Heartbreaker - Julie Kriss Page 0,52

when the bathroom door opened and I heard footsteps. I tried to swallow my sobs but they still came out, echoing loudly in the empty room.

The footsteps paused, then came toward my cubicle. I looked down in horror and saw a man’s shoes. Expensive, perfectly shined men’s shoes.

A man’s throat cleared, and the cubicle door swung open. I stood face to face with Graham Morgan.

I stared at him in horror. He stared back, just as horrified as I was, though it was harder to read on his handsome face.

“Office Supply Person,” he said.

“What are you doing in here?” My voice came out high-pitched, panicked.

He looked around, his brow furrowed. “I think that would be obvious, since this is a men’s room.”

A men’s room? I peered past him and saw—oh, God, urinals. In my haze I had ducked into a freaking men’s room to cry.

And now the CEO of the company had caught me here, right before he did his business at the urinal. My humiliation was complete.

I tried to apologize, but all I managed was a strangled, sad sound.

Mr. Morgan leaned against the cubicle doorway. “What’s the problem?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“You know what? I think I do. But I’d rather not discuss it over a toilet. Come into my office.”

“Mr. Morgan—”

“Do it.” The arrogant asshole was back.

Obediently, I followed him out of the men’s room and around the corner to his office. “I’m not to be disturbed,” he said to his secretary—not Eliza, because she’d quit—as he closed the door.

It was a nice office. Of course it was. Big and intimidating and gorgeous, with a desk covered in very important papers. I caught a glimpse of a stack of newspapers on a credenza, the top one opened to an Ask Ida column. Soraya’s column.

I sank into a chair and squeezed my hands between my knees. “Do you have a Kleenex?” I asked Mr. Morgan.

No, he didn’t. He had a freaking handkerchief in the inside breast pocket of his suit, and he withdrew it and handed it to me. “Keep it,” he said. Then he dropped into his office chair and steepled his fingers like we were having a high-level meeting. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I mopped at the mascara running beneath my eyes. “Honestly, Mr. Morgan, it’s so stupid. It’s just my silly love life.”

“Call me Graham,” he said, shocking me so much that I nearly fell out of my chair. He didn’t seem to notice. “And I understand drama. Maybe you’ve heard the rumors. I found out that I have a four-year-old daughter I didn’t know about. Soraya tried to break it off with me. Whatever you have to say, nothing will surprise me, believe me.”

I sniffled. This was crazy, but I needed someone to talk to, and for some reason Mr. Morgan—Graham—was offering. So I started talking.

I told him about prom night. I told him about meeting Holden again and forgiving him, and how I felt about him. I told him about the trip to see my parents. I even told him about Caleb and the watch that Holden wouldn’t let me give back. Then I told him about Helen and the photo on her desktop.

He listened, his fingers still steepled, his handsome and intense gaze fixed on me as I talked. He didn’t interrupt or scoff. He grunted a little when I told him about the photo, but that was all.

When I was finished, there was a minute of quiet. I twisted his nice, expensive handkerchief in my fingers. “Well?” I finally said.

His brows drew together and he didn’t say anything.

“Mr. Morgan—Graham—”

“You’re fucking terrified,” he said.

I froze.

“That’s what this is,” he continued. He gestured at me, at the wreck I was. “This breakdown. This complete freak-out over the photograph. The fact that you didn’t even want to admit you were dating him. You didn’t want to call him your boyfriend. Your problem isn’t this Holden guy or anything he’s done. Your problem is fear.”

I gaped at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve felt it. That fear when you’re falling for someone, when you know that they could hurt you if they chose to. Hell, even if they’re careless for one minute, say one wrong word, they can hurt you. I felt that every minute I spent with Soraya at first. And do you know why?” He lowered his hands and leaned forward, toward me. “You feel fear because the entire experience is completely fucking terrifying, that’s why.”

He was right. I could feel it now, the