The rain had stopped and I took a walk to clear my head, far enough away that I could hear the chimes of Big Ben in the distance. Out of instinct I reached into my pocket to find my phone, only to realize it wasn’t there. I’d left it on my desk before talking to Anthony, thinking I was just going down the hall but then rushing out before I could get it. I wondered if Niall had made it in yet, if he’d come looking for me, if he’d called.
And that’s when I realized how far this had gone, and that maybe there was a kernel of truth to what Anthony said. My first thought wasn’t about my job or the fact that I was five thousand miles away from home. It wasn’t where would I live? How would I buy food or pay the electricity bill? It wasn’t about my fucking spot at Oxford, either, or how long and hard I’d worked, or how much I’d sacrificed to get there.
It was about Niall Stella.
The object of my attention was pacing in his office when I returned and made my way down the hall toward my cubicle. He jumped when he saw me, reaching out to pull me inside.
“Where have you been?” he asked, closing the door behind us.
I must have looked even worse than I thought, because his eyes moved in a circuit from my wet hair and pale face, to my damp clothes and broken expression.
“That depends on what you mean,” I said. “First, I walked to work in the rain because I wigged out in your flat thinking I’d inadvertently manipulated you into having sex with me.”
He started to speak, eyes wide and incredulous.
But I held up a hand to bid him wait. “Then, I was in Anthony’s office being berated. And most recently, I was out for a walk.”
“We’ll talk about the manipulation thing later. Honestly, Ruby.” He inhaled, taking a step closer to me. “What’s this about Anthony berating you?”
“Nothing I want to talk about here. What I want is to go home, get a little day-drunk, nap, and then have dinner with my boyfriend.”
He winced. “About that . . .” Niall wiped a hand down his face and then met my eyes. “I’ll need a rain check, I’m afraid.”
I slumped down into one of his plush chairs near the window. I didn’t want to talk to him here about quitting, and why. And I most certainly didn’t want to be alone in my own head after all this. “Really? There’s no way you can cancel? I need to freak out, with your rational brain on hand.”
He sat opposite me, looking . . . okay, if I was being honest? He looked petrified.
“What is it?” I asked.
He swallowed, and looked up at me. “You left this morning when Portia called.”
“Yeah,” I said, wincing. “That was part of the freak-out.”
“Completely understandable, darling,” he began, leaning toward me a little. “It’s just that . . . it may have been a good thing that you left. The conversation went on for some time.”
“Is everything okay?”
He didn’t answer immediately and I felt my heart squeeze painfully. I’d initially been upset that he didn’t say he would call her back. He must have heard the front door close and he didn’t even bother to come after me. But it occurred to me only when sitting in his office that something awful might have happened while we were away in New York. Was Portia sick?
Licking his lips, he said very quietly, “She called because she wants to reunite.” He pulled a face—like maybe I should commiserate over the awkward unexpectedness of this . . .
But instead my world stopped, split in half, and then splintered into a million pieces.
I blinked, several times. “She what?”
“She wants to reunite,” he repeated, sighing heavily. “I’m just as surprised as you are, believe me. She said she’s had a lot of revelations and wants to talk to me.”
“And . . . ?” I started, feeling like my stomach was climbing into my chest, pushing my heart into my throat. “You agreed?”
“Not to reconcile,” he hedged. “But eleven years married is a long time. We were together when we were teenagers. After my conversation with you last night, and hearing you ask whether we’d ever actually discussed any of this, I feel obligated to at least hear what she wants to say.”
He paused to give me time to reply but I honestly had no words in my head. None.
“Given how things are between you and me, I felt I needed to tell you that I would be having dinner with her tonight,” he continued carefully, “and make you aware that Portia wanted to talk to me about why she thinks she deserves another chance.”
“What chance does she have? An even fifty-fifty?”
He laughed uncomfortably because what I’d said was awkward and sharp. But I couldn’t regret the edge to my tone. “God, no, Ruby.”
“But you’re going,” I reminded him, aghast. “I mean, we’re talking zero chance of reconciliation with your ex-wife, right?”
His expression straightened as if he hadn’t really thought about it this way. Clearly, he’d only considered it a courtesy. But if it was just a courtesy, and there was no chance he would take her back, then why wasn’t the answer too-little-too-late? Why not just tell her that his girlfriend had just left his flat in a bit of a hysterical state and could she fill him in later—over the phone?
“Well, I can’t imagine being with her again—”
“So you’re going only as a gesture?”
He closed his eyes, exhaling a gust of breath. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that.”
“So you’re not just going as a gesture?”
“I don’t—”
“Just tell me!” I cried. “Because right now it sounds like you’re telling me that you slept with me last night and tonight you’re going back to your ex-wife?” I felt tears burn across the surface of my eyes and by now I was too fucking tired to bother wiping them away.
“Ruby, I’m not having dinner with her tonight to go back to her.”
“But you might.”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t imagine that I would, no. But Ruby, I know you’re young and that you’ve n—”
“Don’t,” I said, my voice frightening, even to me. Unconsciously I had balled my hands into fists; I was at the dead end of my patience with his wishy-washy game. “Don’t do that. This isn’t about my age. I’ve never acted na?ve with you. I’ve only been understanding while you work through your enormous pile of . . . baggage.”
He cleared his throat and nodded, looking appropriately contrite. “You’re right, I’m sorry. What I mean is that it feels cruel to not at least have the conversation I’ve felt we needed to have for so many years. You of all people, who are so good at expressing things, must understand this. It might relieve something in both of us to simply discuss things for once.”
My heart hurt so horribly that I could barely pull in a full breath.
He leaned forward and took my hand but I pulled it out of his grasp. The pain in his eyes was nearly unbearable. What was he doing? We had such a good thing. Had I scared him off this much?
“Darling,” he said calmly, and something in my brain crawled over the word, trying to excavate any condescension there. “I want to ease your anxiety somehow, but I don’t want to be flippant about what it means to meet with my ex-wife to hear her out. I realize now it would feel dishonest if I told you it was nothing and then I still went and listened to her with an open mind.”
“Do you have an open mind?”
His answer broke my heart. “I suppose I’m trying to. I owe her that, at least.”
I nodded, remaining silent. I could see his torment in this moment and my heart hurt for him, too, but it hurt more for me. He wanted to talk to her to ease something in him, to achieve closure. But I knew there was a tiny part of him, the part that couldn’t hear her out over the phone, which also wondered if maybe she had changed enough. If they might be able to find something comfortable together, and better than what they’d had before.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow, then?” he asked. “Perhaps we could do lunch?”
I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, of “doing lunch” almost like one would with a client. I’d essentially forfeited my job so I could stay with him, and he was going to have dinner with his ex-wife to discuss reconciliation.
Was this really happening?
I nodded, jaw tight, unable to even look at him. “Sure.”
Tilting his head, he asked, “Could you tell me what happened with Tony? We exchanged words earlier. He urged Richard to put a rather strongly worded letter in my file. Hopefully I’ve borne the brunt of what happened between us in New York.”
Between us. In New York.
Not last night. Not the night I pushed you so far you’re considering going back to a woman who made you miserable, but left you alone in your shell.
“Oh, yeah,” I said absently, sinking into an odd numbness. I stood, walking toward the door. “He basically just gave me a letter, too.”