Page 71 of That Reunited Feeling

“What?” His simplistic view of the world doesn’t even make me angry—it just makes me sad. “Don’t be so fucking ridiculous. Off the back of one blow job in a car?” I shake my head at the absurdity of his suggestion. “And I’m not moving Dylan to London.”

“Hannah, will you listen for one goddamn second?” His voice is louder. Firmer. More in charge. “I’d really like it if you didn’t assume I’m an asshole who’d have my face between your legs one minute and disappear the next.”

“But that’s exactly what’s happening. And look.” I point at the phone he’s tossed on the dash. “One text. One excuse. And you’re off. That’s all it takes, Tom. You’re not someone who sticks around.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hannah. One of my executives chucked a Grammy at Sailor Caldwell.”

“Sailor Caldwell? The country singer?” Okay, that’s weird. “Why would someone do that?”

“Is thereanyreason that would make throwing a five-pound metal statue at someone a reasonable thing to do?” Tom shakes his head. “Thankfully he missed and smashed the glass display cabinet right behind Sailor instead. Or I could be dealing with a manslaughter case, rather than just a damn good talking-to.”

“You don’t need to go to London to fire him.” It’s a pathetic excuse. “You can do that from here.”

“I can’t fire him from anywhere. You have no idea what these guys’ contracts are like. To get the good ones, you have to pretty much superglue yourself to them for life.”

“He doesn’t sound like a good one.”

“He’s a bit hotheaded, is all. I need to find some balance between reading him the riot act and talking him off the ledge. And I can’t do that over a video chat. But.” He places his hand on my thigh, and I disappoint myself further for wanting it to stay there. “It’ll be just a couple days,” he continues. “Three, tops. Then I’llcome back.”

He’s just saying that, trying to rescue the situation. Once he gets to London, he’ll slip right back into his life there and never think of me again.

I snort, fold my arms, and stare straight ahead into the darkness. “Take me home. Take me back to my son.”

“Hannah, I’m not walking away from this. If you want to walk away, that’s up to you. But I sure as hell am not.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him rubbing his forehead. Is there a chance he really is torn?

“But Ihaveto go.” His hand drops with a heavy thud into his lap and he stares at the side of my face. “And I’d very much like it if you’d come with me.”

First, how would that even be possible? My brain wobbles inside my skull, trying to figure out how he can think it’s a conceivable option. I can’t just drop my responsibilities and go galivanting to another continent.

But second, if he’s asking me to go with him, maybe he really does intend to come back.

How can I trust him, though? I can’t open myself to the hurt of that turning out not to be true and him deciding to stay there.

“Huh,” I scoff. “So you can abandon me actuallyinLondon, rather than from the other side of the Atlantic this time? Yeah, that would be better.”

“I’m not going to abandon you anywhere. You and I will go to London together. I’ll sort out this work nightmare. And you can help me out by doing some work for me there, like…maybe…preliminary chats with the executive assistant candidates,weeding out the ones you know would rub me the wrong way. No one could do that better than you. Then we’ll come back here. I’ll carry on trying to have an actual vacation. And you’ll carry on working for me and Maggie.”

I turn to look at him. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this whole Bridge Person thing. “Andthenyou go back to London?”

“Yes. And you go to California. It’s not just me who’ll leave this time, Hannah. You’ll leave too.”

“Oh, you don’t get to put this on me.” I wag my finger at him. When the hell did I become a finger-wagger? “No, no, no. I was over here minding my own business, making my own life plans. This is not my fault.”

He catches my finger and wraps his hand around it. “I’m not saying it’s your fault.” How is he so infuriatingly calm? “I’m just saying what we already know. What we already talked about. That we’re both here for only a short time.”

He presses the palm of my hand to his lips and sends a maddening tingle up my arm, sparking a tremble deep in my lower belly. “And I want to spend as much of that short time with you as I possibly can. Say you’ll come with me. Please.”

Even if his touch and his words make me want to follow him to the end of the earth, and even if he does mean what he’s saying, it’s simply not doable.

I do have a passport though. My ex, Nicholas, was an airline pilot, and when I’d first started seeing him he’d promised to get me on one of his flight’s to Madrid, then he suggested Paris, then it was London. None of them ever happened. There was always some last minute excuse about there being no space for me on the plane.

But, London—that was the place I’d been most excited to see when he suggested it.

“I can’t leave Dylan.” There. I can’t go anyway. Even if I wanted to.

London, though…with Tom…mind-blowing sex with Tom in London…nothing could ever happen in my life that would be more exciting and romantic than that.

But I can’t go. So that’s that.

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