Chapter 23: One Bossy Proposal: An Enemies to Lovers Romance: Chapter 23

My phone dings, tearing me from a delicious dream of kisses and soft words with a man who once held my universe together.

I blink my eyes open.

Just a dream no, a memory from the day on the boat I grab my phone with a sigh to see who wants what. The first text I see guts me.

Hell no. But I guess ignoring his last few messages for days hasn’t gotten the point across. He’s certainly not done.

Still clutching my phone, I freshen up, get dressed, and run downstairs, beating on Eliza’s door.

She opens it with a yawn. “What’s up?”

“I have a question—does every man ever born have the same script?”

“What’s wrong?” She moves aside so I can enter.

“Nothing.”

“Will vanilla bean make your nothing better?” She pads into her kitchen and starts pawing around for coffee.

“Seriously, tell me what happened?”

“I need to block his number. That’s what,” I say. But there’s no chance I will.

Unlike Jay, it doesn’t feel right.

As if to prove my point, the phone pings again. I shouldn’t look because I’m sure it’s him. On the other hand, I’ve been scouting jobs I’m not sure I’ll even take just out of curiosity, so…

I look down.

I can’t roll my eyes hard enough.

“Great. Now he’s trying to bribe me with Regis rolls.”

“Yikes, he’s playing his best card already?” she jokes. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“Nope.”

Her eyebrows dart up. Does she think I’m overreacting?

“I mean, this feels too familiar,” I lie. “He’s blowing up my phone after he said it was over. He freaking resigned rather than deal with me, which just made the rumor mill spin—and when an office romance goes wrong, everyone always blames the woman. Then he disappears for over a month and thinks we can pick up just like ” I snap my fingers. “I’m so over it, Eliza. I bet whoever he really wanted dropped him and now I’m Backup Girl again. Screw that. Not having it.”

“Who did he want?” she asks quietly.

“…I don’t know.” I shake my head. “There’s usually someone. In Jay’s case, it was band girl. Lincoln probably has some lightning-hot Instagram model or a scary power CEO who eats nails for breakfast.”

Eliza laughs at the image.

I shrug, hating how paranoid I am. Hating that I still care enough to be upset.

“This could be completely different. What if Lincoln fell down the stairs and the bump on the head knocked some sense into him?” she ventures.

“Why step away from his job then?”

“His friend from the park was in the hospital, wasn’t he? Maybe he wasn’t lying and he was actually tied up.” She gives me a careful look.

I know what she’s doing. She’s being the good friend, the devil’s advocate, making me think with my head rather than a wounded heart that just wants to bleed.

“I don’t know. I doubt Lincoln really would’ve left work for that.” I frown, unsure if I believe it.

“Well, if you don’t talk to him, you’ll never know, will you?”

“If I do, I’m just giving him another chance to suck me back in. It’s pointless. He made my place in his life crystal clear. I’m not his plan B. His mom—

—felt the need to apologize before he did. That’s bonkers.”

Eliza nods. “Yeah, she knew about it, didn’t she?”

“Everyone knew. After Jay got all stabby and caused a scene, it wasn’t a big secret,” I say.

“Have you ever done something wrong and blamed it on somebody else for your mom’s sake?

“Um, hasn’t everyone?” I laugh.

“And did your mom believe you?”

“Yeah.”

“So, she wouldn’t have gone apologizing to the person you weren’t speaking to with a monster check in hand unless you admitted it was your fault, right?” Eliza leans back against the counter and stretches her arms.

“What’s your point?”

“I bet he told mama he blew it. That alone means he’s not Jay.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Mine, of course,” she answers with a cheeky grin. The timer she set for the coffee goes off and she pours it into two mugs with a generous splash of vanilla cream. “Dakota, if you love him—”

“Love? I never said that!” Her tiny apartment suddenly feels like a sauna.

She cocks her head.

