The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(65)

“I’m not.” I am. I am because games are the only things saving me, the only things keeping me from breaking down, giving in. The only things keeping my heart safe from disappointment down the road.

“Fine, play dumb. Are you telling me the only reason we’ve been together for the past three weeks has been to vet me? To find me a fuckin’ match? To set me up with some other woman?”

“Of course.” Lies, lies, lies. Even my uptight librarian is shaking her head at my dishonesty.

“There’s no way you can think that, Cass. Not after these past weeks. Not after Friday, after yesterday. This is more, Cassie. This is not you setting me up. We talked about this. We are more. We’re fucking great together.”

“And I told you I can’t date. That this would be over after the wedding.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re lying to yourself. Why are you lying to yourself?” His words cut, but his eyes are questioning, earnest, like he really wants to decode me and figure it out. To save this shipwreck.

“You know—”

“You’re so fuckin’ scared because of your piece of shit dad. And your fuckin’ mother who lets you think all men are shit because it makes her feel validated. You’re so fuckin’ scared you block yourself out from ever being hurt. Cut people off before it’s even an issue. God, Cass, you didn’t even spend time with friends until recently. We didn’t just open you to me, to letting me in. Look at you and Gabi. Look at you textin’ Jordan, making plans to go up to some random little town you didn’t even know existed. You’re telling me opening yourself up doesn’t feel good? Letting people in doesn’t feel fuckin’ amazing?”

“That’s not—”

“Stop letting them rule your life. You’re letting them rule you. You want to be like your dad, moving on to something new and shiny every few years, a gorgeous daughter he doesn’t know? Always watching his back for gold diggers and people trying to one-up him? Or what about your mom, always on retreats, always a mess, drinking and bitching to her rich alimony friends? Whining about the men who broke them instead of getting the fuck up, brushing off, and moving the fuck on?” I stare at him. He’s never spoken to me like this, not Luke. This… this isn’t who he’s shown me over the past three weeks. “Normal heartbreak, Cass? Doesn’t look like that. Normal men don’t act like that. You fuckin’ thinking I’d treat you that way, toss you aside? That’s fucked. But are you going to tell me that you’d rather live a life of misery and loneliness to try and avoid heartbreak? Doesn’t it feel better to fucking live your life?”

I break.

“It might, Luke. It might feel great—for now. It might be beautiful and magical and everything I ever daydreamed of, but you know what else it is? Fucking painful when it ends. And it will, Luke. Everything does. Everything ends and leaves you in pieces. So yeah, I choose to live my life on the outskirts, live life safe, because it always comes out. The man they’ve been hiding. It might not be another family or something worse. Sometimes it’s just using things you’ve told them in confidence against you to try to get their way.” Luke looks at me, understanding and… guilt in his eyes.

“Cassie—”

“I’ll have Gabrielle send you an email on Monday. Goodbye, Luke.” And before he can grab my arm again, before he can say another word to confuse me or get me to stay, I’m opening the door, hopping out, and slamming it behind me, and I walk away from him.





Twenty-Nine





-Cassie-





The next day, I’m in the office before security even gets there, burying my head and my puffy eyes in work. My body aches, sore from the marathon cry fest all Sunday night. Let’s not even talk about how my heart feels.

And I’ve been staring at the same paper, the same profile, for nearly an hour now, going over it, making my decision, gut churning and acid coming up my throat. I’ve been a bitch to Gabi all day, curt and short, and, to her credit, she’s let me be. Whether she remembers what last weekend was or she just wants to give me space, I don’t know. But I appreciate it.

And now I need to get this over with.

“Hey, Gabi, can you reach out to Maya Richards this morning to see if she’d be open to a date with Luke Dawson sometime this week?” The words are cut from me, and I refuse to look up at her. She doesn’t answer for long moments. “Gabi?” I ask, again not looking her way, busying myself with papers.

I spent the entire morning with blinders, pouring over the women in our roster. I’ve met all of them, interviewed each to make sure they too wouldn’t be a walking red flag before offering them a contract with The Ex Files. For each of the fifty or so women we currently have on our list, I’ve found an issue. A reason she wouldn’t work with Luke. Too flighty. Doesn’t like dogs. Follows a Keto diet. Loves art museums. Each one with tiny traits that ‘aren’t a match.’ Qualities I’d typically overlook in any other situation.

Each one made my stomach churn. The thought of them going on a date with Luke, him learning their favorites and crafting some magic, spending the night at his place, meeting his nieces.