Page 59 of Accidental Vegas Vows

I shook my head, struggling to fully process his words. All I could think about was her, her reaction to this, how she’d fucking hate me for it. She wanted the annulment, desperately. And I wanted to give her that.

I wanted to give her far more than that.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” I breathed.

Ethan looked at me, his jaw ticking. “When you say this?—”

“All of it. Noah. Olivia. The whole thing. I’m being tugged in two different directions.”

“Why does she factor into this? She’s just a girl that works for you, Damien. How is that on the same level?”

“It’s not,” I insisted. “But she’s drastically taking over parts of myself that I didn’t fucking realize I still had. Do you understand that? Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”

He downed the rest of his drink in silence, closing the binder laid out on the table. “You can’t be seriously telling me that you love her after, what, three weeks? Four weeks?”

The words hit me like a brick, winding me, sobering me just slightly. Of course I wasn’t saying that. That would be insane. And I wasn’t someone who jumped into things like that so easily and so quickly, especially not now, not with Noah in the equation. Liar. “I’m not saying that I do, but I’m saying that I think I could. And I haven’t opened up like that in almost six fucking years.”

“And salvaging that is worth more to you than your son?”

No. It wasn’t. But it was still a fucking factor.

He was right, though. I was putting a maybe on a pedestal that although didn’t come close to the one I’d raised for Noah, was still high enough to be a problem when all of this was on the line. I’d crossed lines I’d set for myself, backed down from what I’d said to her on the phone that night. I’d developed feelings when I knew I was mostly incapable of commitment again, and fucked myself over in the process.

I didn’t know what to fucking do, but more than that, I didn’t care that I would go home smelling of booze. I poured myself another glass.

Chapter 21

Olivia

The stares were beginning to grate on me.

This was only the second time that Damien’s sister could take Noah on a weekday, and from the whispers and glances toward my desk as I tried desperately to focus, it was clear that others had taken notice of my prolonged absences.

With my only other friend here, Sophie, working in Human Resources instead of project management like me, I couldn’t even ask what had gotten around and what hadn’t. She had no idea of the office gossip on floor five, and now, neither did I.

But it revolved around me. That much was obvious.

I slipped my phone from my bag and pulled up my texts with Damien. The log from this morning seemed so mundane, so normal for two people living together, that it was almost a small shock to my system to have them in front of my face again.

Do we still have eggs?

Yes, but Noah would like to clarify that we’re out of cheese.

Cheese. Got it. What’s the chicken nugget situation?

Dame, we have a never-ending supply of chicken nuggets.

Have you seen how many Noah can eat? He set a record the other night while you were working out. Twenty-two in a single meal. My son is a fucking machine.

I pressed the little box that brought up my keyboard and sighed. I could message him. I could tell him what was going on, but he was already dealing with so much that I wasn’t sure I wanted to add another layer to that — especially when I knew damn well that he would only want to help.

But I also needed someone to talk to, and Sophie was in a meeting until three.

Me: If I tell you about how shitty my day is going, do you promise not to make it your number one priority to try to fix it?

Almost immediately, the three little dancing bubbles popped up.

Dame: That depends on if it’s something I’m capable of fixing. If I can, I will.

---