Page 68 of Forbidden Fruit

"Five minutes," Jack says, tossing the roses onto my desk. "That's all I'm asking."

I cross my arms. "I blocked your number for a reason."

"Because you're not thinking clearly." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I once found endearing but now recognize as purely theatrical. "Becca, this thing with Clive—it's insane. He’s too old for you. You said you wanted a family. There’s no way he wants to start over at his age.”

"Is that what Kay told you?" I shake my head. "Of course it is. She wanted more kids when they got together and he said no."

"He doesn't care about you," Jack continues, his voice taking on that condescending tone I've heard too many times. "He's twice your age. What could you possibly have in common?"

"More than you and I ever did," I reply, surprised by my own boldness. "Now please leave. I have work to do."

Jack steps closer, lowering his voice. "What about our plans? The house in Greenwich we talked about? The future we were building?"

"You mean the future where I kept waiting for a proposal that never came while planning other people's weddings? The future where you constantly reminded me I wasn't quite good enough?" I feel years of pent-up frustration bubbling to the surface. "That future?"

"That's not fair," he protests. "I was waiting for the right time."

"Five years, Jack. And the 'right time' somehow never arrived."

His face hardens. "So you jumped into bed with my stepfather instead? Real classy, Becca."

The old me would have apologized, would have tried to make him feel better. But I'm not that person anymore.

"Get out," I say quietly. "Or I'll call security."

He stares at me for a long moment, then grabs the roses from my desk. "You'll regret this. When he gets bored with you—and he will—don't come crawling back."

After he leaves, I sink into my chair, hands trembling slightly. I reach for my phone and see three missed calls from Clive. Before I can call him back, there's a soft knock at my door.

"Everything okay?" Lucy asks, peering in cautiously.

"Fine," I say, straightening my spine. "Just an unwelcome visitor. If he comes back, don't let him in."

"Got it." She hesitates. "There's, um, another visitor for you. A Mr. Bishop? He says he's your... boyfriend?" Her eyebrows lift in question.

My heart skips. "Yes, he is. Please send him in."

Clive fills the doorway, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that makes his blue eyes even more striking. He's holding a bag from my favorite deli and his expression is both concerned and tender.

"I thought you might need lunch," he says, closing the door behind him. "And company, after Jack's visit."

I blink in surprise. "How did you know he was here?"

"He called me, ranting about how I'd stolen you away." Clive sets the bag on my desk, the aroma of fresh bread and roast beef making my stomach growl. "I was worried he might try to see you in person."

"Just missed him," I say, suddenly feeling exhausted. "How did he seem on the phone?"

Clive's jaw tightens. "Entitled. Angry. Threatening. The usual Jack performance." He pauses, studying my face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I reach for the food, needing something to do with my hands. "Better than fine, actually. I stood up to him for once."

Clive's smile reaches his eyes, creating those crinkles I've come to adore. "That doesn't surprise me at all."

"It surprised me," I admit. "And I think it shocked him too."

He comes around the desk, turning my chair to face him as he crouches down to my eye level. "Becca, you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Always have been."

His hands rest on the arms of my chair, not touching me but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. Here in my professional space, with the door closed and my assistant undoubtedly gossiping outside, I should feel uncomfortable with this intimacy. Instead, I feel protected. Seen.

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