Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
It’s killing me, this dream job.
Killing me because it’s so good and so bad at the same time.
He speaks first. “What’s the matter?”
“What do you mean, what’s the matter?” I smile at him as sweetly as I can, but I must look deranged. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“You’re grinning like you want to peel off my face and wear it.”
“So says the toe-killer.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m fine.” I take a big sip of wine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be? “How was your day?” I ask, trying to deflect attention.
“Stressful.” He leans back and sighs, telling me about a client that’s been bugging him a lot lately over minor problems. “Then there’s the apartment hunting. I hired a realtor out in Boston, but she’s not coming back with any viable options. I’m starting to think I need someone else.”
I feel like my body sinks into the couch. “I thought I was coming up with a list.”
He glances at me, a hint of surprise in his expression. “You are. But I thought—”
“Or did you think that I wasn’t coming with you?”
Silence. He stares at me. My body goes numb, and I’m doing all I can to hold myself together.
“Janine called,” he says finally, piercing some of the pressure. “She told you about Appalachian Peaks.”
But it’s not enough. His bland stare, the even way he says it, like it’s nothing. While I’m vibrating inside, a piece of crystal about to explode.
“Why did you tell her to put my resume out there?”
“I didn’t know they’d be interested.” He shakes his head, grimacing. “All right, that’s not true. I knew they would be. I hoped they would be, at least.”
“Why?” I ask, trying not to let myself cry, but a lump forms in my throat. I’m embarrassed, upset, betrayed, a thousand different things.
I thought we were forming something deeper.
A real bond, an actual connection. I can’t call it love—or an actual relationship—not when our arrangement is so complicated. But I thought we had gotten past this point and were finally moving somewhere better.
Sleeping together. Laughing, eating, bathing together. I’ve been thinking of him as more than my roommate, more than a partner in a wild scheme we cooked up.
Now I’m wondering if that was entirely one-sided.
He stands, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I should’ve told you,” he says. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve warned you. Janine called about getting me a new assistant, mentioned the Appalachian Peaks job, and I knew I had to throw your name out there. I mean, it’s a dream job, isn’t it? I couldn’t ignore that chance for you.”
“I still don’t understand why you did it. We had a plan. Don’t you want me to come to Boston with you?”
“I do,” he says before looking at me. “And I don’t.”
That kills me.
I don’t.
I open my mouth, but I have to shut it again, otherwise I’ll start crying. This is so mortifying I could throw myself out the window.
Worst of all, it’s my fault.
I let myself start to feel this way for him. I knew it was a mistake—he even all but told me it was a mistake—and I still couldn’t help it.
We fit together.
There’s no other way to describe it. I’ve never been with someone that gets me like he does—with absolutely no effort.
Our jokes, our stories, everything clicks. I haven’t gotten bored of him a single time since moving here, even when I’ve been pissed at him.
That’s so rare. That never happens to people, and yet here it is, happening to me.
I thought I had something good. Something all my own.
Something that could finally push away the misery of my life.
Now it’s like he’s shining a light, and everything’s rotten. What I thought was solid—is actually filled with holes.
“Explain,” I manage to croak. It’s not dignified, but hell, at least I said something.
He lingers in the kitchen, putting distance between us.
I feel him pulling further and further away.
“I’m not good for you, Fiona,” he says, speaking so softly I have to lean closer to hear. “I knew this would be hard when we started, but it’s only gotten harder. I figured we’d fly out to the East Coast a few times, maybe spend a couple weeks there, but can I really ask you to uproot yourself and move full-time with me?”
“I was ready to do it,” I say, feeling absolutely pathetic. “I still am.” Add this to the list of ways life has really slapped me in the face.
“I know you’d do it, and that’s another reason I don’t deserve you.” He puts his drink down, spreads his hand. “Listen to me, Fiona. You need something all your own. You could come out to Boston with me, spend a year of your life tricking the Crowleys, all for what? Some money? Your debt’s gone. You don’t need me anymore. All you’d do out there is languish, waste your time, but this job is a real future. It’s the kind of opportunity that comes along once and never again. How could I keep you from that? This job is something I can’t provide.”