“No.” I shake my head softly. “Falling in love with you is what isn’t fair. I never stood a chance . . . you knew that all along. You keep your heart in a tightly sealed Miles-High icebox, only to be looked at.”
His face falls, and I turn and walk from his office. I close the door quietly on my way out, and I stare at it for a moment as I gather the gumption to walk out of his office for the last time. In a strange kind of irony, this has been the best and worst time of my life.
Goodbye, Mr. Miles.
I will always miss you.
Jameson
With a tight chest, I watch Emily leave the office. The door clicks closed, and the walls begin to close in around me.
On autopilot, I pour myself a scotch and walk to the window. I stare out over New York as I fight an overwhelming sense of sadness.
She’s gone.
Knock, knock. Tristan appears and smiles broadly as he sees my drink. “We celebrating already?”
“Seems that way.”
He looks around. “Where’s Emily?”
“She left.” I sip my scotch and feel the warmth of the amber fluid. I stare at it in the glass. “She resigned. Effective immediately.”
“What?” His face falls. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s for the best.”
“What the fuck? How is it for the best?”
“We were never going to work, Tris; you knew that.” I pause. “There’s always going to be an asshole like Ferrara prepared to step on her to bring me down. I don’t want her dragged through the mud any further.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” he huffs.
I stare out the window.
“I don’t fucking get you, man; you’re madly in love with her. Why are you really letting her go?”
I pause as I contemplate his question. “She deserves better than the life I can give her.”
“Fuck off,” he scoffs. “She couldn’t get a better life than the one you could give her. She would never want for anything.”
“It’s not the money she wants,” I mutter dryly.
“What does she want?”
“Things . . .” I frown as I try to articulate my thoughts. “Things . . . I’m incapable of giving her.”
“Like what?”
“Time.”
He stares at me, lost. “But you committed to Claudia no problem.”
I raise my eyebrows as I sip my scotch.
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t care if Claudia was waiting at home for me. I didn’t care how much time I spent away from her. I could travel, work, focus . . . I was content to put her fourth or fifth in line, and she never expected anything different.” I exhale heavily. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. “Claudia was easy.”
“Because you didn’t really love her?”
I shrug, unable to put a label on my feelings.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re more than a CEO, Jameson. You deserve to be happy too. Why do you think it has to be one or the other?”
I frown, pained.
“Don’t let the love of your life walk away because you’re scared that you’re going to lose her.”
“It’s inevitable, Tristan . . . eventually,shewill leave. Her hand will be forced.”
“And then what will you be?” he snaps. “A lonely, stressed-out, alcoholic CEO?”
My eyes rise to meet his.
“Oh, wait.” He gestures to my drink. “That’s already happening.” He shakes his head in disgust. “When I find my woman, I’ll move heaven and hell to keep her.”
“Get out.” I sigh. “You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about.”
“Actually, I’m kind of glad I’m getting to watch you fuck up your life,” he calls as he walks toward the door. “Now I know whatnotto do.”
I sip my scotch as the door slams hard behind him.
My buzzer on my desk sounds, and I push the button. “Yes, Sammia.”
“The detectives are here to see you, sir.”
I drain my glass . . . good, a distraction. “Thank you, send them in.”
Emily
“A toast.” Molly smiles as she holds her glass up.
Aaron and I hold our glasses up to touch hers.
“To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” we all repeat.
“You’re going to be great.” Aaron smiles. “You watch—you’ll be taking over the news floor within no time.”
We’re out to dinner in a bar and celebrating. I start my new job tomorrow. It’s been a week since I left Miles Media.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
I was going to go home and see my parents, but I just didn’t have the mental energy. I stayed home for some self-love instead. I needed time alone to lick my wounds and heal. I had a few massages, got some Reiki done to calm my heartache, ate healthy, and went for two runs a day to exhaust myself so that my body had no choice but to sleep at night.
I’m okay . . . empty, but doing okay.
I’ve stopped reading the paper so that I don’t have to see his name. On my runs, I go the other way so I don’t have to see the Miles Media building or restaurants or anything that would remind me of him or our time together.
Him . . .
I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
He’s been put into the vault, and nobody dares mentioning him to me. It’s like he never existed . . . and maybe he never did.
“What are you wearing tomorrow?” Molly asks as she cuts into her steak.
“I thought my navy suit.” I chew my food. “I want to look professional and smart.”
“No gray skirt?” Aaron smirks.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “I threw that fucker out.”
“What?” Molly shrieks. “I loved that skirt! I would have had it.”
“That was a troublemaking skirt,” I reply. “Trust me; you don’t want that kind of negativity in your life.”
