--
After that, I dragged my ass home. I was almost there when I got the icing on my day's cake. A text from Ricky. Not calling, huh? Quickly followed by Understand things might have changed. Not trying to give you grief.
I cursed and resisted the urge to text back while driving. I pulled into the parking lot behind my building and sent: Give me 5.
I hadn't wanted to call Ricky too soon, because that seemed disrespectful to James: "Hey, I just dumped my ex. So how about dinner?" Then I got distracted by my disappointing day with Gabriel. But I should have sent a quick note that all was fine.
I walked into my apartment. The first thing I did was look for TC. Every damned time, I looked.
Then I called Ricky.
"I'm sorry," I said when he answered.
"Nothing to be sorry for. We're okay to talk, then?"
"Yes. It's . . . sorted. With James. We're fine."
As I said that, I realized it could be interpreted as "James and I are fine," not "You and I are fine." I didn't clarify. I wasn't ready to tell Ricky about the breakup. He couldn't exactly say, "Great news!" and I didn't need more awkward today.
"You around?" he said. "I was hoping to catch you before you left the city."
I paused, considering lying and driving back to the city. I could feel the tug of his voice, like someone trying to pull me out of deep water, and I wanted to grab hold, but I couldn't manage it.
"No, I'm home," I said. "What's your schedule like tomorrow?"
"All clear past eleven."
"How about here, then? In Cainsville. That might be better for now. The town doesn't even have a newspaper."
He chuckled. "Bonus. What time do you get off work?"
"Three."
"I'll swing by and meet you at the diner."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I hung up with Ricky and sat on the couch, staring at my blank wall. All my walls were blank. And mauve. I'd wanted to paint them, to get rid of a lingering smell, but I hadn't gotten around to it. Now that just seemed like one more failure. I'd broken it off with a great guy. I was unsatisfied with my dream job. Lost my cat. Hadn't painted my walls. Also, I had forgotten to pick up a coffee to get me through my evening of research work. The last was a problem fixed by a ten-foot trek to the coffeemaker, but I was in a funk, and it seemed insurmountable.
My cell dinged with a text from Gabriel.
Skip the client files.
I'd barely finished reading that when a second came in.
Pamela priority. Then Ciara.
Ten seconds later.
Take time off if you need it. Will discuss Tuesday.
I slumped lower into the couch. Gabriel had apparently decided I was put off by the amount of work. I could call back and say, "It's not the work. It's you. I quit." The perfect revenge. Toy with him until he dangled an offer I couldn't refuse and then, just when he thought he'd snagged me and his schedule would ease, I'd quit. Mwa-ha-ha. Take that, you scoundrel.
Yeah.
There wasn't even a moment's pleasure in the thought. I didn't want revenge. I didn't want . . .
I didn't want to hurt Gabriel.