Charmed by the Billionaire (Blue Collar Billionaires #2) - Lemmon, Jessica Page 0,78
life assistant coach, isn’t it my job to anticipate his needs?
Yes. Yes it is.
I practically leap out of my chair and then linger in my doorway. His voice rolls down the short corridor between our offices. I quickly conclude he’s not on a business call, but I can’t make myself return to my desk.
“Of course I’ll come. Was there ever a question I wouldn’t?” Definitely his tender voice. I know it well as he’s used it with me a lot. “You don’t have to apologize for what happened last year.” He pauses and then says, “I mean it, Trish. Don’t think another thing about it. We were who we were. And now we are who we are. Sometimes things happen to bring people together. Maybe this is one of them.”
My back hits the wall, and I have to fight not to sag down it and curl my arms around my knees. I was in his bed two days ago and now Trish is calling and he’s speaking to her with his tender voice about…getting back together? Why is he being so damn nice instead of telling her no?
There’s only one answer. Because he’s not telling her no.
I was the one who drew the line between us very clearly. He’s moving on. With Trish.
I’m trying not to hate her. And simultaneously trying not to cry. I should have known he couldn’t stay out of the dating pool for long. That’s not who he is. And wasn’t my speech at Club Nine about how I knew who he was, and I knew who I was, and the best thing to do was to end this in a timely manner?
But that was before he took me home and made love to me and let me sleep over. That was before I let myself forget my righteous speech about how we should split up.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” he says into the phone. “Seven o’clock. You too. Bye, Trish.”
Ugh. I’m going to throw up.
I hustle back to my desk and put my headphones on. I try to look casual as I type on my keyboard, sending gibberish to the screen.
He steps into my office and waves his hand in front of my laptop to get my attention. Pretending to be surprised, I pull off the headphones and smile up at him.
He looks the same as he does every day. Painfully attractive in trousers and a button-down. His hair is perfect, his full lips—I know from experience—taste exquisite. He also looks different. He looks like he’s no longer mine.
“I changed my mind about running.” He holds up his cell phone. “Weather app says thirty percent chance of rain. I say we risk it. Why not, right?”
I can think of a few reasons why not to take risks. One being my stupid heart. Another being my misguided sense of optimism. I’m not sure if I’m more sad or enraged. Running with my boss/best friend/former lover would be the best way to burn off the confusing swirl of emotions clogging my bloodstream.
Twenty minutes later, I realize I’m dead wrong about that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cris
Benji and I are running in a veritable deluge.
I pause under a tree and then question my safety as thunder rolls by overhead, low and ominous. We’re a few miles from the car, making this run an epically bad idea. Which seems to be the theme for my life lately.
“I guess a thirty percent chance is still a chance,” my best friend calls over another peal of thunder. Rain is splattering his face and hair. We’re soaked to the bone. I’m starting to get a chill from it. I didn’t pack a coat since the sun was shining when we left. I should have known this was coming, which also mirrors my circumstance with Benji.
“I see we’re the only morons here,” I grumble. The park is abandoned. I turn to march in the opposite direction. It’s going to be a long, wet walk but we don’t have a choice at this point. I bump his arm as I pass him. “Meet you at the car.”
“Hey, you all right?”
I shouldn’t say anything, but as soon as he asks I know I’m not going to be able to help myself. My body has chosen a side in the sadness/rage debate. Rage won. “No, Benji. I am not all right.”
“Aren’t you supposed to find meaning in this?” He gestures to the sky as he blinks water out of his eyes. “You are a life coach.”