Page 25 of Lost the Handle

“Building systems to protect companies from hackers.”

Benson laughs. “Isn’t she the hacker?”

“Yup, she’s using it to make money. Doing Emery things.”

“That’s Em.”

He’s not wrong. “I’m not going to make it with her.”

“I think that’s her plan.”

“It is,” I agree. “But whatever. I’ll kick her out in a week.”

He scoffs. “No, you won’t. You’re more likely to fuck her against her Bugatti than kick her out.”

Man, what a fantasy. I could make it happen too.

No, I cannot.

“Does no one have faith in my resistance?”

“No, it’s Emery.”

Like that explains it all. Which, in a way, I guess it does. I wasn’t shy with how in love with her I was. When I saw her with other guys, I’d lose it and do everything to get her attention on me. I’ve sung to her in public more times than I can count, and not even the secondhand embarrassment my family has suffered brings me any guilt. I needed her to know how I felt. I needed her to know I wasn’t going anywhere.

But then, she left me.

I have to remember that. She left me. She didn’t want me. And the only reason she is here is because she doesn’t want me to marry Ava. It isn’t because she wants me.

Wow. What a thought to further ruin my morning.

Before I can get to the fridge, though, I notice my lunch box is out and a note is on top of it. I walk toward it as Benson says, “Okay, I’ll let you go. I’m taking Cameron to breakfast.”

“Cool, talk to you later,” I say, distracted, as I hang up and reach for the note.

Q,

I’m working from home today, so I don’t need my car.

Take it.

Even if you’re engaged, whatever is mine is yours.

Hope you enjoy the lunch. It’s leftovers from dinner last night, so don’t get too excited. We both know I can’t cook for shit.

I hope you have a great day at work.

Love,

E

I feel a certain kind of heat rush through my body. It’s not only excitement. It’s pure, unadulterated desire for her. For her words. Her promises. I don’t know how I am going to resist her, and fuck me, it’s only day two. I need her out of my place. I need her away from me. Maybe if I ask, maybe if I beg for a year with the promise to come back to her, she’ll accept. I reread the letter three times while my eyes ping-pong from the lunch to theBugatti keys and back to the note. My heart jumps into my throat as I swallow, my stomach flip-flopping.

No, she won’t.

I knew it before, and I know it now.

Whatever is mine is yours.

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