“Here, here.” Aaron lifts his glass, and we clink again.
“Michael asked me out on a date on Saturday night,” Molly says casually.
My knife and fork hit the plate with a clang as my eyes rise to meet hers. “What?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know what to make of it, really.”
“Did he ask you out for a casual dinner? Are you sure it’s a date?” Aaron frowns.
“No, his exact words were, ‘Would you like to come out on a date on Saturday night?’”
I smile. “Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “So much water has passed under the bridge between us. We’ve just got to a place of trust and friendship again. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“By fucking him?” Aaron smirks as he bites into his food.
“Well, if I did fuck him, and he didn’t use double Viagra on me, I would be mortally offended. I know what tricks he has in his toolbox now.”
We all giggle.
“God, that night was funny,” I add, remembering him passing out from all the blood in his dick.
Molly rolls her eyes. “For you, maybe.”
We fall silent as we eat.
“Good luck for tomorrow, babe,” Aaron says.
“Thanks, guys.” I smile. “You are the best two things about New York.”
“God, you’re so right,” Molly mutters into her glass. “And these margaritas.” She raises her glass to show me. “So should I go out with Mike?”
“Yes,” Aaron and I gasp. “Go.”
“Emily.” Athena smiles as she wraps her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you. Welcome.”
“Hi.” I smile nervously.
“You’re going to love it here.” She pulls me through the office by the hand. “Here is your office.”
I smile, surprised. “I get my own office?”
“Of course you do.”
I look around the little office. It’s definitely no management top floor, but it suits me just fine. There’s a window and a desk and a chair in the corner. It’s kind of homey. I turn to her. “Thank you for taking me on. I am so grateful.”
Athena smiles and rubs my arm. When I called her asking for a job, she never once asked what happened with Miles Media or my relationship with Jameson. But I know that she knows that I’m probably broken with nowhere else to go, and running home with my tail between my legs isn’t an option.
She’s right.
I’m going to make it up to her; I’m going to be the best damn reporter that she has ever had.
“I’ll leave you to it.” She smiles. “Staff meeting at ten to introduce you to everyone. We have welcome doughnuts.”
I smile. “Thanks, that would be great.”
She disappears down the corridor, and I take a seat at my new desk and look around the lonely space.
I miss Molly and Aaron . . . and the buzz of Miles Media.
Jameson
“With this projection here, the forecast is a growth of ten percent over the next eighteen months.” Harrison from finance taps the graph on the projector whiteboard as he addresses the board meeting.
The table is alive with chatter and enthusiasm. The comeback strategy from the drama over the last four months is alive and well.
Me . . . I’m miles away.
I can’t concentrate . . . I can’t think . . . I feel like I can’t breathe.
Maybe I’m not okay.
Emily started her new job today, and I wanted to call her and wish her luck.
I couldn’t sleep thinking about it and even picked up the phone a few times. I drop my head.
But what’s the point . . .
I wonder if she ran this morning. Did she wear her runners that she said have motors on them? I smile softly to myself as I remember Elliot thinking I was talking about Zuckerberg having the motorized runners.
Idiot . . .
I twist in my chair to stretch my back. I need a massage.
Emily doesn’t like me getting massages. I think back to the kind of massages I used to get, and it seems like another lifetime ago.
BE—Before Emily . . . stop it.
“Jameson will be addressing that in the morning.”
I look up, lost. What are they talking about?
The board members around the table all stare at me as they wait for my reply. My eyes flick to Tristan for guidance.
“When you fly to Seattle tonight.” He raises his eyebrows as a gentle reminder.
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s right.”
Tristan is limping me through work at the moment, well aware of my state of mind.
The meeting continues, and I sip my water to try and bring my mind back to where it needs to be. This isn’t good enough, Jameson.
Focus.
I walk onto the plane.
“Good evening, Mr. Miles. Your seat is here, sir. 1A.”
“Thank you.” I fall into the seat in the front row of first class.
The plane slowly boards, and I stare out the window. Flying never used to bother me. I hate it now.
I hate that it reminds me of her . . . of how we met. Of the night we had together.
Of how badly things turned out in the end.
With my elbow leaning on the armrest, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I just want to get there and go to my hotel and sleep. I’m tired and not in the mood for this shit.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Miles?”
“Scotch, please.”
An elderly man takes the seat next to me. He nods. “Hello.”
“Hi.” I smile. I turn my attention out the window to the baggage crew down on the tarmac, all doing their job and rushing around doing the safety checks.
They’re driving on carts, flashing lights, and waving flags.
