Page 28 of The Relationship Clause

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. This is the second ex-boyfriend of mine Mr. Ferguson has met in almost as many days. How is that even possible?

Mr. Ferguson folds his arms, looking grumpier than ever. “Funny, I don’t remember meeting her.”

“We weren’t roommates anymore during that time.”

“We only dated for a couple of months,” I burst out.

Both of their eyes snap to me, and I’m pretty sure my face is now the same color as my hair. Still, I can’t quite keep my mouth from making words despite the fact that my brain is desperately trying to smash the “abort” button.

“It was really fast. He needed some help with his taxes, and I was offering my services at the time. Not that I made it a habit to date clients. He was the only one. It wasn’t allowed, and I kept telling him that, but he wouldn’t listen, and eventually, I said yes, but it didn’t last long because—”

“Because you dropped off the face of the planet,” Shane interrupts.

“...No, I didn’t.”

“You totally did. Things were going great, then one text from you and you were gone. You took down your website, I couldn’t find you in any of your usual spots, you were gone.”

I wince, but thankfully Shane doesn’t look bothered when he says this, more like amused.

It’s true I did kind of ghost him. I pulled my usual Juniper Vanishing Act, which I’d learned from my dad. When things started to get too cozy, I rearranged my life so I could feel better about never seeing him again. I quit doing taxes as a side gig, got a new job, found different routes to my classes. It was painful, but it was better that way.

I shrug, then lift my arms halfway up, making a poor excuse for jazz hands. “Surprise!”

Mr. Ferguson does that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No!” I say quickly, alarm shooting through my system. “Nope. Not a problem at all.”

It’s really not a problem for me. Other than some mild astonishment at the weird twist this day has taken, I don’t feel anything toward Shane. No flutters of heat or pangs of longing. And it better not be a problem for Shane. I already cashed the check Mr. Ferguson gave me and sent a good chunk of it to my plumber. The hope is I’ll have running water again by this weekend and can stop taking showers at the gym.

Mr. Ferguson turns to Shane and lifts an eyebrow. I can clearly read the subtext beneath that eyebrow raise as if it were written in Times New Roman above his face: You better not have a problem with this either.

I don’t blame him. Office drama is probably the last thing he wants with everything else going on. Because office drama is obviously the only reason Mr. Ferguson cares. It has nothing to do with other emotions like jealousy. That’s wishful thinking on my end.

Very wishful thinking.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with dating someone from a different department as long as we report it to HR…” Shane does his best impression of an innocent puppy after he says this.

Mr. Ferguson growls. Yes, growls. Low and guttural and primal. It’s something that shouldn’t send goosebumps shivering up my spine, but totally does.

Behave, Junie!

Shane chuckles. “No, this won’t be a problem. Should we get on with our meeting? Some of us do have other things to take care of today.”

A curt nod and a grunt signify Mr. Ferguson’s agreement. We settle in for our meeting, and I bury my nose in my phone, adding one item to my grocery list before we begin: extra strength deodorant x2. I’m going to need something stronger to get me through the next three months.

CHAPTER 9

OWEN

There’s a superstition that says bad luck comes in threes, but I’m pretty sure I hit that limit weeks ago.

“Seriously, Owen, are you seeing this?” Shane taps on the tablet he shoved in front of me hard enough to make me worry he’ll damage it. “This isn’t good. This article is talking about my tech. My ideas. What the heck is going on?”

I run my hands through my hair, a sick feeling in my stomach. The article he’s referring to was published yesterday morning in an online tech magazine we subscribe to. The author is hyping up a new 3-D printing technology said to be unveiled in six months. There’s no way to tell for sure, but by all the hints the author gives, it sounds frighteningly similar to our own tech, which we planned on releasing next year.

It’s too similar to be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” I say through a sigh. “I should have told you about my suspicions of a possible mole weeks ago.”

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