Page 109 of Daring You

I depart Yang’s office, unsure if I should sit at my cubicle looking stunned for a while longer, or going home and drowning my sorrows in wine.

The latter. Definitely the latter.

I swipe my jacket from my chair on the way to the elevators, drawing Taryn’s attention. I wave at her that I’m fine, no biggie, while my insides slosh like I’m on an ancient ship to the edge of the world.

I don’t take a car home, preferring the clog of the subway. It’s easy to become no one in such a large, close knit crowd. To be nothing to anyone around you.

When I unlock the door to the darkness of my apartment, it’s the first time I wish for a cat, or a dog, or a something, to greet me.

I flick on the lights and kick my heels off in my foyer, heading to the kitchen and straight for the fridge, but I’m sidelined by a bottle of champagne on the counter.

The good kind. The pink, sparkling gorgeousness that’s all over Pinterest.

And the note that’s stuck to it sends acidic bubbles up into my throat.

Congrats on such a find, babe. I could never compete with your brains.

Celebrate on me!

M.

The greatest urge tohurl the bottle against the wall hits my arm, but I resist, both for the clean up and the fact that Mike is well aware of his penchant to make me throw things. I don’t want to do what he wants or expects, ever again.

He manipulated Taryn, broke into my confidential files, took my work, and while everyone expected him to take all the credit, Mike gave it all to me, instead. Because he knew exactly the damage he was inflicting, and what I’d do to try and stop it.

Mike didn’t need to personally ruin my career. I did it all for him.

I played into Mike’s hands, and in doing so, handed Ben over on an exposed, silver platter.

Mike knows about Ben.

What Ben and I were doing together was all sex, pretty stupid, and even though I knew I’d end up hurt, I didn’t regret it.

I loved him in college, and I love him for the man he is. To have a piece of him, to enjoy what we could be, to submit to his pleasure, were all good things.

We were never meant to be anything more, I know that. It’s the accepting of it that’s left visible marks on my heart.

I forego the wine and dump the champagne in the trash—then fish it out and make a mental note to give it to Locke and Carter. They’re always celebrating a new milestone of Lily’s every other week.

Instead of guzzling away reality, I grab a glass of ice water, open my laptop, and do what I do best.

Figure shit out.

* * *

One side benefitof basically having Locke’s calendar in my phone—I can constantly see what his bozo friends are up to. And I say that with love.

I find Ben on the Lower East Side, at what used to be his and Locke’s favorite happy hour joint, before my brother became sober.

Being the punctual, highly trained and routine guy that he is, Ben is there early, as I suspected. I’m hoping to catch him for a few minutes—all I need is a fraction of that—before the rest troop in and inadvertently ruin any sewing up of this mess I can manage.

I walk through the single, glass-paneled door decorated with LED beer signs still clad in my suit from…when was it? This morning? Last night? I’ve lost track.

My heel catches in the single panel of perpetually damp carpeting into the bar as it sinks in. In the span of less than twenty-four hours, I couldn’t care less what I look like, or the state of my hair.

Ben’s elbows are propped on the bar, and so far, and the rest of the stools are peppered with people unwilling to invade the other’s comfort zone, so it’s easy for me to slip in beside him and take a seat before he notices.

Ben’s gaze slides toward me, and any argument or plea I’d rehearsed on the way over here flees to the back of my head and stays there.

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