Page 142 of Not Safe For Work

…I let go of the man I’ve completely—

I forced that train of thought right off its rails and looked him in the eye. “It’s all going great.”

It’s all wrong. It’s all fucking wrong. What did I do?

“Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” He clapped my shoulder. “Keep up the good work, McNeill.”

Get your motherfucking hand off—

He squeezed once more and then let go and turned to grill Teagan.

I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table and closing my eyes. My conversations with Rick and my ex-wife ping-ponged around in my head, their words echoing off the inside of my throbbing skull, and one thought lurched its way to the forefront of my mind:

Well, McNeill? Was it worth it?

“Good work, everyone,” Mitchell said. “The client’s coming by later on to have a look at those models, so, uh, let’s all look sharp?”

My stomach fell into my feet.

Not today. God, not today. Rick came in here all the time, but…not today. Please.

I rubbed a hand over my face. I’d been convinced there was nothing worse than facing my boyfriend in the office—or the bedroom—with my boss’s ultimatum hanging over my head.

Wrong. So wrong.

Waiting in here for my ex to walk in with the man who’d strategically driven us apart? Fuck.

And it could get much worse. All Rick had to do was tip his hand, and my job was toast. Even if I could sue the company, that didn’t help me with my cash flow between now and a judge’s decision. I was pretty sure my kids’ colleges wouldn’t accept “I’ll pay you as soon as I’m done suing my ex-employer” in lieu of tuition.

But he wouldn’t tip his hand. I knew damn well he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of man he was, because he wasn’t the kind of man anyone with half a brain would let slip between their fingers. Especially not over something as stupid as money.

That realization—that my secret was safe with Rick even though he probably couldn’t stand the sight of me now—made my chest hurt. He was too good for that kind of vindictive shit. He was too good to let go of.

What have I done?

“Jon?” Marie asked quietly.

I opened my eyes. She was on the opposite side of my table, watching me over her glasses. Her raised eyebrows asked if everything was all right. I nodded. Maybe she was convinced, maybe she wasn’t—her lips tightened, and she held my gaze for a moment like she might pursue the issue.

“Marie, are you ready?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes, sir.” She shot me one last glance and then followed him out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, I released my breath.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Bianca asked.

I turned and realized everyone was staring at me. “What?”

“That was kind of weird.” Teagan eyed me over her model. “I mean, if looks could kill, Mitchell would’ve been a dead man.”

I swallowed. “And that’s new?”

“Well, no.” She stood straighter. “But usually you glare at him like you want him to drop dead. This time it was more like you wanted him to go up in flames.”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “Even Dawson looked like she was going to be all ‘Dude, McNeill, settle down.’”

I waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I shifted my attention back to my work and picked up the drawing of the structure I was currently building. I looked it over and tried to focus on the lines, numbers and letters that must have made sense to me in some lifetime. None of it meant a thing to me now. Just a bunch of random symbols scattered on a page, all adding up to nothing.