Every Wrong Reason(84)

Just kidding, I was terrified he would demand to keep her.

And also, I was just terrified of talking to him.

So I didn’t.

And he hadn’t tried to reach out to me.

It stung a little that he hadn’t called or stopped by. Okay, more than a little. It hurt deeply. I was embarrassed and heartbroken and a million other things I didn’t even want to name. But I also knew that it wasn’t his responsibility to forever chase after me.

As much as I wanted to be chased.

He was right; I had to figure this out.

I had to decide what I wanted. And in the meantime I had to go to mediation and fight with him over who gets the dog.

What had I done to my life?

Mediation was scheduled for early afternoon, so I took the morning to laze around the house. I ate breakfast, an actual breakfast. Not just coffee. I actually made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I took my time getting ready, dressed carefully, paid attention to my makeup and hair. It wasn’t that I was trying to impress Nick more than usual; I just never had this much time in the morning.

Usually I was a whirlwind of the fastest blow dry in the history of hair, a quick brush of foundation and some swipes of mascara before I jabbed earrings in, slipped on work-appropriate clothes and grabbed coffee on my sprint through the door.

This morning I sipped coffee on my couch while watching the Today Show and got ready without stress. I made sure all of my hair dried and I added bronzer and blush to my makeup routine.

So basically I was almost late for mediation because it took so long to get ready.

My official prognosis? Being a woman was officially the worst.

There were way too many steps to just looking halfway decent. Men had it so easy.

Mediation was back at Ryan Templeton’s office. Mr. Cavanaugh had hosted the last failed session in his smaller office tucked away on the outskirts of the city proper. It had been a stark deviation from the expensive, swanky suites in the heart of downtown, but I had felt more at ease there. I hadn’t minded the faded furniture or scuffed conference table.

Mr. Cavanaugh had offered coffee and pastries. I’d had two. Ryan Templeton offered expensive bottled water and no snacks. These offices were meant to impress… meant to intimidate.

And they did that in spades.

I checked in with the security guard and walked slowly to the elevator. I felt nervous energy gaining momentum and I wasn’t quite sure what would come of it. I had no idea what I was thinking or what I would say upstairs. My mind was a tornado of confusion. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

To add paranoia to my already agitated nerves, this session felt final for some reason. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever we decided or said here would be permanent and lasting.

I felt equal parts sick to my stomach and anxious. I leaned against the back wall of the empty elevator and closed my eyes. My arms were crossed over my chest, holding my body in a tightened cocoon of protection. I couldn’t relax or I would fall apart. I had to physically hold myself together or I would splinter into a thousand unfixable pieces.

Someone else entered the elevator before the doors could shut and my eyes popped open, surprised and not surprised at the same time.

Nick.

I could sense his presence before I saw him. It was something in his energy that was inexplicably tied to mine. I felt him in the atmosphere, in the very atoms dancing in the air around us. I could smell him. Feel the heat of his body even from several feet apart.

Okay, maybe not in the real sense of the word, but I knew the feel so intimately that I could easily imagine the sensation of his body heat warming me, pressing into my skin, turning everything inside me into molten lava.

“Nick,” I whispered, unable to stop myself.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t acknowledge me. He stood near the doors, his finger retracting from the buttons. “You forgot to push for the floor.”

I nibbled my bottom lip and shook myself. I was a mess.

“Thanks,” I mumbled weakly.

The elevator started with a jerk and began the ascent to the eleventh floor. I held my breath for as long as I could, then let it out with a forced puff of air.

I watched Nick’s back with fascinated awe, wondering how to engage him. His spine was absolutely straight. His shoulders were taut with tension and from the view of his profile that he gave me I could see his jaw flex and release.

He was dressed nicely again, gray slacks and a light blue oxford with a stylish gray vest that made the outfit look expensive and tailored. Maybe it was expensive and tailored. His hair had been styled back from his face. He wore the watch I bought him two Christmases ago. His shoes were shiny.

Oh, my god, who was this man?

My heart thumped painfully.

“Annie’s better,” I blurted.

He turned his head slightly, still not looking at me. “Your dad called me.”

“Oh.” My parents were traitors. So was my dog.

So was my heart.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Gripped by fear and doubt, I grabbed Nick’s wrist and pulled him to a stop.

“Wait,” I pleaded.

He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even turn his head. “I want this over, Kate. I want it finished.”

I let go of his wrist and he shifted his shoulders, adjusting his shirt without physically tugging it into place. He walked out of the elevator with purpose, striding straight for the conference room.