Chapter 36 Dominic


    “Attending a B2B conference in Denver. You approved her itinerary several weeks ago.”


    I detect a hint of reproach in her tone. Or maybe that’s just my embarrassment talking.


    “Oh . . . right. Sorry, I totally nked on that.” And not only did I forget, I had to make an ass of myself


    about it too.


    “No problem, sir.” Her graciousness just makes my gaffe worse. “Would you like me to call her cell


    instead?”


    “No, that’s all right. I’ll just email her about this, and she’ll see it when she gets back.”


    N?velDrama.Org content.


    I hang up, feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind.


    Frustrated, I massage circles into my temples. I absolutely can’t let the stress get to me like this. I need


    about a gallon of coffee—well, what I really need is for those fucking reporters to have kept their


    mouths shut, but coffee is better than nothing. I almost ask Beth to bring me some, then decide to head


    downstairs to the cafeteria instead. Maybe getting away from my desk and stretching my legs will help


    clear my head.


    The crowd is at less than half its usual lunchtime peak, and I’m grateful for that, but there are still


    enough people that the sensation of them staring at me is almost intolerable. I clench my teeth and


    focus on filling a paper cup with scalding-hot ck coffee, and then getting the hell out of there.


    Someone walks over to me. Expecting it to be an employee thirsty for details, I reluctantly look up, only


    to see Oliver.


    He gives me a sympathetic smile that I’m really not in the mood for right now. “How you holding up,


    man?”


    I don’t need to ask what he’s talking about. Everyone who works in this building—maybe everyone in


    Seattle—has seen that story, and they know it hasn’t evene close to dying down.


    “Shitty,” I reply sourly.


    “Yeah, I don’t me you.” Oliver scratches his head. “So, uh . . . what’re you gonna do about Presley?”


    I kind of want to smack him, but that’s not fair of me. I knew I’d have to deal with this issue eventually.


    I heave a bleak sigh. “I don’t see how there’s anything I can do other than break up with her.”


    God, I’m the worst kind of idiot. How did I let our rtionship get to the point where “breaking up”


    applies? I’m the one who told her I wasn’t looking for anything serious and I wanted to stay casual, and


    yet here I am, losing my shit over her—in more ways than one.


    And now I have to hurt her. I’m sure I’ve already hurt her.


    As I peer down into my cup, I can’t help but recall a joke Oliver once made about the way I like my


    coffee—midnight ck—just like my soul, he’d joked. Only now I’m not even sure it was a joke. It sure


    as fuck doesn’t feel like one right now.


    Oliver gives me a wry, sympathetic twist of his mouth. “I know it royally sucks. But for what it’s worth, I


    think you’re doing the right thing.”


    Recalling his words in Spokane that day when he warned me away from her, warned me that she was


    a good girl and I was only going to ruin things, I find they now ring truer than ever. He’d have a viable


    career in fortune-telling if luxury hotels ever start to bore him.


    “I think it’s the right thing too.” And I really do believe that.


    So then why does it feel so wrong? Why is my heart jumping up and down screaming no? Why can’t I


    shake the sense that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? I didn’t feel this awful after I had to stop


    seeing Sara. Presley and I haven’t even gotten to the actual breakup yet, and my stomach is already in


    knots.


    Shit . . . our rtionship turned way tooplicated, way too fast. I promised myself I wouldn’t be like


    this, wouldn’t let things go this far. And yet I didn’t have the strength to control the situation. One kiss,


    and I lost all control. One taste, and I threw my rules right out the window.


    Oliver pulls me out of my caustic thoughts by squeezing my shoulder. “I’m always here for you, man.


    Anything you need, just say the word.”


    “Thanks, Ollie,” I say. “Got a time machine lying around?”


    He chuckles. “I wish. But I can offer somepany for your misery, at least. How about we meet in


    your office this afternoon and talk about this over whiskey? Maybe we can brainstorm solutions.”


    I snort despite myself. “Who’s we? You’re the one who drinks at work, not me.”


    “Come on,” he says. “I can pour you just one finger if you’re scared. You seriously need to take the


    edge off before you have an aneurysm.”


    I roll my eyes. “As long as you stop pestering me about it, you have yourself a deal. I’ll have a little and


    see if it helps. At this point, I’ll try anything.”


    “Attaboy.” He looks almost smug.


    “I’m free after four.”


    Oliver nods. “Perfect. I’ll swing by then.”


    As we walk back to the office, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Presley.


    We need to talk.