“You didn’t have to. You’re smitten. I’m just not sure what you get out of shutting him out. You have to go back to that office until you decide you’re done.” She takes a slow sip of coffee and says, “You’re not getting him out of your system like a bad bout of food poisoning. And it’s not like I care if he’s happy, but I seeing you miserable. Hearing him out might bring some closure.”

I stare down at my coffee, heavenly vanilla wafting up my nose.

“I just don’t get it. Why couldn’t he have texted before now? Why come crawling back after he swore we were done?” Tears brim my eyes and I swipe them away, pretending to scratch my nose. “Hell, I don’t even care. We knew the whole thing was a sham, but the sex was ludicrous and he started talking like it meant more. Maybe I set the bar too high. I hoped for too much when I should’ve just enjoyed the moment.”

Eliza nods slowly, my diligent therapist.

Technically, I suppose she is when food therapy works wonders.

“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have gotten in your ex’s face before the little creep even pulled a knife. And as for playing it down…well, we know guys are dumb. He probably didn’t want his coworkers to know he’s whipped.”

“That would make sense if we were stuck in eighth grade,” I say sharply.

She purses her lips. “Dakota, I think he’s blowing up your phone because he doesn’t want you feeling cornered at your job. It’s kinda sweet if you think about it.”

“How can I be cornered if he doesn’t even work there anymore?”

“Did he actually resign? Or did he just take a leave of absence? Everyone is temporary, so—”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s all the same to me. The email was just a goodbye without a lot of specifics.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want you feeling trapped. He wants you to choose him,” she says.

“Maybe you’ve seen one too many bad movies. That’s not how the world works. People aren’t that pure with their motives.” Yes, I’m plunging into my natural pessimism right now, but I don’t care.

“What do you have to lose by talking?” she asks softly.

“My pride. What’s left of it, anyway.”

She holds up a finger. “A dark unfathomed tide, of interminable pride—”

“Eliza, no. Now you’re quoting Edgar Allan? I’m pretty sure my six-times great uncle is about to come back and haunt me for being so dumb.”

“Hey, just trying to help.” She gives me a pained smile.

I turn away. It’s too hard to say what’s on the edge of my tongue when she can see my face.

“I’m worried about my heart. He could trample it again, and I’m not sure I’d survive that. Since you’re so keen on reminding me I’m a Poe, you know what happened to Edgar Allan after his wife died, right?”

Eliza winces. “Yeah. Bad end.”

“Exactly. Love doesn’t treat us kindly. With Lincoln, it’s not even more rejection that would kill me. It’s having hope again, a future I buried years ago resurrected—only to be snatched away.” I sigh.

She stares into her steaming mug.

“If you’re a hundred percent certain he’ll break your heart again, you’re right. You can’t talk to him. I didn’t think we were ever going to get past the crying.”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m better now. No good reason to relapse.”

“Block his number. But only if you’re sure.”

I blocked Jay’s first number fast. Why can’t I bring myself to block Lincoln?

“I can’t,” I whisper.

“Why?”

I go quiet, taking a long pull from my coffee. Even vanilla sweetness won’t bring easy answers.

“You’re not ready for it to be over, but you won’t listen to him either,” she says. “You’re living in this weird grey zone of maybes. You can block him and be done with it, or you can let him run his mouth for a whole year of Regis rolls. That’s not a bad payoff.”

“Says you,” I throw back, side-eyeing her.

“I’ll say this—if you keep holding your breath for every text, you’ll keep being miserable. You’re not giving yourself the chance to move on, but you’re also not ready for the final word.”

Damn her logic.

I slurp my coffee, pondering her words.

“What would you do?” I ask when I set down my cup.

“Hmm, well…I’m not sure. But I’d probably give the dude a chance to explain, if only for those rolls. Dead serious.” She grins again. “I’m too emotional to stay firm like you, and I don’t like being miserable when there’s a glimmer of hope.”

“But what if it’s What if it’s just another chance for him to break my heart again?”

