Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke to my phone ringing.

It was Jeanette Finch, my department director.

"Celia, you're back in Ashford? Why didn't you say anything?"

My throat was dry. "Yeah, got in yesterday."

"Perfect timing. We just landed a big project, and the client asked for you by name."

"Their lead is a man named Brent Delgado. He's got a reputation in the industry for being hard to work with, and he specifically wants to meet you. Two o'clock this afternoon. Get ready."

I rubbed at my aching temple.

"Okay."

After I hung up, I noticed the dozens of missed calls and hundreds of unread messages on my phone.

Some were friends, shocked and worried. Others were from Myron and Rosemary's mutual friends, demanding answers.

【Celia, that was cold. You won't be happy until you've driven Rosemary to her grave?】

【Whatever the problem was, couldn't you handle it privately? Did you have to blow it up so everyone knows?】

I read through the messages with no expression, and answered none of them.

Cold?

When they were cheating in my own bed, why didn't they call themselves cold?

I pulled myself together, changed into a work suit, and put on makeup to cover how worn out my face looked.

At two on the dot, I walked into the agreed café.

He was already there.

A man in a dark gray suit, his back to me, tall and straight.

He turned his head, and I froze.

Brent Delgado.

It was actually him.

Three years ago, back when I was still at another company, he'd been my client.

I was new then, and a data error nearly sank an entire project.

He stayed up all night helping me check the numbers, and that was what saved us from the loss.

Later he took a job overseas, and we lost touch.

"Celia?"

He looked just as surprised to see me, then gave a warm little smile.

"Long time no see."

"Long time no see, Mr. Delgado."

I pushed down whatever was stirring inside me and handed over the proposal, all business.

He didn't open it right away. Instead he ordered me a hot cocoa.

"You don't look well."

"Thank you." I didn't refuse.

The warm liquid slid down my throat and chased off some of the chill.

The meeting went smoothly. Brent was demanding, but his thinking was sharp, and every question he raised hit the mark.

By the time we finished, it was nearly evening.

"Let me drive you home," he said, closing his laptop.

"That's all right, I have my car—"

Before I could finish, a shrill voice cut me off.

"Celia!"

Myron came out of nowhere, standing a short distance away with his eyes red.

He crossed the space in a few strides and grabbed my wrist.

"Why won't you answer my calls? Why won't you reply to my messages?"

"What was the point of putting all that in the group chat?"

His grip was strong, crushing my wrist until it hurt.

I tried hard to shake him off, but it was no use.

"Let go."

"I won't! You're coming back with me to talk this through!"

Like a beast that had lost control, he started dragging me off.

Brent stood, laid his hand over Myron's, and spoke calmly, with a force that left no room for argument.

"Sir, please let go of her."

Only then did Myron notice Brent beside us. He looked him up and down, his eyes full of hostility and appraisal.

"Who are you? What's between us is none of your business!"

"I'm her friend."

Brent's hand tightened slightly, and Myron winced and was forced to release me.

I stepped straight behind Brent, rubbing my reddened wrist.

Myron's gaze swept back and forth between us before landing on me, thick with sarcasm.

"Celia, I really underestimated you."

"Found your next man already? No wonder you were so full of nerve!"

"I kept wondering why you suddenly went off on a four-month business trip. Turns out you'd hooked up with someone all along!"

His words got uglier and uglier.

I was shaking with anger.

"Myron, shut up!"

"Shut up? You can dish it out but you can't own it?"

He jabbed a finger at Brent. "Is he richer than me? Better to you than me?"

"You paid off the mortgage for him, you learned to make soup for him. What have you ever done for me?"

The last line he practically roared.

Everyone around us turned to look, whispering and pointing.

My face burned, as if someone had stripped me naked in public.

I had never felt so humiliated.

Brent stepped in front of me, blocking Myron's line of sight.

He looked at Myron, his voice going cold.

"Sir, if you harass Ms. Pruitt again, I'll call the police."

Myron looked like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Call the police? Go ahead! I'm her fiancé, we're just having a little spat!"

"Ex-fiancé."

I stepped out from behind Brent and corrected him coldly.

"Myron, we're over."

"The money. I'll give you one week. If I don't have it in a week, you'll get a letter from my lawyer."

With that, I stopped looking at him and said to Brent, "Let's go, Mr. Delgado."

Brent nodded and walked me out, keeping himself between me and Myron.

Behind me, Myron screamed, "Celia! Don't think you can shake me off! Seven years together doesn't just end because you say so!"

Seven years.

The number was like a dull blade, sawing back and forth across my chest.

My step faltered, but I didn't look back.

Only once I was in Brent's car did I finally let myself go slack.

It was quiet inside, nothing but the sound of steady breathing.

Brent didn't ask a single question. He just drove.

As we neared the entrance to my complex, I spoke. "Thank you, for today."

"And sorry you had to see all that."

He turned to look at me, his eyes gentle.

"It wasn't a joke."

"It was an accident."

"Once you deal with it, it's over."

I paused, then gave a bitter smile.

Right. An accident.

A crash that had cost me seven years of my youth and nearly half my life.

Before I got out, Brent handed me a business card.

"If you ever need anything, call me anytime."

I took the card. It had only his name and number.

"Thank you."

I came home to an empty apartment, and the sight of the slippers I'd only just swapped in yesterday, sitting there at the entryway, struck me as unbearably absurd.