Page 9 of Implode

“I know.”

“You know…”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed the sleep, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

I should have known that Nic would be keeping an eye on everyone in the building. He is the head of security, after all. He probably has cameras spaced throughout the building, monitoring everyone in employment here at HH. He seems anal enough to have thermal cameras to track movement after hours as well.

“I’m leaving now,” I say, turning and walking toward the elevators.

Nic follows me. Unlike the times in the past, it is easy to keep my distance from him. I am still so raw over the breakup and his pigheaded ways. I know my worth. I want the man I end up with to be deliriously in love with me. I want him to choose me now and every day thereafter. I’m the idiot for trying to be with a man who put me in a position where I had sex with my boyfriend in front of him. That alone should have been a red flag that neither man valued commitment. They both just wanted to win, while my only option was to lose.

I lost a part of myself and wasted a lot of time pursuing Nic, who was unattainable. Never again will I make that mistake. I am better than the girl he wanted me to be.

I should have listened when he said he would destroy me. But how can he damage a heart that has already been broken?

We enter the elevator, and I stay on my side of the box, looking down at my phone for a distraction.

“Congrats on moving up from a two-person company.”

“Thanks.” I don’t make eye contact. I don’t want to get swallowed up by his crystal blues. I don’t want to convey any emotion that might make him think he damaged me. Because he did, so much so that I don’t know if I’ll ever fully recover.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said,” I gripe.

“I mean it.”

“I’m just glad you gave me a reason to hate you. Makes moving on so much easier.”

The doors open to the elevator, and I walk out first. Nic catches up to me, types in the pass code, and watches me walk away. I refuse to turn around and see if he is following me. I refuse to let him think he deserves a second look. I unlock my car, hop inside, and drive away toward Blake’s loft.

Goodbye, Nic.

3

NIC

I’m starting to think that Claire wants me to snap. For the past three nights, she has gone out on several dates with men from the Entice database. Everything is being done under the table and off the record. This isn’t about me getting a cut for the company I no longer want. This is about my limits being pushed to the max. I don’t like seeing Claire with other men.

I feel like a stalker keeping tabs on her and obsessing over her whereabouts. I know she isn’t doing this for the thrill or for romance. She is simply trying to gather money fast. That is the only logical explanation as to why every waking moment is spent working in some way. It is difficult to watch her walk into HH every morning—often an hour or more before the other workers—and not rush to the lobby to see her face-to-face myself. The TV screens are not enough. I need the fix that only close proximity can bring.

I want to get drunk off her vanilla scent. I want to see for myself that she is getting enough sleep and nourishing her body well with food.

Claire changed her hair style, got some new makeup, and seems to have found her calling with the subscription box industry. My contacts tell me that Angie and she are making major progress in their company, Plus None. I had no doubts. They both are forces to be reckoned with, but when they join forces—ka pow! Dynamite.

Good luck world, here they come.

I miss her. I want her. I just don’t want a commitment. Claire deserves someone better than me. I am damaged. Jaded. But I saw it in her eyes the morning we broke up. She is yearning for a forever love. She wants a once-in-a-lifetime, and that is too much pressure on me to even give her a sliver of that life.

Being with me would be holding her back from her true potential. I’ve seen Ethan do that to her. I can’t be the next guy who limits her from shining as bright as she can.

Yet here I am doing things out of character and against my moral compass—which seems to be completely broken these days. I have to be going crazy if I am following Claire to a reduced-price furniture store on the upper east side, just a couple of miles from River Valley University. There would be no reason to come here unless she is trying to furnish her own place on a budget. I can easily provide for her. Yet, no more lines need to be blurred with the introduction of money. Right now, I need to set clear boundaries for myself, and so far, I suck at this task.

I walk into the store and keep my distance along the outskirts as Claire goes straight for the bedroom furniture. She hovers near the queen-sized bed that has storage drawers built into the base, as well as a headboard made of shelves. It reminds me of one step up from dorm room furniture.

“Can I help you, sir?” a female worker asks me.

“Yes, actually.” I nudge my head in the direction of Claire. “I need you to accept some money and convince that woman over there with the beautiful dark hair and flawless skin”—and smokin’ hot body—“that there is a big sale today.”

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