Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Wait a minute. I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes.
I didn’t need a lifeline, because I hadn’t fucked up bad enough to require one. I’d lied, which was shitty, but I would apologize and make amends. Being with Noah wasn’t a mistake. And this ultimatum?
It was stupid.
This didn’t need to be an all or nothing scenario. Maybe I was a spoiled brat, because I didn’t understand why I couldn’t have both.
My father had said he didn’t want to hear me say this time was different—but God. It fucking was.
“Why do I have to choose?” I demanded.
“You don’t,” Noah said from his far-off spot where invisible chains had him imprisoned. “I . . . can do it for you.”
What the fuck? His expression was cryptic. Vacant. I didn’t understand—
Oh, shit.
It filled me with so much dread, my body ached with it. No, a voice in my head cried. Announcing I loved him had torn a rift between us, and with each passing second, the distance to him grew until it was vast and insurmountable.
“Wait,” I pleaded.
My father didn’t sense what was about to happen. Maybe he worried Noah was going to make some enticing offer and sway me to his side—or maybe he just wanted to twist the knife. “Think carefully about this. If you pick him, remember he’s currently unemployed.”
“We’ll stop seeing each other.” Noah said it like it was decided, a settled fact.
I’d seen it coming, but I gasped with shock anyway.
At the sound, he flinched. It was as if my pain was causing him pain, and his focus swung to me. God, his expression was fucking heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was uneven. “But you and I both know this is the right call. I can’t let you blow up your life over,” he searched for the right word, “an infatuation.”
I crossed the other arm over my stomach, trying not to double over. Infatuation? Was he fucking serious? I wasn’t just wounded by his words—I was betrayed.
He knew I didn’t sleep with someone until I cared deeply about them, and we’d been sleeping together for more than a month. Add on all the months leading up to that, all the times we’d talked, and kissed, and fooled around . . .
“How can you think this is just an infatuation?” A tremble worked its way up my legs, and my eyes widened in realization. “Oh, God. Is that how you see me? Just some foolish, lovesick little girl?”
My father disappeared from existence. It was only Noah and me, standing in this room with the great divide between us. His face was full of regret, and I hated it so much, I could barely look at him.
“I told you,” he sounded so fucking small, “I don’t have time for love.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
And the scary thing was, he believed it.
But I was so tired of hearing that bullshit and my anger swelled until it became icy cold. “That’s fine,” I snapped. “I was fine with waiting for you, but you can’t get mad at me for falling in love with you in the meantime.”
Finally, his feet were no longer rooted to the ground, and he took a step forward. But it felt much too little, too late, and I backed away in response. He put a hand out to try to calm me, as if to say steady.
I found that . . . infuriating.
How dare he be calm when everything was falling apart? How dare he give up at the first sign of trouble, and not fight for what we had? The Noah I loved wasn’t afraid, but I didn’t recognize this man in front of me.
He wanted to run.
“I’m not mad,” he said, “but, Charlotte, you can’t wait for me.” He leveled a gaze that made my heart stop. “Doing that would be a waste of time.”
It was the final crack in the ground beneath us, forcing the earth apart so much, I could no longer see a way back to him. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my heart cleaved in two, and then shattered into a million pieces.
I wiped my face, angry I’d let him see the tears he didn’t deserve. The ones I’d foolishly told him months ago I wouldn’t have time for. He stared at me now like he’d evaluated our relationship with his cold shell of a stockbroker’s heart and decided it was time to cut and run.
To mitigate our losses.
“This doesn’t change anything,” a voice said, and in my pain, it took a long moment to realize it was my father speaking. “Your employment here is over, and I don’t want to see you again. You understand?”
Perhaps if my eyes hadn’t been so blurry with tears, I would have seen in perfect detail just how shell-shocked Noah looked. He nodded, shuffled forward, and when he reached the doorway, he hesitated.