Page 9 of The Breakup Broker

A shadow passed her eyes—fear, resignation, years of careful compromises. “We all make our choices, darling.” She straightened my tie, a nervous habit from my childhood. “Don’t forget to visit your grandfather this week. He’s having more good days than bad lately, but...” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t have to.

James Morrison might have built his own fortune in real estate, but all the money in Manhattan couldn’t slow what was happening to his mind. Still, on his good days, he was the only one who’d ever truly understood me.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow.” I kissed her cheek, catching the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5. “After I meet with Caroline.”

As I rode down in the private elevator, the ring box felt heavier with every passing second. Even the doorman’sdeferential nod added to the pressure settling over me. Outside, Central Park stretched across the street, its trees blazing under the October sunset like nature’s version of stained glass—so different from River Bend, where autumn’s colors reflected off the Hudson, making the entire world glow.

Tomorrow morning’s coffee meeting loomed ahead. Caroline wanted to discuss weekend plans at Rise and Grind Coffee—not one of our usual Upper East Side spots. A root canal would be preferable. Hell, another lecture from my father would be better.

Not that Caroline was awful. By any standard, she was a catch—educated student at Yale, striking in that cool Nordic way and impeccably connected—the woman who looked perfect in society photos and knew exactly which fork to use at state dinners.

But there was nothing when I was with her—no spark, flutter, or dizzying rush. I suspected she felt the same. We were two perfectly matched pieces of a puzzle neither of us wanted to complete.

Savvy was the opposite of everything Caroline represented. Caroline was a perfectly cut gem, polished and predictable. Savvy was fire and warmth—imperfect and wild in all the ways I hadn’t known I needed until I lost her.

A memory hit me so hard that I had to stop walking. Savvy, perched on a coffeehouse couch during finals week, planning her future wedding business with Maddy and Ivy. The three of them were so full of dreams and determination. I’d looked them up once, in a moment of weakness—or masochism. Ivy had become some professional bridesmaid if her Instagram was to be believed. Maddy’s LinkedIn listed her as a “Romance Logistics Specialist,” whatever that meant. But Savvy? She’d vanished completely as if she’dnever existed. No social media, no business listings, nothing. Maybe that was for the best. Now here I was, five years later, with an engagement ring I didn’t want and less than twenty-four hours to determine how to use it.

I needed a drink—several, actually—but first I had to call my grandfather’s nurse, then figure out how the hell I was going to face tomorrow with this ring pressing against me like a bad decision.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d walked away from Savvy to save her future, and now I was walking into a proposal to secure mine.

Tomorrow, I’d seal my father’s deal—with a ring I didn’t want, to a woman I never loved, for a life I didn’t want to live.

CHAPTER FOUR

Savvy

The message hit my phone at 7:42 a.m. as I walked to my usual spot on the train platform. The October morning air had that particular River Bend crispness that usually centered me before a job. Not today. My stomach lurched at the words on my screen.

Client #343

He’ll be early. He thinks we’re discussing weekend plans.

I read it three times, and each word landed like a punch. No elaborate setup? No careful fiction about investment opportunities or career mentoring? Just ... weekend plans? In my years of professional heartbreaking, I’d never gone in this naked.

This wasn’t just another job—this was sloppy. And sloppy meant risk. Risk to my reputation, control, and the walls I’d built between work and life.

The morning spun further out of control when Joewasn’t at his usual spot by my car door. Instead, a harried-looking man I’d never seen before announced that Joe was out sick. My seat—the one that mysteriously stayed empty every morning—was occupied by a man in wireless headphones who took up more than his fair share of space.

The familiar seventy-five-minute ride stretched ahead of me without my usual tissue-box safety net.Perfect.

My phone vibrated again. A message from my client, #343:

Client #343

I’m tailing him now. He’s wearing a navy Armani suit and should sit at the corner booth.

I clutched my phone tighter, anxiety climbing with each mile marker. This wasn’t how I operated. I needed those precious pre-meeting moments to prepare to transform from River Bend Savvy to Jennifer, a professional heartbreaker.

I burst out of Grand Central at 9:17, the usual pre-game confidence that steadied me replaced by a gnawing dread that carried the sharp edge of guilt. Rise and Grind Coffee’s morning rush was in full swing, the line for coffee snaking out the door. My strategic corner booth was hidden behind the crowd. Another disruption to my careful routine.

When I made it inside, fresh espresso mingled with vanilla and cinnamon. Usually, this was comforting—a ritual that marked the beginning of another job—but today the aroma made my stomach churn.

Two men in navy suits occupied the corner window tables, and I didn’t know which was my mark. For the first time in years, I’d have to slide in as the guest, not the host.

I snapped a quick photo, my hands shaking enough to blur thefirst attempt.

Me

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