“Fuck, Charlee, it’s not the same. It’s not even close to the same because unlike him, I want you. I need you, Charlee. Don’t fucking leave. Stay here, work it out with me.”
Eyes watering up, I take a step forward, his body straightening and I remove his hand from the door, letting it drop to his side.
“Goodbye, Rath.”
The doors close and I lean against the elevator wall. I let out a long breath and then let the tears flow. He’s right, he is nothing like Chris. He’s so much more.
Rath was the man I was going to marry, and not because of a silly agreement, but because I loved him, because he was the man I wanted to be with, because he was the be all and end all when it came to men.
Once again, my instincts were wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RATH
“Fuck,” I scream when I reach my office, my hands pulling on every strand of hair I have.
I pace the office, trying to figure out what to do. How do I fix this? How do I make her come back? How do I make her see I wanted nothing to do with Vanessa, that taking her to the wedding wasn’t because of Vanessa? It was because I wanted Charlee there. I wanted Charlee by my side, holding my hand, dancing with me, preparing for what’s to come for us.
But somehow this became such a goddamn mess. I have no idea how to even begin fixing this.
Slouching in one of the armchairs in my office, I rest my elbows on my knees and continue to pull on my hair.
Defeated. That’s how I feel, absolutely defeated.
Coming in this morning, I thought maybe I had a small chance of figuring things out if she showed up to work. That I could convince her to sit down and listen to me. But what kind of businessman am I if I can’t even convince my girl to listen to me?
Not much of one.
I glance up at my desk where I find the breakfast she made for me and it cuts me in the gut, making me feel nauseous. But, because she made it for me, I walk over to my desk, sit, and start eating it while I look around my office.
She’s changed so much in my life, so much that now feels natural.
Breakfast. Light in my office. Plants that I care about. Books that I love. Organization I thrive off. Green on Thursdays to power through the day. Jeans and dancing on Friday to celebrate.
Her witty comments.
Her no-bullshit attitude.
Her gorgeous smile.
Her intoxicating laugh.
Her warm touch and blush when we’re intimate.
Just . . . her.
I pull my phone from my pocket and quickly start typing out a text to her. If she’s not going to listen to me in person, maybe, just maybe I can get her to read some of my texts.
Rath: You might not want to talk to me, but I’m going to talk to you because I want you to know, I won’t give up on this, on us. You are important to me. You quickly became a staple in my life that I need—in and outside the office. I need you in my life, Charlee, and I will remind you of that every damn day. So I’m going to start with today. I miss your smile. The last time I saw it was Saturday afternoon when you looked so fucking stunning. And that wasn’t because of the dress. It’s been over twenty-four hours and I feel as though I’m slowly withering inside without it. It gives me life and it gives me hope. Until I see it again, I will lean on the picture you gave me for my birthday, because that’s the Charlee I fell for.
Rath: Good morning, baby. I hope you made it to your parents okay. I know the roads were slippery with all the rain. I got to the office and started watering the plants with that pink canister you always carry around. Talked to Sir Dragomir for a while about you. I told him how on the first day after I fired you, you told me you might be my assistant, but you’re not my maid. That comment right there let me know how special you are. You might be small in stature, but you sure as hell have a big presence, and it’s one of the many things I love about you.
Rath: I woke up this morning to an empty bed. No one was humping my leg, jabbing me with their cold toes, or snuggling in close to my side and fuck . . . it hurt. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how on earth I got to this point where I didn’t get to turn to the side and capture you in my arms, feel your warm skin against mine. I fucked up, Charlee. I know I did. I didn’t fight hard enough for you to stay but when you get back, I will be fighting. I know you told me it was over, but it’s far from over, baby. You and me . . . we’re just beginning.
Rath: It’s Thursday. I’m wearing green. I went out yesterday and bought a forest-green suit for Thursdays and from here on out, I’ll always wear it on Thursdays. I paired it with a white shirt and brown shoes. I’ll send you a picture. I was hoping I would come into the office this morning and see your beautiful face at your desk, wearing green as well, but when I saw your chair was empty, my heart fell. I miss you, Charlee. I miss you so goddamn much. Please just let me know everything is going to be okay, that you’re going to give me a second chance. Please let me make this right.
Rath: I didn’t go into work today. I didn’t have it in me. Instead, I donated my couch to the local shelter (I feel bad I gave them something so stiff) and I bought a new couch. I spent hours in the store testing every couch, wondering if it would be soft enough for you. I think I found the perfect one. It’s being delivered tonight. It’s over-the-top large, deep, and has a cuddler on the end, which means you need to come back. We need to make up, and we need to cuddle in the cuddler. Come home to me, Charlee. Come home.
Rath: I can’t fucking sleep without you.
Nothing tastes the same.
My apartment feels empty.
I’m so goddamn angry, upset . . . sad.
I only have myself to blame, I realize this, but I need you to know this last week has been the worst week of my life, and it’s because I don’t have you.
My phone buzzes next to me, and I see that it’s the concierge. Sighing, I pick it up. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Westin. We have someone here trying to visit you who’s not on your list. She says she’s your grandma?”
“Not his grandma you, doofus,” I hear a voice say in the background. “Charlee’s grandma.”
“Excuse me. Miss Cox’s grandma is here to see you.”
I straighten up and glance at my holey sweats and stained shirt.
Shit.
“Uh, send her up.”
I hang up and look around my apartment. I have two options: clean up the space or clean myself up. The coffee mugs on the coffee table and empty pastry boxes need to go, so I choose to clean my place.
I quickly scoop them up and take them to the kitchen where I break down the boxes for recycling and toss—carefully—the mugs into the dishwasher. I pick up my discarded clothes, throw them down the hallway into my bedroom, and go to pick up the pillow and blankets on the couch, when there’s a knock at my door.
Jesus, that was fast.
I walk over to the entryway, take a look at myself in the mirror next to the door, and cringe. Yup, I look like I’m going through a breakup. I guess she would know that though.