Page 190 of Come Break My Heart Again

“I’m on my way down,” I say. “Two minutes.”

“Okay,” Ryder replies. “I’m parked right in front.”

“Okay.” I hang up, adjust the folders tucked under one arm, and then hurry toward the elevator bank.

Two men are standing and talking in the small lobby on this floor of the firm. I pass them and press the down arrow, my foot tapping impatiently as I wait.

“Elle?”

I spin around. Prescott is walking toward me, the man he was talking to remaining by the chairs.

“Oh. Hi.” I blink twice, making sure it’s really him.

Prescott tucks his hands into his pockets. “I wondered if I might run into you here. Just stopping by for a lunch meeting.”

I force a smile. “Here I am.”

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

“Good,” I respond. “Busy, you know.”

“Yeah, I sure do.” He chuckles. “I thought law school was supposed to be the worst part.”

“Lies to get through it,” I tell him.

“Yeah. Right. Aside from work, you’re good?”

I nod. “Yeah. I am.”

“That’s great.” He pulls one hand out of his pocket to scratch at the scruff on his cheek. The stubble suits him. “Jenny and I started dating a few months ago.”

“I’m happy for you guys.”

Prescott peers a little closer. “You already knew, huh?”

This time, the smile comes easily. “Krista might have mentioned you two left her New Year’s party together.”

“Right.” The tops of his ears turn red, which makes my smile grow. “I hope you didn’tnotshow at that because of me.”

“No, no.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe I avoided the group at first,” I admit. “But I had a conflict that night.”

The elevator arrives, dinging as the doors open.

“It was really nice to see you,” I say, holding my hand out to keep them open. “But I-I’ve got to go.”

His smile is good-natured. “Sure.”

“No, really, I do. It’s a, uh, memorial service.”

Prescott’s rueful expression immediately transforms to serious. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I step inside the elevator. “Next time everyone gets together, I’ll be there.”

I catch his nod before the doors slide shut.

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