Page 87 of No More Billionaires

The door to his rarely-used office was closed, but he was visible through the window, so I knocked and opened it.

He looked up from his desk, and his face immediately went from polite interest to shuttered and emotionless when he saw it was me.

“Hi. Can I come in?”

His eyes dropped back to his monitor, and his fingers tapped on the keyboard. In a flat tone he said, “If you’re here about our sweeps piece, it’s done. It’s in the system. You should check it out. I’ll make sure Tom knows what a great job you did.”

Ugh. It was worse than I’d expected. He’d shut me out of his heart entirely.

We were back to platonic co-workerville. I stood awkwardly, holding the envelope containing the document I’d intended to give him. It was probably pointless now.

“Uh… thanks. I’ll go watch it in a minute. I… I wanted to talk to you.”

A line formed between Larson’s brows as he glanced up then away again. “I’m kind of busy right now.” A long pause. “I’m not sure we really have much left to talk about, anyway.”

His voice was rough, and his throat moved in a painful-looking swallow. There were dark smudges showing through the pale skin under his eyes.

Apparently, his weekend had been as awful as mine.

So maybe he does still care enough to…

“Larson,” I began quietly. I walked toward him, stopping a few inches away from his desk.

His eyes stayed on his computer screen, but his fingers gripped the outer edge of his desk to the point of blanching. His voice sounded even more ragged than before.

“Just… just go, Kenley. Please.”

White hot pain seared the lining around my heart and stole my breath, making it hard to speak.

Until this moment, I’d been clinging to a thread of hope we could still work things out. But he was going to cut it, just like that.

His fear of being used and desired for the wrong reasons was so strong it had blinded him to all the good we’d ever shared, to all the evidence that what we’d had was real.

Instead of feeling anger, I was heartbroken—for myself, but especially for him.

My voice was a thick whisper, barely making it past my tear-clogged throat.

“We’re really not going to talk at all? You won’t let metryto explain?”

Larson pushed back from his desk, but he didn’t stand. He leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees as his head stayed bent toward the floor.

“I can’t. I can’t listen, because… I’ll want to believe you. And I can’t. Let. Myself. Believeanymore. I…”

He stopped and took a shaky breath before raising his eyes to meet mine with a tortured gaze.

“I really loved you.”

Loved.

His use of the past tense caused that searing pain around my heart to sink inward, tunneling its way down to the core. I swallowed hard.

It’s really over. He’s giving up.There was nothing I could do.

Still clutching the pre-nup, I turned stiffly, planning to walk away. But then I stopped and faced him again.

“I loved you, too, Larson. I still do. I’ll never stop—even now while you’re refusing to trust me, while you’re throwing that love away. I can’tmakeyou believe in me, but let me ask you this… whatwillyou believe in? The same old poor little rich boy story you’ve dragged along with you your whole life? That people only care about your money? That no one could ever love you? Well some people can, and theydo. It’s too bad you can’t believe that because you’re allowing your past to sabotage your entire future.”

I dropped the envelope on his desk where it landed with a quiet scuff in the otherwise silent room.

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