Page 81 of For The Record

To be honest, it’s almost anti-climactic. I don’t want or need anything from him. He’s not my enemy. He’s nothing to me, and I’m happy with that. His name, his voice—neither of them feels like a slap in the face anymore. I no longer obsess over his ex-girlfriends or stalk him on Twitter. He’s nothing more than a client to me.

He goes back to his recording studio, and I go back to emails, Twitter, and phone calls.

At the end of the day, I pack my bag, ready to walk out of the door.

Emotions still churning in my stomach, I walk toward Leo’s office, a white envelope in my hand. I knock. The door swings open.

I know him, but part of me is reminded of what Ryder said. The way he made it sound like his career was equal to my relationship. They are not the same. They never will be. In what way, I’m not sure, but I know they will never be equal.

“Hi,” Leo says, looking at my expression. I must look awful, because his brows furrow. “Did something happen to your family?”

I blink, trying to articulate my thoughts into words. “No, no, nothing like that. Just, something I have to work through. I think I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

He’s curious, but not enough to pry. He lets me have my space. “Of course, whenever you’re ready. I have something I’d like to give to you, by the way.”

“What is it?” My mind jumps from confusion to intrigue, and I tuck the envelope into my blazer pocket.

“Come here,” he says, motioning me further into his office.

“Should I be scared?” I say, genuinely wondering what he could have for me. It’s not my birthday, Christmas has already passed, so what could he have?

He shrugs, an annoyingly noncommittal response. “Well, it depends on whether you scare easily and whether you’re frightened of shiny objects.”

“That is the vaguest hint I have ever heard,” I say sitting down on his desk. I watch him open a nondescript cabinet and pull out a box.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

My body tenses. “I’m not interested in being pranked.”

“Well, good, because I’m not interested in pranking you. I just wanted to amp up the surprise factor,” he says.

“Trust me, you’ve definitely done that.” I fold my arms across my chest and reluctantly close my eyes. The last time I did this with anyone, I’m pretty sure I got hit in the face with a pie tin full of shaving cream. Then again, that was at a summer camp in my middle school years.

I feel something cold on my wrist, then Leo’s hands gently pry my fingers free from the crook of my arm. It’s metallic. I reach out to touch my wrist, and I realize what it is. Jewellery. He got me a bracelet?

The last piece of jewellery I received from a guy was Ryder’s music note bracelet from Pandora.This, this is more than sweet. I look down and see a piece from my favourite brand, David Yurman. It’s his classic cable bracelet, wrapping elegantly but simplistically around my wrist, an amethyst set in the middle with diamonds at the caps.

y eyebrows rise. “I never told you my favourite jewelry designer.”

“And I never asked,” he says, sounding just as surprised as I do. “This is from the vault. When I went in there, there was a safe deposit box. There was a note from Antonio saying it was full of jewellery that he gave my mom when they were together. When things ended between them, she gave them back. He told me she would want me to have them. I saw this bracelet, and I thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful.” Beautiful isn’t enough to say everything that the bracelet means to me. “Thank you so much.”

Despite what he’s just told me, it feels less like a piece of a man I hate, and more like wearing a piece of the man I love.

As I play with the bracelet, my thumb circling the purple gems in the middle, he studies me. Leo wears an unbridled, childlike grin. “It suits you.”

The ensuing kiss that he presses to my mouth feels like the end of something that I needed to let go of. It feels like the beginning of everything. When we break apart, I reach into my purse and pull out a white envelope. “Here.”

“What’s this?” He opens the envelope, and though I may think I know him, I can’t predict his reaction as he unfolds the letter, his green eyes skimming over the words. “You’re resigning.”

I nod. “I’m not cut out for the music business. Or, you know, working with my ex-boyfriend every day.”

Leo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Of course. I understand.” But he seems stiffer. Tenser. Does he really understand at all?

“I’m going to be an architect.” It’s the first time I’ve said the words out loud with any sort of confidence. But after months of sitting on the fence, I’ve decided to take my future into my own hands.

“You’re going to be a brilliant architect,” he says, his tone assuring, yet surprised.

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