“I can’t say because I’ve never met the guy. It’s hard to give you advice, but I’d probably take a crack at heartbreak to help ease the pain.”

“You know how you said you’re not sure you’re strong enough to ignore the texts?” I ask.

She nods.

“I’m not sure I’m strong enough to give him a second chance to burn me.”

“Only you can decide,” she says with an empathetic look.

“God, you’re right. This is bad, Eliza. You’d think I’d have learned not to trust men after being stood up in a wedding dress. Maybe I’m just not as smart as I like to think I am.”

“Don’t let Jay make you distrust all men. You had no clue Lincoln would hulk out after acting like he cared. You can’t blame yourself.”

“He got emotional over cinnamon rolls. Big red flag,” I remind her.

“You know now why he needed them, though. For his friend, right? That makes it slightly less crazy…”

“You’re not helping. I need reasons to hate this man.” Yes, I’m whining, and I don’t care.

Eliza laughs. “Why?”

“Every time he texts me, I try to remember why I hate him. It’s how I keep myself from responding.”

“If you have to convince yourself not to respond…I think you know what that means,” she says firmly.

“Sure. I’m playing with fire and we know how that ends, too. One day, I just hope I can despise Lincoln Burns enough so it doesn’t even matter.”

I go into my—well, Anna’s office—early the next morning.

I have to run numbers for another meeting guaranteed to put me to sleep.

I’m not expecting a flash of excitement when I see the cup of coffee and a Regis roll on my desk.

Whose sick joke is this? I’ve made it pretty clear I’m done with anything that involves masses of cinnamon, sugar, and heartbreaking beast-men.

But the dark roast with a big dab of caramel makes my stomach growl like a cougar. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, so what’s the harm?

Then again…I stare down into the cup and notice something off.

Do we have a new intern? Who leaves coffee with no lid next to a computer?

I answer that question before I take a single sip.

The words swirl around a heart in white foam.

Jesus. I don’t even know how he got the cream to stay like that long enough to be readable unless they made the drink right here in the building?

My stomach gurgles again impatiently.

Whatever. It’s caffeine and sugar and I gulp down a mouthful.

It’s warm, sweet, and delicious, never mind who it’s from.

I sit down and start peeling back the first layer of the Regis roll with the fork next to it. But apparently, breakfast is full of surprises.

is edged in the dough.

Dear God. He’s here?

And Lincoln’s office is technically Jane’s now. So much for Eliza’s theory about being cornered at work.

I won’t go. He can’t make me.

If he wanted to talk to me this badly, he’d come here and face me. He knows where to find me.

I get through all of ten minutes working, reviewing slides for that presentation, when I get a call from the COO’s office. I pick up my desk phone, expecting Anna.

“Hello?”

“Dakota, can you come down to Lincoln’s office?” a smooth voice asks.

“Jane? Where are you?”

My heart skips a beat at the phrase She sighs. “Back in my old office today. It’s…well, you’ll see.”

“What’s this about?” I ask faintly.

“Is she coming?” I hear another voice in the background, high-pitched and concerned.

“Wait. Is Anna in your office with you?” I pause. “Guys, what is going on?”

“We’re having a meeting,” Jane says, clearing her throat.

“Umm—what’s this about? It sounds pretty urgent.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Dread and hope blow through me in equally heady doses.

“Well, will one of you come with me?” I ask.

“She wants us to go with her,” Jane whispers, probably to Anna.

“No, we can’t! Tell her…” Anna’s voice fades out.

“Dakota, I’m confident you won’t need the backup,” Jane says.

I glare at the phone.

“O-kay. Well, tell Anna if I’m being set up, I’ll never speak to her again,” I say sharply.

“Will do. We’ll talk after…you’ll see.” Again, with that cryptic phrase, she hangs up.

I slam the phone down and groan.

Oh, well. I might as well get this over with.

