Addicted (Ethan Frost 2)

Is everyone going to be staring at me knowingly as I walk to my cubicle?

Maybe all of the above?

It turns out that none of those things actually happen, though. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary happens at all. I park in the same spot I’ve always parked in. Walk the same scenic path to the building that houses Frost Industries’ legal department. Dodge the same snide comments from Rick, the second-year intern who has made my life hell since my second day on the job, when I was assigned to the big case that he thought he deserved to cover.

Logically, I know that it makes sense that nothing has changed. After all, it’s not like Ethan would broadcast to the entire company what happened at his house yesterday. But at the same time, it seems unreal. Inside me, everything feels different—I feel different—so I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the cataclysmic events of this weekend, events that nearly broke me, have changed nothing else in my life at all. It’s not like I expected the earth to rotate off its axis or anything, but still. Something should feel different, something should be different—besides my relationship with Ethan. How, after everything that happened between us, can my role at Frost Industries be exactly the same as it was when I left the office late Friday afternoon?

But it is, it seems. Exactly the same.

Same desk, same case folders on my desk, same to-do list tacked to the wall of my cubicle. As I settle into my desk and boot up my laptop, I try to take comfort in that fact.

It almost works.

It probably would work, in fact, if I didn’t spend the whole day looking over my shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Ethan to seek me out or call me or send a message for me to report to his office.

But, except for the letter I found in my car this morning, there’s nothing from him at all. At least, not through any of the normal work channels. And since I’m still too chicken to turn my phone on and see if he called back or texted after Tori told him off last night, email and interoffice messaging is all I have to go on.

It’s a bad day for so many reasons, and I’m nowhere near as productive as I normally am. I still get work done on the Trifecta merger—the takeover bid that Ethan had me assigned to when I first started at Frost Industries, before I had a clue that there was going to be something personal between us—but it’s not as much as I need to get done. Especially considering the fact that I took yesterday off.

I stay late to compensate, determined to clear my in-box and make headway on the final case research the attorneys need to blend Trifecta’s intellectual property with Frost Industries’. The office quiets down at five and by seven-thirty I’m all alone. Which should be exactly the impetus I need to get things finished, but without the buzz of my co-workers, all I can think of is Ethan and the disaster everything has become.

I love him, I really do, but that isn’t enough. Not with Brandon in the picture. Not with Brandon smirking at me, his too-perfect face twisted—

I shut my thoughts off before they can lead me even farther down the twisted rabbit hole I’ve so abruptly found myself residing in. I focus on the case in front of me, focus on the sound of the air conditioner kicking in, focus on anything and everything but the things I need to be focusing on. The truths I need to be facing.

My stomach starts growling around eight o’clock, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything all day. Hours ago, I’d thought about going down to the cafeteria to grab some lunch, but in the end had opted to stay at my desk since I wasn’t hungry. And because I didn’t want to face anyone else. Even now, with my stomach literally begging for food and most of the workforce already gone for the day, the idea of walking into that cafeteria where I first met Ethan and actually trying to eat something nauseates me.

Finally I decide to hell with it. No matter how long I sit here, I’m not going to get any more work done. After a long day of trying not to think about Ethan, my brain is completely fried.

With a sigh, I shut down my laptop and then take a minute to gather my things. As I pull my purse out of my desk drawer, I think about reaching inside it. About pulling my phone out and turning it on. About checking to see if there are any messages from Ethan.

I resist the urge, though. Partly because I don’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t call and partly because I don’t want to freak out if he did. Sometimes, it really is better not to know. Besides, if he truly wanted to talk to me today, he would have found a way. It’s not like he doesn’t know exactly where I work …

Except now that I’ve given myself permission to think about him, to wonder, my stupid phone is practically burning a hole in my purse. No one would know if I checked, I tell myself as I gather up my briefcase and the sweater I grabbed this morning to combat the early morning chill that comes with working near the ocean. No one would care.

Except me. I would know. I would care. And pining over him, wondering and worrying over when I’m going to hear from him, will only make this whole situation worse. And make me crazier than I already am.

Leaving my phone exactly where it is, at the very bottom of my purse, I head out to the parking lot, calling a quick good-bye to Jorge, the security guard currently manning the small reception area in this building.

He jumps up from behind his desk. “Ms. Girard, wait. Let me walk you to your car.”

I guess the fact that Ethan and I are no longer together really is still under wraps. Not that Jorge isn’t a nice guy, he is, but I haven’t seen him offering to walk any of the other female interns—or employees, for that matter—out to their cars.

“Thanks, Jorge, but I’ve got it. It’s still light out.”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells me with a polite grin as he holds the front door open

for me. “Things are quiet around here tonight.”

I want to argue with him, but I can tell by the determination in his eyes that nothing I say is going to make a difference. I give in gracefully because he’s just doing his job and partly because a girl never can be too careful and my history makes me jumpier than most.

It’s a short walk, only takes a few minutes at the most, but I’m struck dumb almost as soon as we come around the curve that leads to the parking lot. Because, there, leaning against my car—ankles crossed and muscular arms folded across his chest—is Ethan.

I stop dead when I see him, just freeze completely as my body suddenly forgets how to walk. How to breathe.

Jorge shoots me a curious look, but Ethan chooses that moment to push away from the car and prowl toward us. With his tanned skin, too long, dark hair, and predatory grace, he looks more like a sleek jungle cat than a man.

“Thanks, Jorge,” he calls to the security guard. “I’ve got it from here.”