“You say you love me. If that’s true at all, stop hurting me. Let me go.”

  She doesn’t wait around for my reply, just unsuccessfully tries to hold back a sob as she hauls ass to her bedroom door and slams it.

  The turn of the lock sounds horribly final. And the truth sinks in.

  If I don’t do something really fucking drastic, it’s over—for good.

  After the sleepless overnight flight I had back to Dallas, my shithole of a day, the life-altering orgasm with Sloan, followed by the crushing pain of her dismissal, I’m toast. I head for the nearest hotel, grab a room, and pray that tomorrow will be better.

  But it’s not. Tuesday is simply another level of awful.

  Sloan is still nowhere to be found. And instead of Reservoir’s employees telling me they don’t know where to find my wife or claiming they can’t spare a moment to talk to me about my plans for their department, as they did yesterday, now when they see me coming, they simply turn their backs.

  It’s fucking infuriating and humiliating at once.

  Tuesday evening I return to Sloan’s place to try to talk to her. She refuses to answer the door. Nothing I say or do cracks her resolve or changes her mind.

  It hits me that she may actually never speak to me again.

  I’m crushed.

  Not only that, neither Evan nor I have heard from Michael Astor in nearly forty-eight hours. To say my boss is unhappy is a gross understatement.

  Things go from bad to worse when I arrive at Reservoir’s office on Wednesday morning to find all the employees in the lobby, wearing ear-to-ear smiles and staring at someone in the middle of the crowd. The mood in the air is jubilant.

  Uh-oh.

  I’d love to march over there and demand to know what’s going on. Well, first I’d insist on seeing Sloan so we can clear up the steaming pile of crap between us. Since that’s not possible right now, I settle at the back of the lobby, tuck myself in the shadows, and try to figure out why the staff is in the mood to party.

  “Speech. Speech. Speech!” the crowd begins to chant.

  Finally, I see a crown of fiery hair appear above the others as Sloan accepts a hand up to stand on the receptionist’s desk and someone whistles at everyone to settle down.

  My stomach takes a nosedive. I have a bad feeling about this.

  Sloan turns in a circle, trying to address the employees surrounding her. Her triumphant smile is a sucker punch to the gut.

  I held her less than two days ago, but since then I’ve missed her so fucking much I’m half insane. If I can’t figure out how to assure Sloan that my feelings for Becca are nothing compared to the love bleeding from my heart for her and I can’t convince my wife that I’ll always put her first, what the fuck am I going to do?

  Lose her.

  “Okay, everyone. Quiet down! My voice may be big for someone short, but I want to make sure everyone can hear.” Silence falls to an excited hush in the room as my wife stands in front of everyone, on the pedestal she deserves. “Thank you all. I’ve been doing a lot of talking and negotiating with Michael Astor over these past two days. There’s lots more to go still, but…I’ve also spoken to Bruce Rawson. He’s agreed to invoke the escape clause in our agreement with Stratus. This is my roundabout way of saying the rumors are true. We’ve officially landed the Wynam account for the next five years!”

  My eyes clamp shut. Dread slides to my belly. Defeat sludges through my veins.

  One realization slams through me: Sloan doesn’t need me for anything anymore.

  It’s over.

  Son of a bitch.

  “That means we’ll all be staying together as one big, happy family without any external influence—or cash. So we’re charting our own destiny from here on out. I can’t tell you there won’t be significant challenges, because there will. The previous management committed some serious ethics violations and brought us perilously close to bankruptcy. We’ll all have to postpone receiving a couple of paychecks until cash starts flowing again. But with this new client, careful planning, and diligent stewardship of our corporate funds, we should be able to survive the next few years—and hopefully thrive after that. And since several of you have asked, yes, the other rumors are true, too. Mr. Rawson has appointed me the new CEO of Reservoir, effective immediately.”

  Another round of cheers echo off the tile floors and deafen me.

