Not just politely given me my space. And the only way he would've really left, after the horrors of last night, was if he was really gone.
I would grieve this more when I let myself feel it. Right now, I was numb.
I shuffled into the bathroom and faced myself in the mirror. I'd slept in, but my reflection’s puffy face and eyes indicated I needed at least another two hours of sleep. I called my secretary and told her I would be in later in the day then asked her to transfer me to Weston's assistant since I was still filling in for him.
"Mr. Kincaid said not to expect you at all," Roxie said when I informed her of my plans for the day.
I pricked at his name, like it was a thorn I'd stumbled upon unexpectedly. And then I hated myself when I looked for the rose attached. "Really? What did he say?"
"That you had a rough night. You sick?"
I deflated. I didn't know what I was expecting. That he would've left some clue that he was still thinking about me with an administrative assistant at our company? Of course not. He was simply thinking of the business. And himself. Explaining my absence beforehand so that no one would come looking to ask him later if I didn't show up.
"Yeah. I'm not feeling too hot." It wasn't a lie.
I took three Advil and laid back down, barely resisting the urge to give the middle finger to the empty space of my bedroom, in case he was watching.
Honestly, I was afraid he wasn't.
Mostly I was afraid he never would again.
"I didn't expect to see you in the office today," Nathan Sinclair said, leaning back in his red modern high-back swivel chair, his hands laced behind his head.
I sat down on the white faux leather chair opposite him. Nate's workspace was the most artistic of the men, fitting for the creative director of the agency. He did have a desk, but it was a standing desk and he never conducted meetings across it. If he wanted to have a conversation with someone, he would most likely have him or her seated where we were now.
I rarely came to this corner of the floor, but since I was coming into work nearly three hours late, I figured I should check in with one of my superiors, and I was not voluntarily going to Donovan.
"I live to exceed expectations. What can I say?” It was my attempt to be cute, but without any “cute” behind it, the attempt failed miserably.
“You sure you want to be here? You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m sure.” I pulled my hair over my shoulder and tugged at the end, letting my answer sit to be sure I was sure. Luckily Nate was good with silence.
I'd napped fitfully. While I'd slept dream-free the night before, my morning rest had been filled with nightmares of a faceless man standing behind me, his hand on my throat. I'd awoken wanting Donovan with an intensity that I couldn’t begin to examine. Not just because he’d always been my go-to balm for these situations, but also because I hadn’t begun to truly imagine that we were over. It hadn’t settled in the deepest parts of me, the parts of me that seemed to need him most.
"If you're trying to prove something to him, I think he already knows."
I pulled my gaze from the silver and blue metal floor sculpture that I'd been absentmindedly staring at.
"What did Donovan tell you?" I was surprised he’d said anything. Donovan never talked to the guys about his personal life, it seemed. And Nate rarely butted in, though I had a feeling he was aware of much more than he let on.
He dropped his arms and looked out the window instead of at me. "Not a lot, but enough. I hope it doesn't embarrass you. He told me there was an assault attempt. That the man's in custody. That you had a frightening encounter."
That hadn't been what I'd been expecting either.
Why I thought Donovan might've talked about us instead of my near rape, I had no idea.
"It was pretty terrible. But, horrible as this is to say, it's not my first rodeo." I already knew from experience that what had happened with Theo would take a long time to deal with. I didn't know how long it would take to deal with what happened with Donovan.
I wasn't sure it was possible to fully recover from either.
It was a terrible thing to say though, to Nate. Most people had a hard time knowing what to say in times like this. I didn't need to make it harder for him.
"Does that make this time better or worse?" He surprised me by appearing truly interested in my response.
I didn’t have to think about it. "It just makes this time the next time."
He nodded without judgment, without opinion. As though he understood that there were things that happened in the world and some of them were fine and some of them were not fine, and living was what happened in between.
"Last time I did stay home all day," I admitted, remembering how I'd stayed in bed for two whole days after Theo's first assault. "And this time I wanted to try out the distraction of work."
"Work is good for getting your mind off… a lot of things." His pause was loaded with baggage, and for the first time since I'd entered his office, I thought to look beyond my own burdens and notice someone else’s. Nate had circles under his own eyes and worry lines in his forehead. He had something on his mind too.
"Why, Nate Sinclair. You sound like a man who has a woman under his skin." It was strange how discovering someone else's romantic woes could suddenly lighten your own.
He rubbed his hand over his face. "Is that why I can never really get her out of my mind? Because she's under my skin?"
I totally knew how he felt.
"For me, he’s in my veins." I didn't need to say his name for us to know who he was. "So it doesn't matter what I'm thinking about, because he’s still coursing through my blood. Even when he thinks he’s walked away."
Nate stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. He understood me. Better than he should, maybe. "I thought you and Donovan were making it work together."
"I thought so too."
"Well, aren't we a sad mopey pair?"
I narrowed my eyes. With Nate’s David Beckham looks and his broody artist personality, I had a feeling he was a chick magnet. No one complained about men like him being mopey.
Women in my position, on the other hand, were supposed to be strong and steel. Bitches.
I was feeling bitchy, but not strong. Not steel. "I imagine I'm pretty impossible to be around right now.”
"I don't know. You seem like good company to me."
I laughed, which was nice. It felt good to laugh. "You’re a fellow moper, though. I don't think you are a good judge of company right now."
"Perhaps not." He drew his legs in and sat forward. "But I'll tell you what—I haven't given up. And neither have you."
My burst of humor was short-lived. I was somber again. I wasn’t sure what he had to not give up on, but I knew about myself. "Actually, I think maybe I have this time."
"Nope," he insisted. "Want to know how I know?”
“Sure.” I was humoring him.
“You came into work today.”
I thought about what Nate said for the rest of the day. Maybe he was talking broader than I’d thought. Maybe he didn’t mean I hadn’t given up on Donovan. Maybe he meant I hadn’t given up on life, and that’s why I got out of bed and faced the world.