Page 77 of Not Safe for Work

“Tris—”

“No, please. I know you mean well, but I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“I let you down. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I look at him and am surprised by the open, raw expression on his face.

“You mean that?”

“I do. I really do. I am truly sorry. Tris, this place doesn’t deserve you.”

My answer is a rueful smile. “Maybe I’m finally starting to get that.”

Once again, I face the water, and he leans next to me, our elbows propped on the railing. I feel the brush of his arm, and I steal a glance over. We’ve spent years as drifting tectonic plates working our way against each other’s edges. If we keep shifting, could we fit together?

I breathe out a long sigh, realizing that I’ve made Rafe the poster child for my personal stagnation when he was never truly the villain. I can’t change the world on my own, and I can’t change WMC, nor is that my job. I’ve been so scared to move on, but it’s time to face the reality I keep refusing to see.

I’m reeling from the fact that he asked his uncle to give me the promotion. But maybe a part of me isn’t surprised anymore that he’d do that for me.

Part of me is angry that he thought he could be my white knight, but maybe it was the right thing for him to do. And they would have given it to Rory instead. I should have known that all along. Maybe in his own way, Rafe did what he could. He can’t change the world overnight, either.

But there’s something else I have to know.

“Why did you have me moved from your team?”

He bites the inside of his lip, wariness flickering across his expression.

“I thought that’s what you would’ve wanted.”

A tightness grips my chest. This he did for me, too?

I squeeze my eyes and run my hands over my face. “I thought it was because you couldn’t stand the idea of working that close to me.”

The admission exposes a raw nerve, but maybe we’re revealing all of our scars tonight.

“No, that wasn’t it at all,” he says softly, and I sense he wants to say something else, but then he looks away.

“I keep a file on Rory,” I say a moment later.

His eyes widen. “You do? Of what?”

“All the crap he says. Screenshots of the shit he posts on social media. I’m sure it won’t ever matter, but it’s there just in case.”

“Good. Hang on to it,” Rafe says, a note of admiration in his voice.

“So, then, what do you want for your life?” I ask.

He hesitates, uncertainty etched into his features. He’s holding something back.

“Tell me. I want to know.”

I see it then. Something boiling just at the surface that craves the release of freedom. He studies me as if he’s weighing his next move. We are full of truths right now, and I sense he’s about to assign me as the catcher in his trust fall.

A moment later, he lets out a loud sigh and picks up his phone from the lounger.

He unlocks it and then looks at me before opening an app and handing me the phone. I furrow my brow, taking it from him. I’m looking at someone’s Instagram account. It’s full of food. Desserts, to be specific. Stunning, beautifully crafted, colorful desserts.

Towering perfectly iced cakes. Plates of smooth rainbow-hued macarons. Chocolate and lemon tarts decorated with perfect swirls of cream and jewel-hued berries. I give him a quizzical look, and he worries his lip, watching the phone in my hand.