Page 108 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“Heidi, this is –”

“Can we talk?” I interrupt. “Alone.”

Both men look at me with a beat of surprise. Quentin nods, gently touching my arm and excusing us. I guide him to a quiet corner at the edge of the balcony. The lights of the bridge reflect off the river that stretches beneath us. I suck in a lungful of the warm air.

“Are you the new partner?” I ask.

He blinks like I’ve slapped him. He measures his words.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Are you?” I repeat.

His throat works as he swallows. Eventually he nods. All the blood seems to drain from my body.

“What the fuck, Quentin?”

“The decision isn’t final,” he says quickly. “I’ve asked them to reconsider –”

“How long have you known?”

“A little while.”

“After Florida?”

He drops his gaze. “Before.”

“Before Florida?” I say. I can hear the betrayal in my voice, and I hate it. My vision blurs, but I can’t look away from him. I swallow past the lump rising in my throat. “Has anything you’ve told me been true?”

“I haven’t accepted the position. I’m trying to leverage this in your favor – in both our favors. I didn’t lie –”

“Omissions are lies, Quentin,” I say. “The partners won’t keep secrets, remember?”

“I told you, they’re going to reconsider –”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” I say. “It’s been weeks. If they were going to do it, they would have done it. You don’t have any leverage.”

“Then I’ll quit,” he says.

I scoff. “So I can have your leftover pity job? No thanks. What the fuck are you even saying?”

“I’m saying this isn’t over.”

“No, it’s definitely over. You used me. You made me think I still had a shot and distracted me with sex so you could keep me out of the way,” I say, laughing at my own stupidity. “Everyone was right. It was a mistake, getting involved with you.”

I see the hurt flash across his face like I’ve stabbed him in the gut. I want to bury the blade and twist it. I want him to hurt as much as I’m currently hurting.

“Stop,” he says. “You don’t mean that.”

I laugh. “You have no idea how much I really, really do.”

I turn and escape back into the apartment. My stride is angry enough that it draws attention. Those who don’t notice my furious trajectory for the elevator can’t miss the way Quentin sprints after me. When he reaches for my arm, I fling myself free.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Heidi, please,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “I can explain.”

“You can explain? The same way you explained about your stepmother? Was any of that true, or are you sleeping with her, too?”

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