All that work. All those hours and days of trying to move on. All those assurances to myself that I had this, that I could do it. All of it blown out of the water in one fell swoop.
Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.
He’s here, right here in front of me. And despite everything, it’s all I can do not to fall straight into him.
I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to act. There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to run across the room and throw myself into his lap. To bury my face in his neck and beg him to never let me go. To pretend that the last two weeks never happened and that, somehow, someway, all the pain, all the agony, was nothing but a nightmare gone awry.
But there’s another part—equally as big and equally as important—that wants to run away. Or at least dive behind the nearest chair and not come out until he’s gone. Until he’s no longer looking at me like he saw a ghost.
Or worse.
Of the two choices, the second is definitely the smarter one. Humiliating, yes. Unprofessional, absolutely. But still so much better than standing here remembering what it feels like to be held by him.
To be loved by him.
And yet, even knowing what a terrible idea it is, I can’t stop myself from taking a step toward him, then another and another. In seconds, I’m standing right in front of him, close enough to touch his soft hair and smoothly shaven cheeks. Close enough to register the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath the navy silk of his shirt. More than close enough to feel his heartbeat if I just reach out and stroke my hands down his chest as I’m longing to do.
“Ethan.” His name is a tortured sound ripped from me, half whisper, half sob, but I can see by the way his eyes narrow and his fists clench that he hears me. Can tell by the way he looks at me that he understands all the things I don’t have the words to say.
He doesn’t react for a long time, doesn’t so much as move a muscle. Then, suddenly, he’s leaning forward in his chair, and I think that he’s going to be the one to do it, to break the oh-so-fragile understanding between us. To touch me the way I’ve been longing to be touched from the moment I left him in that parking lot.
But then his eyes go blank and he’s looking through me like I’m not even here.
Or worse, like I never was.
“Lorraine,” he calls quietly to one of the senior lawyers from Frost Industries who is sitting halfway down the huge table. “Do you have the documentation on the O’Riley case? I think the precedents set there are going to become important as we negotiate …”
He continues on about the case, but I tune him out. He’s not saying anything I don’t already know. Hell, I’m the one who did the investigation on the O’Riley case and found the precedent he’s speaking of. I’ve been neck-deep in research for this merger for weeks. But he’s the boss. If he wants to deal with Lorraine instead of me, then who am I to get offended?
Except I am. I totally am. Because Ethan has never, not once, looked at me like he just did.
Like he’s completely indifferent to me.
Like he doesn’t even know me.
Like I don’t matter at all.
It hurts, much more than I expected it to. Maybe because I know that no matter what happens between us, I’d never be able to look at him that same way. Never would I be able to just … dismiss him, not after everything that he’s meant to me.
“Excuse me, Chloe.”
Lorraine shuffles me aside as she takes my place in front of Ethan, talking as fast as she can about the salient points of the case. Points that I spent hours pulling out of the court documents and putting together for just this moment.
Because it’s my job, I remind myself viciously as I step back to give her room. I’m an intern, one of the ones who do the research and the grunt work. She’s one of the lawyers, the ones who interpret all that grunt work and figure out what it means—and what to do with it. I have no right to resent her this much.
And yet I do. I really do, especially when Ethan looks at her with rapt concentration. The same kind of concentration he used to give me when I spoke to him about work matters—or anything else.
Again, it’s my own fault. I’m the one who has worked so hard to put distance between us these last couple of weeks. Who hasn’t responded to one text or call from him since that morning at his house. I have no right to be upset about the fact that he’s obviously taken my wishes to heart and moved on.
With that thought first and foremost in my mind, I move backward to give Lorraine all the room she could possibly want. It’s not like I even belong up here anyway. The interns usually sit at a smaller table behind the Frost Industries lawyers, computers open and research readily available to help clarify any discussion points that might come up. I’m certain everyone else is settled in and ready to go while I’ve been too busy mooning over the boss to so much as put down my briefcase.
It’s time for me to remedy that.
But as I take another step back, start to turn, the right heel of these ridiculous Louboutins catches on a snag in the carpet and I start to fall. Panicked, I reach for the table to catch myself, but I’ve stepped back too far and my fingers just miss the edge.
I brace myself for the fall—the jarring pain and subsequent humiliation of going down in the middle of a boardroom filled with my peers and superiors—but it never comes. Instead, Ethan reaches out in a flash, grabbing the front lapels of my jacket with both hands and pulling me forward. He holds me steady until I can do it myself. And then, the second I’m recovered, he lets go of me and sits back down, turning the laser beam of his attention on Lorraine like the whole thing had never happened. Like he hadn’t just saved me from making a total fool of myself in front of everyone, not to mention from some very unpleasant bruises.
What I don’t understand is how he can be so nonchalant about the whole thing, when I can still feel the brush of his knuckles against my breasts as he made the grab for me. Can still feel the strength and the power of his hands as he held me steady and the answering response in my body that I so don’t want to give.