Page 138 of Tell Me When It's Over

Unsure of what to say, I find myself nodding when she tells me to think about it, then gives me her card with a personal email address on it. A personal email. From Marica Adams.

“Whatever you decide, know that I’ll be in your corner.” That knowing smile is back when she stands at full height again, flattening at her pencil skirt. “It appears you have many powerful people already there, but what’s one more?”

She tips her head in dismissal, which I take before she decides to change her mind, and stare at the card with her information on it.

It isn’t until I get to Delmar’s sometime later, in the spare car that Kyler finally got me to agree to use when he couldn’t take me places, when I let what she says soak in.

She knows who’s in my corner.

She knows how they’re in my corner.

And when I step into Delmar’s to greet my usual coworkers after clocking in for my shift, I’m greeted by a face who’s been hellbent on avoiding me until now.

One text tells me why before Chase even opens his mouth.

Kyler: They know.

When he approaches me, he doesn’t even do his usual sweep over the black leggings and skintight tee or remark on the coffee stain I managed to get on my apron in record time. Instead, he holds up a magazine that has me and Kyler plastered on the front and says, “I’m only going to ask one time. Was this happening while we were together?”

Quinn and Harmony freeze behind the counter where they’re helping an older customer with a gift certificate. I meet their eyes, heat blasting my cheeks, before looking back at the boy whose face is no longer friendly toward me.

“Chase—”

“For once,” he cuts me off, voice thick with a desperation for the truth. “Just once, would you give it to me straight?”

Guilt clamps down on my heart when I meet his eyes because he can see right through me when my eyes melt into puddles of silent apology. Knowing how I led him on for longer than I should have is what makes me say, “I think it’s always been him.”

He’s still, not blinking, not speaking a word. I’m grateful for his silence, seeing the audience we’re collecting from the corner of my eye. There are cell phones pointed in my direction, a few murmured conversations from customers waiting for their order.

I could tell him what happened the day at Mia’s, or that night in Kyler’s room, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Telling him it’d been going on for years would change the context, even if the truth is always the same.

I loved Kyler.

I loved him then.

I loved him when I left.

I loved him when I came back.

And I love him ten times more now.

“I’m—”

He drops the hand holding the magazine and shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry if you don’t mean it. I should have seen this coming a mile away.”

“Chase,” I whisper.

“Are you going to deny it?”

I say nothing.

He looks away, disgust, hurt, and something else all mixed on his face. Quinn clears her throat to gain my attention, and when I see what she’s gesturing to with her chin, I pale at the cameras outside the café, pointed in the large windows.

Right at me.

At Chase.

“Ms. Grier,” a voice I don’t like hearing comes from behind me. When I turn toward Mr. Warren, my shoulders tense at the less than pleased expression on his face. He looks from me to the customers all watching my personal life unravel in front of them, to the paparazzi outside his building, before meeting my eyes again. “My office. Now.”

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