is thicker than disappointment or anger. We’ll make up and move on, and someday—aside from the aching chasm in my chest where Jack used to live—it will be like this never happened.
The thought should be at least a little comforting.
But it isn’t. Not at all.
CHAPTER 21
Jack
Day 28 Tue 8/28
One week later…
Who knew a mustache could bring so much heartache?
Last month, if someone had told me I’d be bailing on my morning meeting to sit at my desk alone, obsessively petting a three-inch strip of fake man-fuzz and damn near crying into my coffee, I probably would’ve decked the guy.
And yet, here I sit.
I stole the ’stache—the original prototype she wore on her interview—from Ellie’s place the last time I was there. I’d planned to use it for some over-the-top prank to make her laugh. Now it’s just a sad, fuzzy reminder of what we used to have. Of all the things I let slip through my fingers.
This week has been a banner one for Seyfried & Holt. Ryan and Rictor locked in Ian Fox, his teammate Justin Cruise, and two more of their very wealthy Portland Badgers teammates. I have Walker Dunn scouting potential clients on the Buffalo Tempest. Revenues are up, the market is hot, our clients are happier than they’ve ever been, and Blair is on vacation.
She’s sticking to her story, backpedaling slightly to account for Ellie’s big gender reveal—now she’s claiming Ellie must’ve used some kind of fake rubber cock to intimidate her.
Rubber cock.
Seriously. It was all I could do not to tell her about Ellie’s tube sock.
Despite her bullshit story, Blair got legal to back off, and now she’s out of my hair for a few weeks, tucked away on a tropical island sipping daiquiris while I read through employment law books and figure out a way to legally drop her ass.
Despite Blair’s nonsense and the dip in morale after Ellie’s undercover role came to light, it wasn’t long before the team was back in good spirits, thanks in part to the changes we’ve started implementing—work-from-home options, flexible schedules, clearer HR policies, better on-the-job training, and more pathways for advancement. The staff are thrilled with the new benefits, and Ryan and I will end up with a healthier, more productive workforce. Everyone wins.
If Ellie showed up today to write her original article—the “Not your mother’s Wall Street” one—Seyfried & Holt would pass with flying colors.
Irony, sweet irony.
Someday, I might look back on this and laugh my balls off.
But today is not that day.
Today, and yesterday, and every damn day since I last saw Ellie has brought me nothing but pain. It’s like someone tossed me out the fifty-eighth-floor window then found me on the pavement and stomped on my chest, just in case my heart was still intact.
Newsflash: it isn’t.
But Ellie made it clear she doesn’t want anything to do with me.
So here I sit, a lonely, office-dwelling, mustache-petting weirdo, wondering if I’ll ever taste that woman’s sweet kiss again. If I’ll ever get rid of the aching black hole in my heart, punched through in the perfect, unforgettable shape of Eleanor Seyfried.
CHAPTER 22
Ellie