I wouldn’t even care if the plane fucking crashed.
Burning in hell would be better than this.
Four days later
I smile at Alan as he stands next to the limo at the airport. “Hello, sir. Did you have a nice trip?”
“It was fine; thank you.” I smile as I get into the back seat.
“Would you like to do the normal route, sir?” he asks through the door.
“Yes, please.”
He smiles. “Very well.” He shuts the door, and moments later, the car pulls out into the traffic.
Half an hour later, he slows down as we drive past Emily’s apartment, and I peer through the window.
Is she there?
We do this every night on the way home—my own stupid way of saying good night to her . . . if I don’t, I end up running back here later.
Who am I kidding? I run back here most nights anyway. I hold my breath as we drive past, hoping to catch a glimpse of her . . . I’ve never seen her once.
My heart drops; she’s not here.
I look back through the back window as we disappear down the street.
Emily . . . where are you?
Emily
I sit on the bus on my way home from work and read my Kindle. It’s dark and just around six o’clock in the evening. I’m happier . . . stronger. I’ve been at my new job for three weeks, and I love it. I did the right thing. People are all really lovely, and thankfully, I’m not the office gossip anymore, and I have a more integral role than I did at Miles Media. I still see Molly and Aaron all the time for drinks and dinner, and I’ve planned to go home for the weekend.
I’m running a lot . . . funnily enough I don’t need to pretend a man with an ax is chasing me. I’m so angry that I can’t help but sprint.
Gleeful jogging is no longer in my repertoire. The bus slows. I close my Kindle and stand as I wait for the bus to stop. I climb down the steps and begin to walk the two blocks to my apartment. The season is getting colder. Fog puffs as I breathe, and I wrap my large coat around me for warmth as I stride it out.
I might have Indian for dinner. No . . . stick to your budget; there are leftovers in the fridge from last night. I approach my building and fumble around in my bag for my keys.
“Hello, Em,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn, startled. Jameson stands before me, and the sight of him tightens my chest. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes search mine. “I had to see you.”
The sight of him brings an unexpected wave of emotion that I previously thought I had under control. I stare at him through tears.
He carefully steps forward. “How are you?”
Suddenly, I’m furious . . . like a raging bull, and I drop my head and fumble through my bag. I need to get away from him. Where are my fucking keys? “Fine,” I snap. I find my keys and turn toward the door.
“I miss you.”
I stop and close my eyes.
“I can’t . . .” He pauses. “I can’t move on until I know we’re okay.”
I frown and turn back toward him.
His face is pained, and he appears nervous.
Our eyes are locked, mine filled with tears . . . his with regret. He turns back and looks at his car, which I didn’t notice parked in the dark. “I brought you something.”
He nearly runs to the car and then retrieves a huge bouquet of yellow roses and walks back and passes them to me.
I stare at him in confusion. “Yellow roses?”
He smiles softly. “Yellow roses are supposed to symbolize friendship.”
“You want to be my friend?”
He nods hopefully. “We can start fresh?”
Something snaps deep inside of me. “You’ve got a fucking nerve,” I sneer.
His face falls.
“You waltz back here after breaking my fucking heart and give me yellow fucking roses!” I scream.
He steps back, shocked by my venom.
“I wouldn’t be friends with a selfish prick like you if you were the last fucking person on earth!” I yell as the angry tears run down my face. I completely lose control and start ripping the roses to shreds, and I break the heads and smash them up and then throw them on the ground and jump and stomp on them. I want to hurt these stupid roses like he’s hurt me.
His haunted eyes watch on.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, and still unsatisfied with the state of the roses, I pick them up and walk out to the road and throw them as hard as I can out onto the asphalt. A passing bus runs them over.
“That’s what you can do with your friendship,” I sneer as I stomp past him.
I open the door and walk into the building without looking back. I hit the elevator button with force, and I can see him standing at the glass door, watching me, in my peripheral vision. Tears are streaming down my face, and I’m furious that I let him see how crazy I am.
How crazy he’s made me.
The elevator doors open, and I march in and hit the door button.
The doors close, and I screw up my face in tears and sob out loud.
Damn you, Jameson Miles . . .
Chapter 24
There are moments in your life that you know you will remember forever.
Certain situations that are poignant and have shaped who you are.
Last night was one of them.
What kind of psycho rips roses to shreds with her bare hands while screaming like a lunatic? Shame runs through me.
This . . . is the level I’ve stooped to.
Strangely enough, last night was the first time I’ve slept well in weeks. As if releasing a little of the steam in the pressure cooker has somehow calmed my soul.
