Page 28 of Stuck With the Best Man

“Yes, I did. Like, twice. Except, now I’m realizing that those texts must’ve been lost in the ether because my phone was in airplane mode or my international plan wasn’t working right. Either way, you never replied.”

“Because I didn’t get them,” I respond through gritted teeth.

“I’m just telling you what my perspective was,” Ben bites back. “I texted a pretty girl after spending a nice day with her and never heard from her again, so I cut my losses and moved on.”

“So, you’re telling me it was nothing more than a communication issue.”

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes. “Two attempts to contact me were unsuccessful, so you just completely gave up. Wow. You must’ve really cared.”

“It’s not like you ever texted me!”

I clench my jaw tightly. I hate that he has a point. When I didn’t hear from him the day after the Strand, I was disappointed, but I didn’t immediately lose hope. In fact, I spent the better part of the next week trying to decide if I should reach out to him first instead. It’s the twenty-first century, after all. Women can make the first move.

But then work got more intense than usual and I decided it was better to stay focused on ballet. I was embarrassed that so much of my mental energy was spent on whether or not some random guy liked me. It felt childish and wasteful. I told myself that he wasn’t as into me as I thought he was—that I made it all up inside my mind.

For the most part, I moved on quickly.

It wasn’t until I realized exactlywhothat mystery man was and where he ended up that I started to get angry about it.

Then theGisellething happened.

So, sure, maybe most of my hatred for Ben Hawthorne is based on a technical issue and a misunderstanding, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a self-important fool with more money than any one human needs.

Whatever connection we had eleven months ago was a fluke.

“Fine,” I say after a while. “We ghosted each other.”

Ben laughs softly. Clearly, he doesn’t find it easy to stay mad at people.

Clearly, he hasn’t been holding a grudge against me for the past year because I never reached out to him after that day. I’m the only one who did that.

It’s hard not to feel lame and pathetic.

“I can’t believe that was you,” he murmurs. “I should’ve known. I feel like a moron for not realizing it right away.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Ben glances at me, but then the car goes over a huge pothole and he drags his gaze back toward the road.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because we might not have discussed our careers or shared our last names last May, but we would have had to stop whatever that was as soon as those details came out.”

“Why?”

I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at his genuine confusion, as if he’s not even willing to consider what might stand in the way of us dating.

“Seriously? Ben, I can’t date a benefactor.”

“There are rules against it?”

A huff of frustration escapes me. “No, there aren’t anywrittenrules against it. But I can’t afford to be involved with someone with that much power in the company if I’m trying to be promoted. Everyone will think that I just flirted my way to the top.”

There’s a brief pause, and then, “Oh. I see. Makes sense.”

If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure there’s a tinge of pink on his cheeks. I have no idea why, though.

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