Chapter 2

It was already one in the morning when I got off the plane. Outside the airport, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and rain poured down in sheets.

I searched everywhere for James, but he was nowhere to be found.

I double-checked the flight details I'd sent him earlier on my phone. Once I was sure everything was right, I called him.

I called five times, but he never answered.

After waiting for half an hour with no sign of James, I finally gave up and grabbed a cab back home.

In the cab, I was half-asleep, jostled by the bumps in the road. A sudden crack of thunder jolted me awake, and I instinctively glanced out the window.

Through the sheets of rain, I realized this wasn't the way home.

My heart shot up into my throat. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket and quickly dialed my emergency contact.

The phone rang twice, and just as I was about to lose it, someone finally picked up.

My voice trembled as I blurted out, "James, I—"

"Oh, hey Claire." Susan's syrupy voice slid through the speaker. "James is crashed. He's been playing nurse all day. Whatever you need, it can wait till morning."

Cold sweat prickled my back, but I forced calm. I ignored the smug little lilt and continued, "You're still outside waiting? Relax. I texted you the plate. Okay, ten minutes, tops."

After hanging up, I met the driver's gaze in the rearview mirror.

His narrow eyes were full of calculation and suspicion.

"Miss, the rain's coming down so hard, the roads are a mess. I had to take a wider, longer route. And my fare..."

I could hardly breathe. "It's fine, I'll give you extra bucks. It's not much further. My boyfriend's waiting for me at home. Just drop me off at the next intersection."

As soon as I got out of the cab, I didn't even bother to grab my suitcase. Hugging my backpack tight, I sprinted through the rain-soaked, empty street.

The cab's headlights kept shining on me for ages before finally turning around and driving off.

I crouched down by the roadside and just lost it, bawling my eyes out.

*****

By the time I finally dragged my exhausted body home, it was almost three in the morning.

Not a single call or message from James the whole time.

The house was cold and empty, and I just didn't have the energy to look for him anymore.

My clothes were plastered to me, fever-chills racing up my spine. I took the hottest shower I could stand and then cocooned myself in the couch blanket.

Once I started to feel a little better, I snuggled up in my blanket and checked my phone.

There were two messages pinned at the top.

First, a selfie from James's number: him shirtless, dead asleep on a blinding-pink sheet I'd never seen before.

And right after that, there was a text: [Claire, I told James he should head home, but he swore the thunder would freak me out. He's crashing here. Don't be mad, okay?]

Old me would've fired back a novel, calling her every name in the book. She'd cry, James would white-knight, and I'd end up the villain freezing on the couch anyway.

Susan thrived on these petty schemes, and she always got exactly what she wanted.

Tonight I just tapped out of the chat and left her on read.

Under James's train-wreck thread was a text from Wynnie, my first real boss and still the only person who thought I walked on water.

[Claire, the execs are obsessed with your pitch decks. Creative Director slot just opened at Vrelara HQ and they want YOU on the plane. Tell me you're not throwing this away.]

I had a double master's in finance and economics from Summit University, but my promising future had been put on ice for years because of James.

James said long-distance would wreck us, so I stayed in his zip code, micromanaged his life, and signed on for the chillest admin gig the company had just so I could take care of him.

Four years later, I was still the girl who couldn't outrank Susan's "I'm scared of thunder" routine. It was laughable and pathetic.

Thinking about all the times Susan tried to get under my skin, I just didn't have it in me to feel jealous or bitter anymore. All I felt was a wave of relief now that I'd finally moved on.

Love'd got a door; you were either in the hallway or you were not.

I replied, [Wynnie, I'm in.]

The phone rang before the check mark turned blue. "Told you you're no small-town secret," she squealed. "HQ's gonna throw money at you, and I'll make sure you get a long weekend every month to jet back to Mr. Picky."

Wynnie knew exactly how much James mattered to me, and she always went out of her way to help me work without any extra stress.

Grateful, I didn't say much, just nodded along and accepted her offer.