The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(90)

“Look, no one could work in reality TV for as long as I have and not become an expert at observing and orchestrating the human condition.”

Ethan got to his feet so fast he sent his chair rocking back on its legs. “Leah, I have to go.”

“Yeah. You do,” she said, folding her arms behind her head. “The smart one rests her case.”





Chapter Thirty-Four


NAOMI HAD BROKEN up with people before.

Usually, the dissolution of a romantic attachment made her hungry in every sense of the word. Made her seek out activities that caused her hair to whip across her face. Sent her in search of loud bars and spicy food. People who would bite her neck and press her against door frames. Experiences that hurt, but in a good way.

Not this time.

Ending things with Ethan had made her numb. Turned her heart into a fail-safe. Nothing in. Nothing out.

Evidently, some people had noticed.

“I’ve got a plan,” Clara announced, storming into her office like a pint-sized cyclone the day after the breakup.

Naomi paused the footage she was reviewing and took off her headphones.

“No.”

Plans meant action, and Naomi mostly wanted to stay as still as possible. Everything hurt when she moved.

“Yes.” Clara waved a notebook at her. “I’ve made a list of things you can do to feel better, with various action items on a sliding scale of intensity.”

Naomi wiped a hand across her face. “I don’t need your list, Connecticut. I need a nap.”

Sleep had become an intangible concept last night. Something so foreign and inaccessible, it felt like the kind of thing she’d read about in a book once but couldn’t quite imagine experiencing.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ethan’s face. Saw the destruction she’d wrought over someone she held so dear. Her actions had held so much purpose in that moment, but now she struggled to remember why she’d felt so certain that parting was the only path available to them. Naomi didn’t let herself linger on dangerous thoughts like that.

She focused on her work. Something she knew she was good at. Something she’d never had the impulse to ruin.

“I’m worried about you,” Clara said, voice wavering as she took up residence in her usual seat.

Naomi could imagine her heart—clanging against the cage that had descended to protect it.

“Don’t be,” she suggested.

Clara had enough on her plate. Even Naomi couldn’t stomach spoiling her wedding plans with borrowed tragedy.

“I’ll be okay.” And who knew, maybe she would. Someday.

Her business partner chewed her bottom lip, eyes lowered to the notebook clutched in her hands.

When had Naomi grown so, so soft?

She sighed. “Fine. Read me the first few items on the list. Quickly.” No one found as much comfort in organization as Clara Wheaton.

As evidenced by the grateful smile that graced her face. “Okay. I really think these could help. You’re a woman of action. You respond best to challenge and—”

“Clara,” Naomi cut in.

“Right. Sorry. Reading.” She ran a finger down the paper, obviously searching for her most persuasive pitch. “Well, you’re maybe not going to love this one, but I’ve got sub-bullets detailing an affirmative argument for why this is the right thing to do.”

Naomi placed her chin in her palm. “Can’t wait.”

“Actually,” Clara hedged, “before I get into the specifics, could you promise not to yell in response?”

“I don’t yell,” Naomi said loudly.

Clara raised her eyebrows.

“Much.”

“Mm-hm.” Clara straightened her skirt.

“You have my commitment to reply at a low to average volume.” She picked up her pen dejectedly, for something to do.

“Right. So, a few weeks ago the office got a call from a Ms. Michelle Router.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Naomi was in no mood to hunt for the connection. “Uh-huh.”

“And she happens to be the new principal at your old high school in Boston.” Clara raised her eyes to the ceiling, acting innocent. “Ms. Router said she’d tried to reach you a few times via email and found our office number online.”

Naomi gritted her teeth. “Tell me you didn’t.” She indulged a certain volume of Clara’s meddling, chalking it up to misplaced affection, but this really took the cake.

“She said she’d invited you to present a seminar on the future of sex education but hadn’t heard back,” Clara continued, seemingly undeterred. “But I assured her that you’d love to come speak to her seniors at the first available opportunity.”

“Clara Annabelle Wheaton.” Naomi got to her feet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Holy shit,” Clara blanched. “I didn’t know you knew my middle name.”

As if Naomi hadn’t done her research before they went into business together years ago.

“You are the most meddling, devious—”

Clara pulled an envelope out of her notebook and passed it across the desk. “They’re expecting you on Friday.”

“I’m not going,” Naomi said, even as she opened the envelope and pulled out the plane ticket inside. Begrudgingly, she found herself slightly mollified that Clara had sprung for first class on the cross-country journey.