Page 22 of The Affair
His expression changed to one closely resembling horror. “I thought you knew! You just said—”
I just shook my head, suddenly feeling too nauseous to respond.
“I’m sorry, Elle. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I thought you—”
But I couldn’t. Not now. Racing toward the back, I sought solace in my mom’s old office, which I guessed was now mine.
Just like everything else.
* * *
I didn’t knowhow long I’d been sitting in my office. Holed up in here like a moronic coward, too embarrassed to go back out there and face Sawyer and the barrage of questions I had for him.
How long have they been dating?
Does he love her?
Was that time in the bar really the first …
With all these thoughts swirling around in my head, I’d managed to keep myself busy by counting the number of paper clips that sat in the jar on my desk.
Twice.
I’d also organized all the papers in my Incoming and Outgoing boxes by alphabetical order, checked the ink in my printer, and made myself another cup of coffee—since I’d stormed away from the last one.
Letting out a huff of frustrated air from my lungs, I leaned back in the creaky, old chair that had been in this office for more years than I could remember and tried to think about anything but Reed and that stupid girl from the bar.
I had known he’d move on eventually. I wasn’t naive.
I had known that, one day, I’d run into him at the market or in one of the million pizza joints in town and see him on a date or holding hands with the girlfriend I’d heard about. We’d smile politely to each other even though every part of me wanted to scream, and then I’d wish them a good evening and go home and allow myself one good cry.
And that would be it. I’d move on, just as he had.
It was what I’d prepared myself for.
But I’d never expected this.
I’d never expectedher.
A knock came just then, pulling me from my thoughts, and I immediately tried to push them away. “Come in,” I said, mustering as much professionalism as I could.
Sawyer poked his head in, and when he saw I was sitting at my desk and not in the corner, crying myself to hysteria, he took the liberty of inviting himself in. “Hey, there’s a couple outside, asking about handcrafted furniture?” His hands went up, and he shrugged his shoulders.
I opened my mouth, clueless as to how to answer, but his sly smile beat me to it.
“Kidding. But don’t worry; there will be soon.”
Rolling my eyes, I asked him, “Is that all you wanted?”
“No, I actually did want to talk to you. Is now okay?”
Checking the time on my watch, I noticed we had a few minutes until nine, so I nodded. His joke would have been marginally funnier if I’d realized that a moment sooner.
He took the seat across from me, one I’d occupied for many years when I was in the role of part-time assistant to my mom and dad.
It felt weird to be on the other side now.
Even weirder when I realized it was a permanent position.
