Page 136 of The Fixer

That simple comment sent an arrow to his chest, and he barely contained the “Damn, I love you” threatening to launch from the tip of his tongue.

God, he didn’t want to leave her today. Leave her at all.

He pulled in a breath to steady the wild thumping of his heart. “Hey? Come with me.”

“You mean, like drive you to the airport?” Her brows knotted together. “I was already planning to.”

He caressed her soft cheek. “Not what I meant. Come back to Colorado. Comelivewith me.”

Her eyes turned saucer-wide, and he could make out every sienna and caramel fleck in them.

“I … But … We’ve only known each other a month,” she stammered. “And we hated each for half of it.”

He let his hand drop to the counter. “Hate’s kind of a strong word. But are you saying that after we’ve known each other six months, ten months, you would consider it?” Before he could let himself imagine them flying back and forth, taking turns to see each other every two weeks, spending holidays and vacations together, he braced himself for the answer he knew was coming. Because her hesitation wasnotabout how long they’d known one another.

Her face contorted with such anguish he wanted to give himself a whack upside the head for asking. “I can’t. My life … everything I’ve worked so hard for, what I’ve built. It’s here.”

“Do your job remotely.” And now he was shamelessly begging. This woman had brought him to his knees. While he hadn’t been payingattention, powerful, invisible, silken shackles had wound themselves around his entire being, binding him to her.

“That won’t cut it, Charlie.”

“Joy, you made remote work for a month—from a dilapidated building without a working kitchen, for Christ’s sake.”

“And that didn’t work as well as I pretended it did. I know Sterling can be a pompous ass, but he’s amazing at what he does, and he’s a good partner. He didn’t deserve the predicament I put him in.” She put down the coffee cup she’d been holding like a shield and traced Charlie’s lips with her fingertips. “Last night I asked you to consider the impossible for me, to uproot everything and come to Chicago. I see that now, and I’m sorry.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“Sorry you put me in a tough spot or sorry you suggested it?” His jaw muscle jumped from clenching it.

“We both have the kinds of jobs that require we physically be there. We could do the long-distance thing, but it’s not sustainable. Unless one of us is willing to give up a vital piece of ourselves, it’s not going to work long-term.” A tear slipped down her cheek, but he made no motion to brush it away.

They rode to O’Hare in stilted silence. While he turned over everything they had said, his brain scrambled, searching out any solution that would keep what they had going. It couldn’t end. Not like this. And yet, when she dropped him off and kissed him good-bye, he knew deep in his soul it was the last time.

Joy stared at thestring of texts Sterling had sent her throughout the day. It was Saturday, and nothing was crucial. He was simply being Sterling, vying for her attention, manipulating her every waking moment to focus it on himself. It had always been like that. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Because she’d been so absorbed in her own ambitions that she’d kept blinders on. Yes, he was unparalleled in what he did, and he was a terrific partner. But the other parts of his personality? Not socommendable.

Propped up in bed, she sent him a text saying she was sick and wouldn’t be checking her phone for the rest of the day—her polite way of saying, “Leave me the fuck alone!”

As soon as she had returned from the airport, she had retreated to her bedroom. Here Charlie’s essence was strongest, and she stood a chance of holding her heart together before it tore into fragments. The bed smelled of him, of the love they’d made. The sheets and pillows were heavy with his warm, masculine scent, and she pulled it in and let it comfort her. But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t have his deep, soothing voice caressing her ears, his smile that lit her from the inside out, his strong arms to take refuge in.

His words reverberated inside her.“I don’t want to control you, Joy. Ever.”

Two weeks or two hundred, Charlie Hunnicutt would still be the same person, comfortable in his own skin, cheerful and caring wherever he went and no matter what life threw at him. He was a giver, and she had taken. What had she given back in return?

She swiped angrily at the tears tracking down her face. Oh, to go back to old Joy, whose eyes were always dry. Kick-ass Joy. This new version sucked. She was adrift, a wimp, and she hurt everywhere. She couldn’t even appreciate the trappings that symbolized her hard work.

Where she had once oozed with satisfaction over owning a luxury condo on the Magnificent Mile, she felt nothing but emptiness knocking against her breastbone as she looked around at her clean, crisp walls. She could sit in luxury and contemplate the love she had tasted for a few short weeks. Small consolation.

She wasn’t even sure how much she liked living in Chicago. And her career? It had been exciting once, had made her a lot of money, but as she took inventory with clearer vision, she recognized the sheen had worn off. For years, she’d been bobbing along on the same plateau.

More tears fell, and more questions came at her fast, their edges jagged.

Who was Joy Holiday? What did she stand for? Her identity had been stripped away, but it had been an identity she’d borrowed from images, given to her by others. It hadn’t manifested itself frominside.

What was her motivation to get out of bed these days?

What if she had been chasing after the wrong pots of gold?

When had she felt as safe and cherished as when she’d been held in Charlie’s arms?

“How’s that working out? Are you happier now that you’re back?”

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