  In my heart, I’m happy that Sloan now has everything she’s ever wanted—her father’s tacit approval, control of the company that means so much to her, and getting to heave-ho her nemesis and husband.

  There’s no one more deserving of happiness.

  Unfortunately, I’m left with nothing. I’ve failed my best friend, the company I’ve dedicated a decade to, and myself. Worst of all, I went at Sloan full throttle. She was my competition, sure. But when I realized she was so much more to me, why didn’t I do something different?

  No, I need to ask that question with more honesty. Instead of assuming I would eventually win her over and she would accept my status quo, why didn’t I do the one thing she needed most from me? Why didn’t I put her first?

  Because I was a stupid, selfish asshole. I’d give anything to go back to our wedding day, explain my once-forbidden feelings for Becca, and tell Evan that I’m stepping aside in his quest to take over Reservoir. Maybe I still would have lost Sloan in the end, but at least I would have had the comfort of knowing I did everything I could, rather than kicking myself for doing all the things I regret.

  With a heavy sigh, I ease out of the corner and slink out the door, reaching for my car keys with one hand and my phone with the other, then dial Evan. It’s barely four a.m. in Maui. I’ll probably wake him up, but he deserves to know sooner rather than later that I utterly fucking failed.

  “Bas?” he sounds groggy. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, buddy. I’m sorry.” I shut my eyes and lean against my car. “I’ve got bad news…”

  April 30

  * * *

  After Sloan delivers her triumphant news to Reservoir’s employees, I book a miserable flight back to Maui. As soon as I walk through my front door, I drop my suitcase, turn off my phone, and open a bottle.

  The first of many.

  Evan comes over. I think it’s Friday night. He tries prying me off the sofa to go somewhere with him. No clue why, and I’m way too drunk to care. Finally, he gives up and parks himself next to me. We watch a baseball game. I don’t remember who played, much less the outcome.

  Saturday is another Cîroc-induced blur.

  Nia pops by Sunday morning to check on me. But by the time she arrives, I’m deep in the midst of discovering that vodka does, in fact, mix with diet cola to make the breakfast of losers. Yeah, that visit is a hazy memory, except the part where she makes me breakfast and apologizes for putting her foot in her mouth with Sloan. At least I have the presence of mind to assure her it’s not her fault.

  Despite all the vodka, I’m aware that it’s totally mine.

  By Sunday evening, I stop drinking and sober up. My head pounds and my stomach rumbles, but those are minor problems. Without anything to dull the pain of losing Sloan, I think about every dirty, underhanded thing I’ve done since promising Evan I’d stop Reservoir from winning Wynam’s business. I think about everything Sloan has been through. Everything she said. What’s important to me. What I want out of life.

  I end up with a shit-pile of regret but no obvious answers about how to make things right with my wife. One thing I realize I need to do? Be a better person.

  I can start by being a better son.

  After I grab a bottle of water and pop a couple of ibuprofen, I power my phone up. Messages from Evan, checking in on me. Messages from Nia, asking if I’m okay.

  Nothing from Sloan. Damn it.

  Digging my thumb and forefinger into the aching sockets of my eyes and shoving down grief, I dial my mom.

  “Sebastian?”

  As soon as I hear her groggy voice, I remember the time difference. It’s midnight back home.

  “Sorry, Mom. I forgot how late it is there. Go back to sleep.”

  “No, that’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Of course she thinks I’m calling for a reason. My wedding to Sloan aside, I haven’t spoken to her in months, and now I’m reaching out a mere week later. “Just…checking in. How are you?”

  “A lot better than you sound. Talk to me.”

  “I’m fine. Just hung over.” I force a laugh to lighten the mood.

  But just like when I was a teenager sneaking out on Saturday night to drink beer and play video games with my buddies, she sees right through me. “It sounds like more than that. What’s wrong? Where’s Sloan?”

  I slam my eyes shut. Her questions force me to face what I’ve been trying to avoid with the vodka. “I…screwed up with her.”

