Back in His Ex's Bed

“You and Beah are divorced,” Ronan pointed out.

He knew that, dumbass. “I’m still a partner in this firm.”

“I heard about it the morning after we met Paris Cummings for dinner in London,” Carrick explained, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. “I was going to tell you but any idiot could see you and Beah spent the night together. You actually looked happy for a change. I decided not to rock the boat.”

“Carrick told me and we decided to bring Beah to Boston, thinking that if she worked out of Boston, she might change her mind about wanting to move on,” Ronan added.

Finn couldn’t understand their reasonable tone, their lack of anger. “Why aren’t you more upset about this?”

Ronan lifted his bone china coffee mug to his lips. “Frankly, I’m surprised she lasted this long with us. She’s well respected in the industry and has amazing connections. Her clients love her. And her moving doesn’t mean we’ll never deal with her, it just means we have to reorganize the way we pay her since she earns most of her income via her commission structure.”

“She belongs here,” Finn insisted, wondering why he was arguing. Wouldn’t it be easier if Beah just moved on, if they made this split between them final and complete, if they severed the last cord binding them together?

“No, she belongs with you, not the company,” Carrick replied. “The company has no hold on her. And even if you were together, I’d still have no problem with her joining Michael Summers. You’re thinking with your heart, Finn, not your head.”

Of course he was, and that never went well. When he allowed his stupid, emotional organ to rule, he only hurt himself. And Beah.

Would he ever learn? It was official—he was stupid when it came to dealing with people. He was far better off alone. He did alone quite well.

And he was tired of talking. He looked at Carrick. “Did the pilot respond?”

Carrick checked his phone and nodded. “Yep, you’re all set.”

Finn nodded his thanks and headed for the door. He placed his hand on the frame and turned. “I’ll be in Hong Kong for a few days—two, three? When I come back, I might head to Aspen or the Arapahoe Basin in Colorado. I need...”

Finn saw the disappointment in Ronan’s eyes. “You need Beah, but because you are too stubborn to go there, you’re going to throw yourself down a slope to prove to yourself you are alive, that you are free. True freedom comes with courage, Finn, with deciding what you want and working to get it. And maybe you and Beah won’t make it work a second time but it would be the adventure of your life if you did.”

Finn didn’t need an emotional adventure; he needed a physical one. He’d far prefer to end up with a broken body than a broken heart.

The dented and dinged organ barely beating in his chest was hard enough to handle.

Beah dropped into her office chair, turned her back to the glass wall and hoped her waterproof mascara was up to the job. Waving her hands in front of her face, she tried to think of work, tried to concentrate on making a mental to-do list to get her mind off the fact that Finn had, once again, walked out of her life.

The tears rolled again.

Beah wrapped her hands around her waist and leaned forward, accepting that she couldn’t brush off this pain. She was such a fool, thinking Finn had changed, that he was wiser, older and, maybe, finally, able to love her the way she needed to be loved.

His scars were too deep, his fear too great. Ironic that he was fine with risking his body but not his heart.

You’ve been here before, Beah; you will survive this. You survived your mom’s death and your dad skipping out; you survived loving and losing Finn before.

You can do this. And even if you think you can’t, you have to.

Because it wasn’t going away and it wasn’t something she could change.

You have to work with things the way things are, not how you want them to be.

Beah lifted a hand to her throat, feeling like a razor blade was slicing the cords in her neck. She hauled in a breath, feeling like there wasn’t enough air, and tried to fill her lungs again. All she wanted to do was lie down on the carpet, pull her knees up to her chest and weep hot, hard tears. But she still needed to leave this office with a modicum of dignity, without anyone suspecting Finn had ripped out her heart and tossed it out the window to be squished by the wheels and heels using the road below.

The razor blade moved down her throat and into her chest, coming to rest in her stomach, where it widened the hole she’d been living with for the past ten years.

It was now bigger and deeper and wider than ever before.

She hadn’t needed work or a busy life to fill the void; she’d needed Finn. In the past few weeks, being with Finn—loving and laughing and working with him—she’d felt happy and fulfilled and, yeah, complete. The hole had almost closed...

Only to be ripped open, bigger and bolder than before.

I only want you to stay in Boston so you can keep sleeping with me.