Foreplay with the Boss: Billionaires of Boston

37. Kat

Istared out at the harbor Thursday near dusk, thinking that I’d liked it better before, when my rose-tinted glasses were on and I believed that someone like me could actually end up with someone like Jameson Stone. There’d been those nice few days when I convinced myself he cared about me as much as I cared about him.

A seagull landed on the rope next to me and squawked. My dad always said they were filthy birds who ate trash and spread diseases, and he often referred to them as air rats. Luckily for this guy, I thought seagulls weren’t that bad.

“I don’t have any food for you,” I said, “but I have some solid advice if you’re interested…”

The bird dared a step closer and gave another squawk.

“Never fall in love.” I’d avoided tacking on the love when I thought about how I’d fallen for Jameson because leaving it off made it seem safer for my heart, but it didn’t change the truth. I’d fallen head-over-heels in love, fast and crazy, regardless of logic telling me I shouldn’t, the way I’d always imagined falling in love—in real, true love—should be. “It’s not worth it. And when a guy tells you that he doesn’t do attachments, just believe him. Don’t go being an idiot, thinking that was before he knew you, and that things were changing, because that just leads to crying and talking to birds like some kind of crazy person.” Even saying it aloud made me feel like I’d lost something, even though what was done was already done.

The seagull took off with a flap of wings, obviously deciding I had only words and not food.

“Great, now I’m talking to myself. Thanks a lot, stupid air rat.” “What was that?”

I turned to see an older lady.

“Oh, I was just talking to a bird. I’m not crazy,” I quickly clarified—you know, like super sane people do. “I know birds don’t talk. I just haven’t had anyone to talk to about my…I don’t even know if I can call it a breakup, but since I definitely feel broken, I’m going to say I can.”

“Men,” she said with a sigh. “Can’t live with them, can’t kill them.” She scratched her head and put on an expression of mock confusion. “Isn’t that the saying?”

I laughed, the first laugh or even hint of happiness I’d experienced in days. “I think it’s can’t live with them, can’t kill them unless you look good in prison orange.”

She chuckled. “Well, I happen to look amazing in orange.” “Then I’ve got a guy that needs offing,” I said, then I clenched my jaw to stop my tears. “Actually, if you could just off him in my head so I could stop thinking about him, that’d be great.”

She put her hand over mine and squeezed. “That comes in time, dear. Unless he’s the guy. Then you sometimes have to overlook the fact that he’s a frustrating idiot and focus on how much better your life is with him in it—that’s how you know you’ve found the one. And if that’s the case, like I suspect it might be with you judging by the look in your eye at the briefest mention of him, you’ll find a way to work it out. Then you’ll only want to kill him once in a while, in the most loving way.”

“What stories are you telling people about me now?” An older gentleman approached, wrapped his arm around her, and kissed her cheek.

“It’s not always about you,” she said, but she broke into a wide grin that was aimed right at him. She slowly returned her attention to me. “You going to be okay, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you.” I tried to push away the longing that flooded me as I looked at them and wished things had turned out differently. My guy was definitely a frustrating idiot, but I wanted to overlook that because this past month had been the best month of my life. I learned how to be bolder and how to say what I wanted, and for a little while, I’d felt like I belonged. So even though things were too complicated and messy for Jameson and me to work things out—not to mention his aversion to long-term—I’d always be grateful for that. Even if I feared I’d also have to settle for vanilla sex and a heart that never quite beat right for the rest of my life. “You guys have a good day.”

My phone rang, and speak of the devil, it was from the office, except for not from Jameson’s usual line. I didn’t dare answer. No, I preferred to torture myself by listening to his voicemail messages after he left them, replaying them again and again so I could hear his voice, even as I hated how weak it made me feel.

As soon as my message chime went off, I listened to the voicemail. It was Debra, saying she just wanted to check in and to tell me that Jameson wasn’t himself, and she thought I should know, even if he was too stubborn to tell me.

I had no idea how she even knew something like that, but I didn’t doubt that she did.

Actually, that wasn’t true. She reminded me of Lisa, our receptionist at the home office, like companies only hired a certain type for that job, and they had this crazy sixth sense, where they knew everything about everyone in the office.

Like how she knew that Neil and I were on our way to breaking up, even before I did.

Intwenty-fourhours,there’snotgoingtobeahomeoffice,notforlong.

Here I was feeling sorry for myself and several people— people I’d known my whole life—were going to lose their jobs. It was time to stop moping. To pick myself up, brush off the dust, and be bold.

I wasn’t going to give up on my career and let all Jameson’s helpful training go to waste. I needed to put together my own presentation and fight back. I had to at least try.