  My mother pauses for a long moment. “Is it too late to fix things?”

  Maybe. Probably. “I don’t know how.”

  She sighs. “Women are communicators. If you replay your last conversation or two, I’m sure she told you something useful.”

  That I need to put her first. That I need to let her go.

  I don’t know if I can.

  “She did,” I admit.

  “There you go. All you have to do is be man enough to compromise.”

  If I want Sloan to even talk to me again, I’ll have to do way more than that. I’ve never willingly conceded anything to anyone in my life. I’ve never even tried to put someone else first. I don’t have a fucking clue where to begin. But I can’t expect my mom to draw a road map for me. I need to figure it out myself.

  “Mom, what happened with Dad? Why did he leave? I know you loved him.”

  “I did. Or I wouldn’t have given him twelve years and five children. But we married too young, right out of high school. He hit thirty…and realized he’d never pursued any of his dreams.”

  My knee-jerk reaction is that he sounds like a selfish prick. But that’s my anger talking. Besides, haven’t I spent all the years he was getting married and having kids pursuing my own life?

  Yeah. And I’m not any better for it. I’m a selfish prick, too.

  “How did you cope after he left?” Because when I realized he was gone for good, I fucking hated him. To this day, I can’t wrap my head around the fact he simply walked away. We’d been close. He’d been involved in my Little League team, my Scouts. I’d idolized him.

  And he just disappeared.

  “Because he needed me to,” my mother says softly. “And I was strong enough to bear it.”

  Her answer bowls me over. She’s spent a decade and a half single parenting, never having a partner to help or support her, simply because he couldn’t and she could? “I don’t understand. It’s so unfair to you.”

  “You kids were my dream, not his. Besides”—she gives me a wistful sigh—“if you love something, set it free.”

  If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be.

  Fuck.

  Then something else occurs to me. “Is that what you did with me, too?”

  “When you left home for college, I knew there was a good chance I’d lose you. Your sisters were all happy to settle down and teach school, be stay-at-home moms, or work for the local florist. But I always knew you had bigger and brighter ambitions than a town of twelve thousand people allowed.”

  So, like Dad, she let me go. That must have killed her.

  I never once thought about that—until now.

  The difference between me and my father? I might have been a selfish prick, but I refuse to remain one. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t still family.”

  I can almost hear the smile in my mother’s voice, despite the fact she’s obviously choked up. “It doesn’t, son. If I haven’t told you, it’s so good to hear from you.”

  Hell if that doesn’t choke me up, too. “It’s good to talk to you, Mom. What are your plans this week?”

  She takes my change of subject and tells me about some volunteer work she’s doing at the local animal shelter, a ladies’ luncheon she’ll be attending with two of my sisters, and my niece’s upcoming dance recital. Honestly, I used to think all that shit was boring. Now, it sounds nice.

  We hang up a few minutes later, after I promise to keep in touch and visit home when my youngest sister gives birth this summer.

  After I set my phone aside, I sink back against the sofa and stare at the wall, thoughts pelting my brain.

  By the time the Monday morning sun blares in my face, I know what I need to do to make things right with Sloan.

  Not going to lie. I’m dreading today. It’s necessary; I know that.

  But it will blow up my entire life.

  The drive to Stratus’s office is over too quickly. I park in my reserved spot, then swipe my badge across the reader. At the clicking of the door, I push my way inside. Some fellow employees wave and ask where I’ve been. I hold up my hand, smile, and keep walking—straight for Evan’s office.

  I’m a man on a mission.

  The rest of the executive management team is already assembled when I enter. Of course, they’re doing damage control, now that the knowledge that Wynam chose Reservoir has undoubtedly gone public. Evan and the other suits are looking for their next opportunity and deciding how to spin this turn of events. As CFO, I would normally be involved in determining how much of our resources we can throw at each opportunity and budget for everything from tech upgrades to ad spend. I’ll bet Evan sent me emails over the weekend to keep me up to speed while I was in my drunken stupor. It’s wholly unlike me…but I haven’t read a single one.