I don’t feel guilty for being so mean . . . normally, I would. But Jameson Miles is an enigma all of his own . . . one that I can no longer pity.
“I wouldn’t be friends with a selfish prick like you if you were the last person left on earth,”I said . . . screamed actually. It was a mean thing to say—the worst—but he got what he fucking deserved. The doors of the elevator in my building open, and I step out into the foyer and walk out into the street.
“What the hell happened here?” I hear the woman in front of me mutter under her breath as she stops and looks around at the carnage.
There are yellow rose petals strewn everywhere; flower buds that are squashed and bruised lie on the concrete. Out on the road the carcass of the flattened bouquet with the big cream satin bow lies.
Jesus . . .
I drop my head and stomp past the crazy. I glance up at the ceiling to see where the cameras are. I wonder if anyone saw it on the security footage.
I hope not . . . how embarrassing.
I get on my bus and open my Kindle. I’m not reading my usual rom-com genre. I can’t stand the thought of all that love bullshit. I’m mixing it up and reading Pet Sematary—maybe that’s it. Maybe Steven King is taking me to the dark side. The side where you don’t take shit, and payback on yellow roses is due.
Good for him . . . bring it the fuck on. I swipe to the next page.
Every dog has its day.
Jameson
I sip my coffee as I sit in the café across the street from Miles Media. I’ve been coming here the last few days before work. Alan told me that Emily used to come here with her friends. I’m hoping to run into one of them.
Why? I don’t know.
Emily’s words from last night are playing over and over in my mind.
I wouldn’t be friends with a selfish prick like you if you were the last person on earth . . .I wouldn’t want to be friends with me either if I were her.
I’ve never seen her so angry . . . or thin. She’s lost a lot of weight. I hate that I’ve put her through this shit.
I sip my coffee, and I feel a hand rest on my shoulder.
“Hey,” Tristan says as he sits down beside me on a stool.
“Hi.”
“Looking for Emily?” he says casually.
“Nope.”
“Liar,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “Hey, the boys and I have organized a trip to Vegas for us this weekend. The jet’s all lined up.”
I screw up my face. I could think of nothing worse.
“It’ll be great. Drinking, gambling. Join some beautiful women to the Miles-High Club. You need to snap out of this and get back on the horse. I’m thinking a blonde or two . . . forget about the brunettes for a while, and besides, we need to celebrate your innocence. Elliot and Christopher fly in on Friday.” He winks as he tries to sweeten the deal.
“Yeah, that sounds completely shit,” I mutter dryly.
“I don’t care what you say. You’re coming.”
I stare straight ahead. I’ve lost the ability to get excited about anything lately.
He falls serious. “I’m worried about you, Jay.”
I roll my eyes.
“We all are. You’re acting completely out of character.”
“I’m fine,” I murmur into my coffee. I look around once more, remembering why I’m here.
“Why don’t you just go to her house if you want to see her?” he says.
“I tried that last night.”
“How did it go?”
I puff air into my cheeks. “She went postal and . . .” I pause as I try to explain the situation. “I took her yellow roses, and she smashed the fuck out of them like a madman.”
“Yeah?” He smirks and then smiles broadly as if impressed. “Why would you take her yellow roses and not red ones?”
“I thought . . .” I exhale heavily. “I thought yellow was safe, signifying friendship so that she would talk to me. I just wanted to talk to her.”
“You didn’t tell her that, though, did you?”
“Yeah.”
He gives a subtle shake of the head as if I’m stupid. “How did that go down?”
“That’s about the time she turned into the Hulk.”
“I don’t blame her, to be honest.”
My eyes flick to him in question.
“You well and truly fucked her over.”
“I did not fuck her over,” I spit. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“Listen, you can lie to yourself all you want to. But don’t bother lying to me. You’re a bad liar . . . the worst.”
“Fuck off, man; it’s too early for this shit.” I sigh.
“Tristan,” the girl behind the counter calls. He stands and gets his coffee and slaps me on the back. “You staying here, being a miserable prick?”
“Fuck off,” I grunt. He smiles and leaves without another word.
I exhale heavily and stare back down at my coffee. I get a vision of the hurt on Emily’s face last night, and my chest constricts. I keep going over and over it in my mind, and I just want to know that she’s all right. Maybe then I can forgive myself and stop thinking about her every minute of every day. I take out my phone. I’ll call her.
No, she will only hang up. I’ll text . . . what will I write?
Good morning.
Murder any roses today?
I hit send and wait. I drink my coffee and stare at my phone as I wait for her to reply . . . she doesn’t.
Twenty minutes later, I text her again.
Please talk to me.