Page 82 of Miss Understood

Not like I fought for her, or even asked her to stay.

I did nothing to put out the fire that caught between us. Instead, I stood in the center of the heat and watched it burn.

How can there be too much air yet not enough for my lungs?

My suits hang alone in my closet, still wrapped in the dry-cleaning plastic. The floral scent of her perfume hits me when I accidentally roll onto her pillow, even after I’ve washed it. The last inch of her favorite honey haunts me every time I go into the kitchen cabinet.

Apparently, a person can exist and be a ghost at the same time. Because that’s what Luce is, a floating apparition. Avoiding me at the office, even if she’s there.

Here, but gone.

If I thought my dating life was cause for gossip before, it’s nothing compared to what it is now. Whether she and I say anything or not, people are talking. Speculating about what happened between us.

True to Luce’s word, she’s kept her mouth shut. We’ve both kept quiet and let it play out around us. It’s what we’re good at—compartmentalization.

Luce is clearly better at it than I am. She makes it look easy. Leaving me, bailing on the firm to accept a job with Troy, of all people. I swear, if I don’t punch him in the fucking face next time I see him, it will be a miracle.

He showed up earlier, with that smug grin, to meet with Brad and I about Luce’s transition, but I walked out before a word came out of his mouth. I wanted to avoid doing something I’d regret at work.

And now, she’s gone.

Even with my door shut, I swear I felt it when she left the building. The last bit of energy faded from the room. I was tempted to run after her and tell her all the things I should have said instead of letting her leave my apartment that day.

That I want her to have everything, even if it means she leaves the firm.

That her happiness is all that matters.

That I would never stop her from going after everything she deserves, in life and in her career.

That my life is empty without her in it.

That the wedding might have been fake, but my feelings were real.

But I can’t let my heartache spill out onto her. I know this is for the best.

My office door cracks open, and the sour mood I’ve been wearing around like a blanket deepens as Mateo pops in with a disappointed frown. The rest of the office has been in the dark on exactly what went down, but Mateo hasn’t. And he’s made it perfectly clear whose side he’s on in the case of Luce vs. Jesse.

It doesn’t matter that we’ve been friends for years, or that I’m the one who gave him a job, or that he works for me—his attitude makes his stance clear.

“I’m busy,” I tell him, refusing to look up from my computer.

He ignores me and walks in anyway. “I know how busy you are or aren’t. I handle your schedule, remember?”

“Get to the point.”

This nasty ache inside me keeps trying to claw its way out. Like my misery isn’t enough to feed it. It has to take and take. Destroying everything in its path.

Mateo slaps a manila envelope onto my desk, and for some reason my stomach drops like the hammer of a gavel.

“What’s that?”

“For the record, I’m only handing this to you as a wake-the-fuck-up call,” Mateo says, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

When I finally look him in the eye, I notice the annoyance he’s carried around for the past couple weeks has been replaced by something else.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, you’re excused,” he says with that sharp tone, tipping his chin to the folder on the table. “Open.”

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