  Evan looks up as I approach the conference table. Something on my face must signal that I’ve got heavy things on my mind, because he turns to address the rest of the executives. “Take ten, everyone. Shaw and I need to confer before we continue.”

  Several nod and send me sideways glances full of curiosity before they leave. Not shocking. After the weekend I’ve had, I’m sure I look like hell. Some of the others I’ve played sports or shared a gym with clap me on the back with expressions closer to concern before they head out the door. They know I got married eight short days ago. They probably wouldn’t be shocked to know it’s already over.

  I’ve had days of dealing with the heartache hollowing out my chest, but I didn’t anticipate the humiliation of my co-workers’ pity. It sucks.

  But I’ve earned it.

  “Hey, Bas,” Evan says cautiously. “I’d ask if you’re feeling better, but…”

  “No.” I feel like shit. I’ve barely slept in days. Passing out doesn’t count. “But I need to talk to you.”

  “Are you all right? I’ve been worried. So has Nia. I guessed when I came to see you on Friday that things with Sloan had gone sideways.”

  Gross understatement. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. I figured you’d be upset, between that and this weekend being the first anniversary of Becca’s death. But I didn’t expect to find you already shit-faced.”

  Holy shit, Becca died a year ago. That fact never crossed my mind all weekend.

  Any worries I’ve had about lingering feelings for Evan’s first wife… I can put them to rest now. I’m relieved that, not only doesn’t Becca have a death grip on any corner of my heart, I’m not sure she ever did.

  But I’m not the only one who lost her that day.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Evan.

  Slowly, he nods. “It was a lot to take in, the fact it had been a year since my life imploded. But I’m in a much better place now, a lot happier than I’ve ever been. The notion that things happen for a reason? I’m starting to think that’s true.”

  Maybe Evan is right, and the reason Sloan left me was so I could finally learn how to love without putting myself first. “If that’s true, then why did Wynam fall through our hands?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. But we’ll recover, and we’ll figure that out. We’re already strategizing alternate ways to grow, so I’d love your input. And I get to keep my hundred million dollars, so that’s a bonus. You can tell me how better to direct the funds now that they’re liquid. Might as well put them to good use, right?”

  That’s the perfect opening to say what I came to.

  My gut tightens as I withdraw the typed note from my suit pocket, then put it in my best friend’s hand. “This is my resignation, effective immediately.”

  “What?” Evan rips the note open and scans it before tossing it onto the table and gaping at me. “Why?”

  How do I explain this in a way my best friend and former boss will understand? “I need to do this for Sloan.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  After everything Evan and I have been through together, I owe him an explanation. “She thinks I only married her to seal Stratus’s position with Reservoir. But I’m in love with her.”

  “I suspected as much on your wedding day. So did Nia. That’s why she tried to talk to Sloan when we stopped on the way to the airport, to gauge her feelings—”

  Sighing, I hold up a hand. “I’m not blaming Nia. And I’m not quitting because I’m pissed at either of you. I’m not even resigning because I fucked everything up…though I did.”

  “Bas, you gave this assignment your all—and then some.”

  Since Evan knows that, maybe he’ll understand what I have to say next. “But I gave my all to the wrong cause.”

  Evan frowns. “Meaning?”

  “Sloan has one dream: to be the heart of Reservoir. I tried to take that from her. All her life, she’s been someone’s plan B. Their second choice. A pawn. Her father used her brilliance, ambition, and loyalty to improve Reservoir without giving her anything in return but a paycheck. Even her first boyfriend used her for a good time, despite having another girlfriend all along. Over and over, she’s given herself to people who haven’t given a shit about her feelings. I have to put her first, and I need to respect her dream. I can’t do that if I’m her competitor.”

  “Okay, but…you’re putting me in a bind. You know that, right? Your shoes are impossible to fill.”