Page 46 of The Love Clause

"Am I? Because it sounds like you got what you wanted—your contract signed, your night of fun—and now you're done with me."

His jaw tightens, the only sign that my words have any impact. "That's unfair and inaccurate."

"Then explain it to me, Elliot. What changed between last night and this morning?"

He turns away, straightening papers on his desk that don't need straightening. "Nothing changed. I simply had time to consider the situation rationally."

"Rationally," I repeat, the word like acid on my tongue. "God forbid we do anything based on feelings instead of your precious rational analysis."

"Emotions are not a sound basis for decision-making," he says, the words so clinical they might as well be from a textbook. "Especially not emotions generated under artificial circumstances like our arrangement."

I step back, the hurt transforming rapidly into anger. "There was nothing artificial about what happened between us, and you know it. You're just too scared to admit it."

"I'm not scared," he says, his voice finally showing a crack in the perfect control. "I'm realistic. We come from different worlds, Josie. We want different things."

"You don't know what I want," I snap, hurt making me reckless. "You never bothered to ask."

"I know you want your fifty thousand dollars," he says, the statement landing like a physical blow. "Which you now have."

The sudden cruelty stuns me into momentary silence. This isn't the Elliot I've come to know. This is someone else—cold, dismissive, deliberately hurtful.

"That's not fair," I finally manage. "You know that's not what this is about."

He shrugs, the gesture so casually dismissive it makes my eyes sting with threatening tears. "The arrangement is complete. The money has been transferred. There's no reason to complicate things further."

I stare at him, searching for any trace of the man who held me through the night, who whispered he was mine against my skin, who looked at me like I mattered. He's gone, replaced by this corporate automaton who won't even meet my eyes.

"Fine," I say, summoning what dignity I can. "I'll get my things and go."

It doesn't take long to gather my meager possessions—the clothes I'd worn yesterday, Barney's carrier, my toothbrush from his bathroom. Each item I collect feels like another piece of evidence that I never belonged here, that this was always temporary.

Elliot remains in his office, door firmly closed, while I pack. The coward can't even face me for a proper goodbye. By the time I'm ready to leave, anger has mostly given way to a hollow ache that settles beneath my ribs.

I consider leaving without another word. It would be easier, cleaner. But I can't. Not without one last attempt.

I knock on his office door. No response. I open it anyway.

He sits at his desk, staring at his computer screen with such focused intensity it's obviously fake. His shoulders are rigid, his posture perfect, every inch the controlled professional.

"I'm leaving," I announce, Barney's carrier in one hand, my bag in the other.

He nods without looking up. "I'll have a car brought around."

"I don't need your car." Pride is about all I have left. "I can take the subway."

"As you wish." Still not looking at me, still hiding behind his screen.

I wait, hoping desperately that he'll change his mind. That he'll look up, cross the room, tell me this was all a terrible misunderstanding. The seconds stretch painfully as he continues typing, the click of keys the only sound in the room.

"Goodbye, Elliot," I finally say, the words thick in my throat.

His typing pauses, just for a moment. "Goodbye, Josie."

And that's it. No explanation, no real goodbye, just four cold syllables that feel nothing like the man who'd whispered my name like a prayer mere hours ago.

I leave before the tears can fall, closing his door with deliberate care when what I really want is to slam it hard enough to crack the perfect paint job. The trip through his building passes in a blur—the elevator, the doorman's polite nod, the busy street outside.

It's only when I'm halfway to the subway that I realize I have no idea what happened. No understanding of how something that felt so real, so significant, could evaporate so completely in the span of a morning. How a man who'd touched me with such tenderness could turn so cold without explanation.

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