2. abbi
ABBI
What have I done?
My legs shake like a newborn foal’s as I climb into my car.
I can’t believe I asked for a divorce and handed him the papers—not that he acknowledged them.
I’ve thought the words in my head over and over for months, if not longer, but I never imagined I’d actually take that step and tell him what I wanted, what I needed.
But when he couldn’t even look up from his phone to say good morning, something inside me broke.
I couldn’t stop the words from escaping, even if I’d tried.
By the look on Nix’s face, I caught us both off-guard.
I take a gasping breath and reach out to pull the door closed, but something blocks it. When I search to find the issue, Nix’s handsome face peers down at me as he leans on the roof of my car.
My heart stutters at the pain clouding his eyes and the tension tightening his sharp jaw.
I put that there. I hate that I’ve hurt him.
My first instinct is to soothe him, to take my words back, especially with Prudence’s upcoming nuptials, but I can’t.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told him I didn’t think there’d be anything left of me if I stayed.
“Abigail.” One word. So much pain. So much meaning. So much history.
“I’m going to be late for work. Please let me go.”
He crouches low, his eyes now at the same level as mine.
“I’ll never let you go. You’re my wife. You’re the reason my heart beats.
You can’t ask me to let you go. I won’t do it.
I won’t survive,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, as if his words cost him dearly.
His voice is full of gravel and hurt, reaching deep inside and resurrecting the guilt I’m trying to push away.
God. Where were these words before?
I want to trust that he means what he says, but I don’t.
There have been too many times when he hasn’t given me the attention I deserve.
When he made me feel invisible. When he’s made me feel like a housemate rather than his wife.
The mental reminder helps me drop my shields into place and shore up my defenses.
He drops his forehead to mine. “Abbi, please.”
“I can’t right now, Nix.” Frustration swiftly curls through my body, drawing my muscles tight. “I need to leave. There’s a shareholder meeting this morning I need to prepare for. I can’t be late,” I snap.
His shoulders tighten, and when he pulls away, his eyes are narrowed. “You can’t drop a bomb like that on me”—he waves his arm out toward the kitchen—“and then not talk about it.”
I laugh humorlessly, fury bubbling up from my gut.
“That’s rich coming from you—you rarely communicate, and you’re never home to discuss anything.
Close my door. I need to get to work,” I snap, then raise my brows, waiting for him to comply as I drag my seatbelt across my body and click it into place.
“You’re my wife!” he spits at me. “You made a vow to always be my wife, through sickness and good health, good times and bad!”
“Wife?” He uses the word as if it gives him the right to take me for granted. “I can’t remember the last time I felt like your wife.” His eyes narrow at me. “You treat me like a live-in housekeeper, or … or a roommate at best. I wouldn’t use the term wife to describe what I am to you.”
He has the decency to appear apologetic. “Abbi …”
I peel my eyes away from him, worried I’ll crumble if I keep looking at the hurt in his eyes. “Prudence won’t be home tonight. We can talk then if you can be bothered to come home at a reasonable hour.”
He swallows and nods sharply. “Okay,” he mumbles roughly, then kisses my forehead.
His lips linger for a long moment, and my eyes drop closed, soaking up the simple affection that used to be commonplace for us, but rarely happens anymore.
Maybe if it did, we wouldn’t be on such shaky ground. “I’ll be here, Abbi.”
My door closes with a snick, and Nix steps back, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, pulling the denim tight across his thighs.
Why does he still have to make my stomach flutter?
This would be so much easier if I didn’t love him or find him attractive anymore.
If I didn’t respect him for the man he is.
The sorrow on his face and the slump of his shoulders gut me. He always stands so proud and sure, but looking at him, uncertainty makes him look like a different man. Not my Nix.
What have I done?
I pull onto the street, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.
Gripping it tighter, I nod to myself. I needed to do this.
It’s unfortunate timing with Prue’s wedding, but we can be mature about this and limit the impact it will have on her.
I can’t keep living like a shadow in my own life.
It’s time things change, and I put myself first for once.
Even if it means shattering what’s left of my heart in the process.
