Part 114 (2/2)

n.o.body understands that my short-temper, and sometimes anger, at work comes from my own sense of failure at perfection. If the account management is criticised, I own it as if it's a personal attack. To avoid blame, I micromanage. Every aspect of my life is in compartments and in control. Or it was.

Two nights fighting the endless thought cycles of what if and why, I send another text.

<can we=”” talk?=””> Nate doesn't reply and the contained emotions deluge me again, wiping away the hope I cling onto to keep afloat.

This time, there's no glimmer of what might be because this is over.

On Monday I head to work as usual and take the same route through the building as I do every day. The light in the large atrium at the front of the building is harsher than usual, the elevator more claustrophobic even though I'm alone. I've spent the night mulling over how I share the truth about Josh, and no option makes sense. Send a group e-mail to the whole firm? I don't think so. A quiet word with my team? Wouldn't they love that, their boss under the spotlight for once? No matter how I do this, the news will hit from nowhere and their reaction worries me.

But why? After all this time scared somebody will learn the truth, a sense of relief follows me. The fact I've managed to keep this secret at all is a testament to who I am. Or who they think I am. Revealing Josh reveals my vulnerability; the p.r.i.c.kly unapproachable Riley owns a softer side.

Nate's reaction three days ago wasn't a surprise. Insulting, but shows how little he understands my situation. Refusing to communicate smacks of immaturity. Is he angry? Hurt? I'm increasingly furious he won't at least talk about what happened.

Mum and Lauren have nagged me to tell over the years, and each year that pa.s.ses Josh becomes harder to hide. Each unplanned day off work because Josh is sick, leaving to attend events now he's at school, and I'm one step closer to slipping up.

But I'm not the only one with a life outside of work others aren't aware of; and I'd lay bets some have bigger secrets than me, and that their double lives rank higher on shock factor too.

In the end, I choose the casual route. I take a framed picture of Josh and me and set it on my desk, besides the neatly ordered stationary. Most of the morning, I'm engrossed in responding to e-mails and arrangements for the charity gala rapidly approaching. One week to go and the pressure mounts. The switch is easier to flick in a work environment; the amount of work needed on this event is enough to swamp me with a different set of worries.

I prefer not to be disturbed and Jenna keeps her distance most of the day; she's learned to keep her contact minimal when I'm under pressure. Tina was the same with me back in my early days. Buried, I ask Jenna to bring me a wrap and coffee from the nearby deli; I don't often, because I refuse to treat my PA the way I was. She's a professional and not a dogsbody.

Jenna knock and walks in; she proffers a paper-wrapped sandwich and large cup. ”Are you sure I can't help with some of this?”

”Thanks, Jenna. There's a h.e.l.l of a lot to get ready for the weekend. I left a list of people on your desk you can chase up for me, did you get it?”

”Almost done on that, I'm just wondering if there's anything else I can help with.” She indicates the invoices and artwork proofs on my desk. ”How're the last-minute plans going?”

”We managed to get Chatters involved at the last minute,” I say. Huge win. ”One drop of Cole's name and they were falling over themselves.”

”Perfect! How about catering? Was the issue with the numbers sorted?”

”I'm liaising with Mitch.e.l.l on that one; he wants to keep a certain amount of control over everything as Cole's his client.”

”Of course.” Jenna gives me a small smile. ”I guess you're enjoying spending some liaison time with him too.”

”What does that look mean?”

She places the cup and wrap on my desk. ”Come on; don't tell me you haven't noticed? Hotty with an accent to die for! I'd cosy up with him more if I could. You sure you don't need me to give him a hand with anything? Please.”

I laugh at Jenna as she places her hands together in a mock prayer, and shake my head. ”Professional please, Jenna.”

A smile flickers across her red-painted lips. ”I know, but thanks for bringing in some eye candy.”

”You're welcome,” I say and we both giggle.

Mitch.e.l.l. All I a.s.sociate him with is the night Nate was jealous and the resulting hot s.e.x in the storeroom. Good-looking guy, closer to my usual type than Nate, but I keep business and pleasure separately. Ha ha, Riley, that's the biggest joke you've told yourself in months.

Mitch.e.l.l and my relations.h.i.+p will remain entirely professional. I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my pen than consider any relations.h.i.+p with a man, physical or otherwise. Nate's ruined me. I haven't figured out if Mitch.e.l.l's natural charm is just that, or his easygoing banter is a means to an end for fun while he's over here. As long as his personal activities don't interfere with his work, I don't care if one of the agency girls lands in his bed.

My new silver-framed photo, positioned half-facing outwards on my desk, catches Jenna's eye. ”That's new. Do you have a nephew?”

”No, I'm an only child.”

She indicates the photo with her head. ”Just wondered because that's a gorgeous picture of you. Who's the little boy?”

”Josh.” I pause, fighting the words I've avoided for years, the ones I've rehea.r.s.ed over and over, and never managed to say. This time I don't allow my brain to engage, they just come. ”My son.”

Jenna blinks rapidly. ”Son? I didn't know you had children.”

”Only the one. He's enough of a handful,” I say, tone light. Jenna's plucked brow tugs while she scours her memories of her three years working with me. ”And no, I've never mentioned him before.”

”Right.”

I smile at her although heat and perspiration builds. Telling Jenna first ensures I won't need to tell the rest of the agency. Without concrete proof, Jenna never shared the situation she witnessed with Nate following my suspicious explanation about straightening stories, but this time? I doubt it. A thick, uncomfortable silence follows. Jenna lost for words. Unusual. I bet she won't be later, when she does the talking for me.

”Thanks for lunch.” I point at the papers. ”Would you mind sending me the list, so I can check off what you've done?”

Jenna breaks out of her reverie and into PA mode. ”Sure. Anything else I can get for you?”

”Would you mind contacting Mitch.e.l.l and asking him to update me on what's happening at his end? E-mail is fine if he's busy. I think he's on set with Cole today.”

”No problem.”

I open my drawer and rummage through the loose papers and photos to find a notepad. An image of Ruby Riot from early promotion is pushed to the top.

I scrunch the image into a ball and throw it in the wastepaper bin, shocked by the immediate surge of hurt.

What did I expect? Nate pining over me? Running back and telling me he doesn't care I have a son, and forgives, and understands why I deceived him? I hope he'll grow up enough to talk and reply to my text. Three days and nothing. This doesn't stop me checking my phone messages the instant the alert sounds, and in my ever practical way, I change the tone for Nate's number. That way I don't get distracted in client meetings by what's developing into an OCD need to check my phone.

What the h.e.l.l has this man done to me?

At least the rumours about Nate and me dropped as quickly as he ditched our relations.h.i.+p.

Three days and the amount of time this man occupies my mind interferes more and more with my ability to concentrate.

He might want to bury himself and spend another two years p.i.s.sed off and confused, but I'm talking to him. Then I can be sure this is over, 100 percent, no chance. Because despite everything, this will never go away. Our history shows that.

I won't leave Nate with the wrong impression, that I'm broken-hearted and waiting for him to change his mind. Maybe I am now, but this needs to be dealt with. Once and for all. I am not spending months confused and half-hoping one day life will change, and the man whose eyes hold a piece of me will want to share himself.

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