Page 113 of 2 Books in One Bundle

Her one meager suitcase was moved to the trunk of another limo parked at the edge of the helipad. She removed her cello case herself and carefully set it inside.

She turned to see Damon walking around the helicopter, talking to one of the employees as he gestured toward the tail of the helicopter. It was still morning, the sun gathering force from the encroaching summer season and shining its full heat down on the city. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her.

He turned and smiled at her, a flash of white against his tan skin. Hope bubbled in her chest as he walked over to her.

“So...” He glanced at the limo. “You’re ready?”

The hope burst, leaving her adrift.

“I am.”

They stood no more than a couple feet apart. Yet she felt an ocean separating them, deep and dark and churning with secrets that would never be revealed.

Why, she suddenly thought.Why can’t we just talk about this?What if he feels something, too, and is just doing what I did, shoving the emotions away to keep the pain at bay?

But the thought was banished as soon as she looked up. He was cold, the same unapproachable mask he’d wielded in the meeting she’d walked into all those weeks ago. In that moment she knew that if she were to give voice to her heart, he’d reject her.

He held out his hand. Hurt sliced through her, so sharp she had to bite back a gasp. How had the incredible passion, the beautiful moments they’d shared come down to this? A handshake when just last night he’d kissed the pulse beating at her throat, the slopes of her breasts, her lips as he’d joined his body with hers?

But this was how it had always been fated to end, she reminded herself. She’d proposed it. Damon had agreed to it. She had no reason to be upset.

She squared her shoulders, mentally prepared herself, and clasped his hand in one quick, businesslike shake.

“Thank you, Mr. Bradford.” She inclined her head. “Have a good week.”

With those mundane parting words hanging in the air, she turned and walked away from Damon Bradford.

The only man she’d ever loved.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EVOLETLEANEDAGAINSTthe cool wall of the subway platform, her eyes drifting up to the marquee with the arrival times. A train rushed by, a blur of light and faces, before it disappeared back into the dark.

A sigh escaped her. It had been three weeks since Damon had ended their affair. One week since she’d walked out the doors of Bradford Global for the last time. She’d technically had one week left on her contract, but the Monday after their final weekend, she’d arrived at work to find that Damon had taken himself on a tour of Bradford Global’s manufacturing facilities. She’d managed to power through the following two weeks, wrapping up the mundane list of tasks and busy work he had left with speedy efficiency. By the end of the first week, she’d knocked out everything. By the end of the second week, after seeking out work from several departments and spending most of her afternoons twiddling her thumbs, she’d reached out to her agency, who had arranged for her contract to end early due to “assigned work being completed.” Her agency had also approved a two-week sabbatical. Time for her to breathe, to relax.

To heal.

Walking out on her last day had been painful. But it had been necessary.

She’d filled the last week with practice sessions in the park, visits to Constanza and far too many lattes at a roastery at the southern edge of East Harlem. Not to mention the two glasses of wine she’d imbibed last night as she’d sat on the fire escape of her apartment and soaked in the symphony of her neighborhood—the raucous honks of taxis and shrill shriek of sirens, the lilting phrases of Spanish, Creole and French drifting up from the sidewalks.

Escapism. Yet the nutty, caramelized scent of Italian roasted espresso, the sound of birds chirping in the background as she’d wrung heartbreak from her cello in Central Park, the dark taste of the merlot she’d sipped as she’d gazed up at the moon had all given her what she needed to survive having a broken heart.

The first day, every time her phone had pinged she’d forced herself to wait one minute, two, three before she’d picked it up with a tremor she wished she could deny but didn’t. And every text, every notification had all had one thing in common.

None of them had been from Damon.

By day two, she’d cried more than enough tears. By day three, she’d accepted that he wasn’t going to contact her.

It had been so tempting to shut down again. And for a couple days she had. But then Tuesday had rolled around. She’d forced herself to say yes again to pizza after practice with the Apprentice Symphony. She’d even invited another cellist, Ashley, to join her in the park that weekend, where they’d practiced and filmed videos for their social media. She had booked several independent performances through her website and, hopefully, would land an audition or two in the coming weeks.

Slowly, day by day, she was coming to accept that her affair with Damon had brought about some very good changes. Good change didn’t mean the pain was gone. Her chest still ached. When she closed her eyes at night, Damon’s face rose in her mind. But each day was getting a little better. And, most importantly, she wasn’t going to allow herself to crawl into a hole of regret. Her time with Damon had been incredible. To focus on the aftermath instead of the miracles of pleasure that had occurred would only be hurting herself.

A mechanical voice broke through her thoughts as it announced the train that would take her to her new assignment for a fancy law firm in downtown Brooklyn was just four minutes away. Another subway barreled down the tracks in the center of the station, the wheels groaning as the cars carried hordes of Monday-morning commuters squished inside like sardines. Wind kicked up in her face, and she glanced away from the tracks.

Just in time to see Audrey Clark from Bradford Global rush through the turnstile.

“Evolet!”

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