Doubts sweep into my mind, and I spend most of the drive second-guessing myself. I shake my head in frustration, willing the thoughts away. “No! I’ve made the right decision. Stop overthinking, Abbi!”
I enter Stone Tower, my heels clicking across the classy stone floor as I make my way toward the elevator. I smile as I come to a stop. “Morning, Joe.”
“It is now that I’ve seen your pretty face, Mrs. Steele.”
At least someone thinks I look pretty today. I wave my hand in front of my face. “You make me blush.”
“Then my job is done.” He bows as the doors open. “Have a wonderful day.”
I chuckle. “Thank you. You too, Joe.”
He’s such an upbeat man. I’m not sure how old he is, but he’s here every morning monitoring the elevators to help with the peak-hour crush.
I arrive on the 48th floor and make my way to my desk.
Dropping my purse into the bottom drawer, I turn on my computer and head for the staffroom to make myself a cup of coffee.
I missed breakfast, and I should eat something to ward off the stress headache building; though I doubt I’ll be able to keep any food in my stomach.
I press my hand across my middle, trying to stem the churning that hasn’t stopped since I stepped foot in my kitchen this morning.
I find a couple of savory muffins left over from yesterday’s meeting—they’ll have to do and at least they have a little protein and fiber in them, I’ll ignore that they’re mostly carbohydrate for today—and zap one in the microwave while the coffee machine makes my drink.
I find Jase lingering near my desk when I return. “Morning,” I say as brightly as I can manage.
He studies me closely, his eyes narrowing as they trace my face. This guy doesn’t miss much. I guess it comes with the territory when you work with Oliver Stone. He demands the highest quality work and attention to detail that would make the average person’s mind boggle. “Everything okay with you?”
“Yeah. Why?” I swallow. I don’t need everyone here to know my business.
“You just don’t look as put together as you usually do,” he tells me as he flicks his suit jacket out of the way to tuck his hand in the pocket of his slacks while I fight the urge to fidget with my hair and clothes. “If you need a day off, let me know.”
I nod. “I will, but I don’t. I’m fine.” I can push through this. It’s what I do, but I’d better visit the ladies and touch up my makeup. I don’t want everyone asking me if I’m okay; I feel too fragile to lie all day. I show my best smile, hoping it allays his concern.
“Do you have the agenda ready for this morning’s shareholder meeting?”
I pick up the copies from my desk and wave them in the air. “Sure do. I also organized a delivery of pastries to arrive at 9:30. I was about to check my emails before heading into conference room one to set up.”
He beams at me, and I swear his eyes twinkle.
Jase is a handsome guy with a fantastic disposition.
He makes my job easy and enjoyable; he’s even become what I would consider a friend.
“Great. I’ll need you to take the minutes because Pam’s away today.
” He moves closer and clears his throat.
“Her mom suffered a stroke last night. The doctors don’t hold much hope for a full recovery at her age, so I’m not sure when Pam will be back at work,” he tells me quietly so others can’t hear.
I press my hand to my chest. “Oh, no! Gosh. I’ll message her later to see if there’s anything I can do to help, but I’m happy to step in wherever I can.”
“Thanks. We’re lucky to have you, Abbi.” He taps my desk and walks away.
I quickly eat my muffin, which tastes like sawdust, and drink my coffee as I double-check the agenda and ensure we have enough copies for the shareholders.
I set up the conference room and arrange the pastries on the credenza along with the coffee- and tea-making facilities, thankful for the busyness that comes with a shareholder meeting.
It’s the perfect distraction from everything that happened this morning.
I still can’t believe I asked Nix for a divorce.
While part of me is proud that I had the courage to ask for what I want, part of me wants to go back and undo what I’ve done.
Nix was clearly hurt, and I hate being the cause of his pain.
I’m the person who smooths things over, keeps the status quo. But that doesn’t get me anywhere.
I shake the thoughts off—you’re at work now, leave home issues at home. Compartmentalizing is my superpower, and I need to be on my game if I’m going to be taking notes for the meeting.
“Thanks for today, Abbi. You really saved the day by stepping in to take the minutes for the meeting,” Mr. Stone says as he heads for his office while I’m shutting down my computer.