Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Don’t go, his kiss says.
I have to, mine answers back.
When we pull away, we’re both breathing hard, his hands on my face, his forehead resting on mine.
I have the fiercest urge to cling and an even more damaging urge to change my mind. To say the hell with the FBI and everything I’ve wanted and worked for my whole adult life for a guy who wants me but I think is still a long way off from loving me.
“I should go,” I whisper. I have to go.
Ian nods and slowly releases me until his arms drop to his sides, letting me go.
I make it as far as the door before he says my name, the word both frantic and hesitant.
“Lara, what would you say . . . what would you do . . . if I asked you to stay?”
I could do it. The guy has more than enough money. I could ask him for a loan, and I know he’d give it to me in a heartbeat, though he’d be a pain in the ass about letting me pay him back.
And then what? I move in? Live off his salary? Become the kept woman known for trading her integrity for a man? It’s not true, but the reputation would be there, and even if it weren’t . . .
I need more than to be Ian Bradley’s woman. I need to be Lara McKenzie, and Lara McKenzie still wants to be in the FBI.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please don’t ask.”
He nods and lets me go without another word.
I make it all the way to the back seat of a cab before I start crying for real.
37
IAN
Three Weeks Later: Thursday Afternoon
“You’re doing it again,” Kennedy says.
I look up at him in irritation. “Doing what?”
Matt is in the chair beside me and counts his fingers. “Grinding your teeth, muttering under your breath, glaring at anything that moves, snapping at anyone who looks your way . . .”
“So feel free to get out.”
“It’s my office,” Kennedy says from the other side of the desk. “You get out.”
“I thought we were debating who gets the other Mets ticket,” I say.
Matt shakes his head and points at Kennedy. “I choose him. You’re too much of a downer, man.”
“Fine,” I snap, standing.
Matt sighs. “Hold up. You need a distraction. Come to the game, but you have to promise to have a beer and at least try to have a good time.”
“I don’t want to go anymore,” I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child and not giving a shit.
I haven’t given a shit about much in the three weeks since Lara left New York.
And yeah, go ahead and accuse me of being the guy moping over a girl. I can take it because it’s true.
I just don’t know what to do about it. My job is here. Hers is there. I love my job. She loves her job.
I love her. She doesn’t love me.
Damn it.
“Is this the end of my lecture?” I ask them. “If there’s more, feel free to send me an e-mail with my flaws. I promise to read it never.”
Kennedy and Matt exchange a look but wisely say nothing.
Kate sticks her head into the office to bark at me that I have a call on line two. She disappears without another word, and Kennedy and Matt stay silent, waiting for my explanation.
“She’s still pissed at me,” I explain. “Ever since . . .” I shake my head because I can’t finish the sentence out loud. Ever since Lara left.
Kate’s not the only one who’s mad. Even Sabrina has been acting exasperated with me, as though I should be doing something about the situation.
But what can I do? It’s not like I can call Lara and tell her to come back. I can’t ask her to give up something she wants just because I can’t stop thinking about her.
At my darkest hours, I want to. But I won’t. I won’t ask someone I care about to do something I can’t bring myself to do:
Give up my work. Give up everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for.
This—Wall Street—is my life. This office, these people . . . they’re everything I’ve wanted since I was fourteen, and I’ve arrived, damn it.
I’ve got the life I wanted.
Don’t I?
I leave the guys and return to my own office, doing a double take when the orchid catches my eye. Fuck. When did it start to droop like that? Is there anything in my life not going to shit?
I drop into my chair, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing the heels of my hands to them for a moment.
Kate buzzes in on my intercom, and her voice is pure pissed-off female. “Hello? Line two!”
She hangs up again, and I pick up the line. “Ian Bradley.”
“Hey, boy. My TV broke.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Hey, Dave.”