JoAnna leans back in her chair, her gaze unreadable. It reminds me of Barrett’s. I have to hold in a hiccup.
“You’re right. You have much more to prove here,” she says pursing her lips. “So don’t let this happen again.”
I slowly let out the breath that my lungs were holding onto.
“Definitely not.” I shake my head.
“Good.” She nods, and I stand.
I’m about to exit her office when she calls out.
“And Chloe? I know it’s between the two of you, but don’t give up on him. I know he loves you. He just needs time to figure out what’s important.”
I nod, biting my lip so I don’t cry. I want that to be true, but Barrett told me from the beginning that his business is the most important thing. I should have known that when it came down to it, he would make this choice. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
On my lunch break I call the Goldendoodle Foster Program to check on what to do about Baxter. I can’t keep him at my apartment and while I think Barrett was starting to tolerate him, I doubt he wants to keep him permanently.
The receptionist informs me that Jillian is not available, but she’s happy to look into Baxter’s file for information.
“It shows here that he’s been adopted.”
“When? To whom?” I ask.
“I’m not allowed to disclose that information.”
“It’s been one day,” I say, shocked that in my absence Barrett would get rid of Baxter that quickly.
“But here at the Goldendoodle Foster Program we’re always happy when our animals find their forever home.”
She’s right. I should be happy that Baxter has been adopted. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t keep him, but it breaks my heart that I didn’t get to say goodbye.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“You have a wonderful day now,” she says cheerily. The moment I end the call, I burst into tears.
The next few days pass in a blur. I work, I go home, eat ice cream for dinner and cry. On Thursday morning, I wake up with resolve. I cannot be a blubbering mess at Lauren’s wedding. I have to put my heartbreak on pause, if only for a few days. I pack my suitcase, grab the garment bag with my bridesmaid dress in it and vow to not think about Barrett all weekend.
CHAPTER 31
Barrett
I stare at the piece of paper. Chloe’s list.
Barrett attends Books 4 Kids event
Chloe gets to use Barrett’s study for reading
No phones at the dinner table （ahem, Barrett）
Foster Baxter
Barrett smile more （at me）
BJ for Barrett
It reminds me of the last six weeks with her. The frustration, the fights, the understanding, and the way she finally trusted me with her body and her heart. And I fucked it all up.
Half the items on this list are about me. She could have asked for anything, but she asked that I smile more. At her.
“Mr. Hinkle and Mr. Lancaster are here,” Bea notifies me over the intercom.
“I’ll be right there,” I say. I push my hands through my hair, then slowly stand. I move toward my office door. I purposely divert my gaze away from the sofa. I spent half of yesterday staring at it, thinking of Chloe’s impromptu visit a few weeks ago. Remembering her there makes my body ache.
I miss her touch, her taste. The adorable way she rambles about nothing, her never ending books to be read stacked up on my bedside table. The way she looks incredible in both a baggy t-shirt or a sexy silk nightie.
I’ve tried to call her but she doesn’t answer. I hate not knowing if she’s okay. Of course, she’s not okay. I broke her heart.
I’ve spent five nights in my bed alone and every moment has been agony. I need her pressed up against me, her wild hair tickling my face. Her soft breathing had become the soundtrack to my most restful night’s sleep.
Carl must have been notified already. He’s approaching my office as I exit.
“Let’s get this deal done,” he says, holding out his fist to me. I blank stare and he eventually drops his arm. “You still in a shitty mood?”
“What do you think?” I level him with a glare.
I was supposed to be in Vail with Chloe, her friend’s wedding is tonight. I had thought about showing up to surprise her, hoping she’d forgive me, but when the closing with Voltaire got moved to today, I had Bea cancel my ticket. She doesn’t want me there anyway.
We walk down the hallway to the conference room where the Voltaire group is waiting for us. Fred’s shiny bald head peeks over the top of one of the leather chairs at the table.