I swear, I’m going to give this colossal bonehead a piece of my mind for dragging me into this. He can’t just drop in and out of my life on a whim.

If he’s returned to mess with me, I may just quit on the spot.

With the payments starting from the wedding line in a few months, I’ll have more savings than I could ever dream of to tide me over until I find another job—or shut myself away from the world in a cave to hack out poems.

My knees feel like cement as I hitch an elevator ride up to the C-level suite.

I storm past Lucy, who’s back from maternity leave, stalk past my old desk, and throw Lincoln’s door open.

My breath heaves out of me.

I don’t get it. Why go through this much drama just to get me here if I’m alone?

Wary, I walk in for a closer look. I peek under the desk. I’m not sure why because jumping out of a closet seems a bit much even for him. It’s quiet, though.

Until a small dark shape moves behind the window and stops on the balcony.

“Holy shit!” I mumble, falling back and catching myself.

My heart races. What was that?

It’s way too small and fast to be a person…

Moving to the glass door in front of the balcony, I push it open cautiously.

A huge raven barrels at me.

I throw my arms up, shielding my face like I just became an extra in Hitchcock’s greatest film. “Aaahh!”

Something drops near my feet as the bird darts over my shoulder.

Its deafening calls fade as it flies, soaring through the space between a couple tall buildings across the street.

I drop my arms, trying to catch my breath as I see it.

A rolled-up piece of paper, tied with what looks like a gold ribbon, lays beside my feet.

…a scroll?

No way. He had a carrier pigeon—

—deliver a message?

I pick it up, too curious not to read it.

Hot tears run down my cheeks in rivulets.

God. How could anyone not cry after that?

And how am I supposed to stay strong when he’s sending love letters by raven?

I clutch the letter with one hand, wiping away my tears with the other.

I’m about to retreat into his office so I can get back to my desk and hide, but I see Anna, Cheryl, and Jane standing behind the glass door gawking at me. They’ve got what looks like a peanut gallery of twenty people behind them.

My choices are stand on this balcony forever, fling myself over it, or slink back inside and deal with a barrage of awkward questions like I’m the President of Bad Decisions holding a press conference.

Diving off the building looks more appealing all the time.

Maybe if I just stand here long enough, they’ll get bored and go away so I can make my way in with my tail between my legs?

“Dakota?” A velvet voice vibrates behind me like distant thunder.

Uh-oh.

I know it’s him before I even turn around.

The few stray tears streaming down my face burst into a harsh sob that racks my entire body.

My hands shake. My being trembles. My heart knows this is it.

It’s either turn around and face him or run.

I’m not sure which is worse.

Until he says, “Nevermore, if you keep crying, at least do it where your head belongs.”

I turn toward his voice.

He comes at me with his arms outstretched. He closes the distance between us until his fingers brush my arms, gingerly clasping them, pulling me in.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done to bury my face against his wall of a chest.

Harder than wearing a wedding dress in a honeymoon suite with no husband.

Harder than sparring over cinnamon rolls.

Harder than watching that last pained look on his face as he told me to get out of his life.

But I push my face into him.

I lay my cheek against his warmth, his strength, his everything, and I’m inhaling Lincoln Burns like it’s the very last time, because God, it might be. I take a few deep, rattling breaths of his masculine scent before I lurch back.

His eyes glow like dark amber, searching mine, asking so many questions.

The letter was sweet, sure, but it’s not a conversation.

I can’t just run back to him so easily.

“Dakota?” His face tightens and his arms drop to his sides. “I don’t blame you for being scared questioning me. You didn’t want to be hurt. We’re on the same page. I just do a better job of hiding my emotions.”

I gather another reluctant breath into my lungs.

His eyes are so intense today, heat lamps that melt me into a puddle right here on the balcony.

But even if I’m boneless, I can’t go down this road again.

I can’t be stupid.

Lincoln Burns shared his truth in that letter, and now, it’s my turn.