Page 65 of Heated
When I initially agreed to this arrangement with him, I didn’t expect things to become so damn ... complicated. But every time I turn around, more and more strings appear, and they’re snarled and dirtied with deception. And I’m choking on them.
“I appreciate your concern,” she says, the cool note in her tone belying her words, “but I’m certain. Of course, if you’d rather not have my business ...”
I smother a sigh. Yes, I’d rather not have her business. For personal reasons. But personal reasons have no sway here. They can’t have reign when it’s not only myself I have to consider. And not when it would take only one negative, well-placed comment in the right ear from Val Summers to hurt our reputation and all that we’ve built.
“No, it would be our pleasure to help you again. I’m sorry for the circumstances, though.”
She shrugs. “These things happen. Actually ...” She sighs, threading her fingers through her hair. Glancing away, she briefly closes her eyes and rubs her fingertips against her breastbone. A moment later, she drops her hand and faces me again, that pensive expression vanished, as if it’d never happened. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about Cyrus lately. About how if I was too hasty, it was with him. The grass definitely wasn’t greener on the other side. Being with this other person made me appreciate Cyrus’s stability and dependability more. And I can say what I want about him being a workaholic; Cyrus would never see another woman behind my back.”
Then you shouldn’t have cheated on him and dumped him for some pretty superficial reasons.
Shit.
I didn’t think this could get worse. But I was so wrong. I’ve lost all objectivity. Our cardinal rule is not to get personally involved with clients. And while I haven’t broken the letter of the law, the spirit of the law? I’ve shattered that and then stomped the pieces to dust.
I can’t, in good conscience, continue to work for Val. Not while I know what her ex—the man she now seems to be pining for—feels like, tastes like, kisses like. Not when I know what it is to receive pleasure at his hands, his mouth.
Oh God. Getting hot at the memory of Cyrus has to violate some clause in my contract with her.
There’s one silver lining. With the flu no longer running rampant through our staff, I’m no longer required to pinch-hit on the actualbreakups. Still, the wisest play here is to pass off Val’s file to Miriam. It lessens the messiness of the already messy conflict of interest, and Val won’t have to know. Besides, nothing in her contract specifies who will be over her file, nor does it prohibit me from assigning her to another owner of the company.
And why, yes. Yes, I am justifying my actions.
“I think it’s perfectly natural to think about what-ifs,” I say, and how I utter that so calmly with guilt swaying in my belly like a drunken sailor is a minor miracle. “Especially when you’re about to come out of another relationship.”
“Maybe.” She pauses, as if considering my explanation. “And maybe it’s a reminder to go back and reclaim what you’ve lost before it’s too late.”
Dread crashes over me in icy waves, and if I wasn’t going to be ill when Deanna announced Val’s presence in my lobby, I just might be now.
Images of this woman and Cyrus together rush to the forefront of my mind. Of their perfection as a couple. Of how they seem to fit. To belong.
Stop it.
Just because Val wants to revisit the past doesn’t mean he is up for a trip down Memory Lane. Besides, hadn’t he said—
Oh my God, what am I doing? What am I thinking? Another wave of terror crashes over me, dragging me into its frigid undertow. I can’t get invested in Val or Cyrus. Not like this. Like, like ...shit.
And what happens if he eventually does decide to go back to her? What does it matter to me? Because if it’s not her, it will be another woman like her. He admitted as much to me. So the worst, most idiotic thing I can do is become attached to a man who slapped a three-month expiration date on our fake relationship/friendship, much less ...
There is nomuch less.
I’m not even a rebound girl.
I’m penance. An arrangement. A teaching tool.
As long as I keep that forefront in my mind, I’ll be fine.
I’ll be just. Fine.
“When the shit hits the fan—because, babe, it has no choice but to hit the fan—you’re going to end up hurt.”
Damn. There are way too many people in my head today.
Forcing a smile, I tap the space bar on my keyboard to bring my monitor alive.
“Okay, Ms.Summers. Let’s discuss which package you’d like to book with us.”
In the end, it all comes down to business as usual.
