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Tim’s indifference hurt her. But my calculated plotting… That’s just another huge reason for her not to trust me. Her refusal to be with me is, in large part, my own damn fault.

Yeah, I definitely fucked up. Only now, I realize it isn’t a flaw in the plan but the fact I made a plan at all.

I should have simply led with my heart.

Approaching Lauren slowly, wooing her with attention and conversation and all the romantic stuff she never had in her marriage would have been a much better idea. Playing on her loneliness and using her own sexuality to seduce her wasn’t wise. Lying to her about my pursuit of a divorcée so I could use her own advice to win her… Brilliant and devious—but totally wrong.

“Over?” Tim asks incredulously. “You’re just giving up? That’s not like you. Would it help you to know that after I dropped Emma and Cass off earlier, Lauren looked like she’d been crying. A lot.”

No, that doesn’t help me in the least. It only makes something in my chest buckle.

“Why tell me? Why try to hook up your ex-wife with one of your buddies?”

“I owe her, man. I think you could make her happy. I just…never cared enough to try. Come up with one of your great schemes, and I’ll help you⁠—”

“No.”

I can’t keep treating her like a challenge to overcome. The feelings and reasons I did it are different than any past lover, but I can’t escape reality: I plotted her downfall more ruthlessly and methodically than anything in my life.

“That’s it? Just no?”

“Just no.” I take another swig of whiskey. The pain of not being with her eats at me, but I deserve it. Stupid ass.

“Seriously? You love her, right?”

“More than you can fathom.”

“You want to marry her. You’d be great in helping her raise the girls, and⁠—”

“Yes, and if she wants all that, it will be up to her. But at this point… well, let’s just say retirement will probably come before Lauren agrees to marry me.”

Even though I down another quarter of the potent whiskey, I can’t drown out his words. I plotted, all right, believing like an asshole that I knew better and could push and cajole Lauren into the sort of love I feel.

Idiot. The only thing I’ve done is earn a lifetime without her.

Lauren

Two weeks pass. Two miserable weeks. And on a muggy Friday afternoon, I’m ready for the weekend.

The office has been very busy, and I purposely arranged my schedule that way. I’m focused on my projects and deadlines so I won’t relive my last night with Noah and wish things between us ended better, second-guess myself, or wonder if there’s even a tiny possibility Noah actually loves me. Work gives me an outlet for my buzzing, dazed brain, thank god. Unfortunately, nothing has distracted me from my aching heart.

The Monday after my blowup with Noah, I returned to the office only to hear that he volunteered to spend the week in our downtown restaurants, which he never does, to work through some “ongoing issues.”

In other words, he’s avoiding me.

Later that day, I requested a transfer to Danson’s management team. If Noah really loves me, as he claims, then he wouldn’t just let me go. It’s a test, perhaps a juvenile one. But I need a sign from him—something to convince me that I matter. Noah is too good a strategist not to realize that if I spend any significant amount of time with him, I’ll surrender not just my body, but my heart and soul, to him.

Within hours, I’m notified that he approved my request—without even talking to me. Without asking why. Without fighting for me, for us. Hell, without blinking.

That e-mail nearly crushes me.

He’s turned his back on me, exactly as he did Friday night.

Well, now I know the answer to my most pressing question—and I’ve been right all along. Noah can’t possibly love me, even if his righteous speech, when I pondered it later in my lonely bed, was convincing. But he let me go to Danson’s team in a jiffy, apparently pining for…what, all of ten minutes?

To top it off, he’s punishing me because I know he can’t be faithful for long and I called him on it. Okay, so I have residual fear from my divorce, as he accused, but that doesn’t change the simple fact that Noah isn’t the marrying kind. I’m simply not setting myself up for future failure with a man for whom fidelity is a four-letter word.

Swallowing tears, I move my cubicle to Danson’s part of the building, taking my suburban expansion project with me. I haven’t seen Noah at all in the last two weeks. Small wonder, given the fact I attended all the focus groups during that time, extracting the statistical and empirical data. The results are exciting. Now it’s time to present my recommendations to the management team.