Page 17 of Worth the Risk

When I finally return home, I type out a quick text to Hector’s brother Miguel, letting him know about my firm and asking him to give me a call next week if it’s something he’d be interested in.

Then I toss my phone aside, turn on some music, and get to work starting to finally go through my things and figure out howI’m going to move on from this relationship. It’s been six months of wallowing and anger, and now it’s time for acceptance.

My second bedroom, that has also become an office, has several boxes packed with odds and ends, some of them mine, some of them Noah’s, I’m sure. I start going through them one by one, placing items into three piles—keep, donate, and Noah.

By the time I’ve made it through the final box, I’m spent. Emotionally and physically. Of course, I’ve been putting off going through the remnants of a five-year relationship, who wouldn’t? Nobody loves to relive memories with someone who was once their happily ever after and now is just a stranger.

I toss the final item in the Noah pile into a box, closing it up and pushing it into the far corner of the room. The thought of seeing him face-to-face to return the items sends my stomach down to my feet.

The worst part about a breakup, in my opinion, isn’t the actual ending of the relationship. I’ve been through that before. I know I’ll heal and move on and even find love again someday. It’s realizing just how little you actually mattered to them when they walk away for the last time.

NoI miss youtexts.

No fight to keep me.

Not even a goodbye.

That’s the part that still stings. That’s what’s still gnawing at my chest. That’s the part I haven’t told anyone because accepting the fact that this person you thought loved you walked out without so much as a tear after spending years with them is just too much sometimes.

I wipe away a few errant tears, reminding myself that this is a necessary part of the healing process as I place the other two piles of items into their own boxes. Tomorrow, I’ll drop off the donation items, and then, starting next week, it’s timeI get serious about taking back control of my life, starting with interviewing Miguel.

“What about Arthur Kentmore? Did he get onboarded?” Austin leans over me, one hand planted flat on my desk, the other pointing to my computer screen.

“Yes, last week actually. I sent you the report.”

“And the Thompson sisters?”

“Is there a reason you think I can’t do my job all of a sudden?” I turn my head to look up at him, his exposed forearm so close I brush against it.

“No.” He smiles at me, not moving from his position. “Just being thorough.”

“Like I said,” I say the words slowly with a smirk, “they’re in the report I sent to you last week. The same report I send to you every week with a list of any new clients and their onboarding status.”

“Hmm.” It’s a low, throaty rumble followed by that lazy smirk that does things to me. “Is someone having an attitude today?”

His eyes do that thing, dropping down to my lips slowly as he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. It’s the same thing he did the night I went over to his house for the first time.

Holy fuck.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

Is he—flirting with me?

“Don’t I always have an attitude?” I smile back, a warmth creeping up my cheeks.

“You make a valid point.” He pushes off my desk, standing upright before turning slightly and sitting on the very edge. “It’s probably something we should address. Don’t you think?”

I’m still in my chair, looking up at him. His arms flex as he folds them casually across his chest, my eyes instantly drawn to his exposed skin and the ripple of his muscles. I can feel the warmth of his body so close to my arm.

“No,” I say, my eyes finally meeting his.

“As your boss?—”

“My boss?” I laugh. “Since when did this go from a partnership to boss/employee?”

“Am I only your boss on the internet, then?”

I scrunch my nose in confusion. “What?”

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