Love Sincerely Yours

by Meghan Quinn

  my blood starts to boil. Immediately, Hunter’s hand goes to my shoulder, trying to calm me.

  Sitting, legs crossed, laughing with a cup of coffee in hand, is Peyton, dressed fucking

  professionally and talking to Lance Holiday, the CEO of Project Mountain.

  What the actual fuck?

  “For those of you who don’t know, I took Peyton’s job in social media at Roam, Inc.

  when she resigned. She’s now working on our women’s line and running the entire

  marketing campaign. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her talking to Lance.” She

  flips to another slide. They’re both looking at a mock-up, and she’s pointing at it while he’s

  listening intently.

  I feel physically ill as Sasha continues to flip through, picture after picture, every single one of them like a nail to my fucking heart.

  How could she do this to me? To Roam, Inc.?

  I know she was desperate for a job, but that desperate to betray me?

  She was so passionate about beating Project Mountain, but has she been double

  crossing me this entire time?

  I don’t fucking get it.

  Pushing back from the table, I stand from my chair and say, “Meeting is canceled.”

  I storm out of the conference room and to the elevator where I rapidly punch the down

  button with my index finger. Heavy footsteps chase after me, and I don’t have to look to the

  side to figure out who it is.

  “Dude, there has to be an explanation.”

  “Like what?”

  Hunter’s silent, trying to think of anything to give her a get-out-of-jail-free card. I wish I

  was trying to think of the same thing, but all I can see are those damming photos. All I can

  see is the woman I have trusted with everything, smiling at someone I consider my biggest

  rival. No, I can’t see an explanation at all. “I don’t know, but before you blow up on her, why

  don’t you take a second to calm down and try to think about this rationally.”

  The elevator dings and I walk inside, pressing the lobby floor button.

  As the doors close, I say, “There is no rational thought in me right now.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he answers right before the doors close.

  On the way to the lobby, I take my phone out of my pocket and shoot George a quick

  email, telling him to have Martha email those pictures to me ASAP. Within five minutes,

  while I’m riding in the back of my driver’s Buick, I have the pictures in hand. All the way to

  the coffee house, I study the photos, looking through each and every one of them with a sharp eye, and no matter how hard I try, the only conclusion I can come up with is that she’s

  trying to dick me over.

  I just have no fucking clue why.

  ***

  There she is, sipping her coffee, looking fresh and beautiful in her bright yellow dress

  and matching high heels, working diligently on her iPad and computer. For a moment, you

  would think she actually gave a fuck about my company. Or maybe she isn’t working on

  Roam, Inc. stuff. Maybe she’s working on Project Mountain.

  In six strides, I’m standing in front of her table, staring down at her.

  She startles and looks up. A smile spreads across her face, but then is quickly washed

  away when she notices my expression.

  “Rome, is everything okay?”

  I don’t fuck around. I take a seat across from her and speak just low enough that we are

  the only two who can hear our conversation. “Tell me right now if you’ve been fucking me

  over.”

  “What?” She sits back as if I just slapped her across the face.

  “Don’t fuck around, Peyton.” Her name feels like a swear word coming out of my

  mouth. “Just tell me the truth.”

  She folds her arms across her chest, becoming defensive immediately. “Excuse me, but

  first of all, you could greet me like a normal human being and say hello, maybe act like my

  boyfriend and press a kiss against my cheek, and then in a level tone of voice, you can

  explain to me why you’re accusing me of, as you so eloquently put it, ‘fucking you over.’”

  I drag my hand over my face out of frustration and remove my phone from my pocket. I open the email with all the pictures and flash the screen in her direction.

  She takes a minute to look at them and with an impassive face, just stares at me.

  “Well . . .” I ask, giving her a chance to explain.

  “Well, what? Seems like you’ve already drawn your own conclusion.”

  “What kind of conclusion am I supposed to draw? We’ve had a leak in the line. Just this

  weekend there was a leak, and it just so happens to be the same weekend you were caught

  with the CEO from Project Mountain.”

  There is so much anger raging inside me, that I almost forget we’re in a public area.

  When I see past my rage boiling inside and take a look at Peyton, it looks like she’s

  about to cry.

  Cry . . . because she’s been caught?

  Without a word, she packs up her things, stuffs them in her bag, stands from the table,

  not even giving me a second glance before walking out of the coffee shop toward her

  apartment.

  Is she kidding me?

  I waste no time in chasing after her.

  The relentless people of New York City around us continue on with their day as I snag

  Peyton by the arm and pull her to the side, out of the way of people walking from point A to

  point B.

  “Let go of me,” she says, tears in her eyes.

  “Just admit it,” I reply. “Just fucking tell me so I can move on.”

  Taking a deep breath, Peyton finally looks up at me, water filling those eyes I used to

  love staring into. Right now, all I can see is betrayal. How could I have been such a damn

  fool?

  “You want the truth?”

  “Truth would be fucking nice right about now.”

  “Fine.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a file folder and holds it up to me. “This

  is a rundown on everything Project Mountain has for their women’s line. They called me last

  week, wanting to meet up and talk about using my services. I thought it would be a great

  opportunity to scope out the competition. The idiots gave me everything they planned on

  doing. I spent the entire day yesterday and this morning comparing and contrasting both

  lines and highlighting sections you need to be concerned about, while offering solutions to

  combat them. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to get your hopes up that we

  might finally have more than just a breakthrough on this. I was planning on giving it to you

  tonight.” She pushes the file against my chest, forcing me to take it, as my mind starts

  spiraling in a million directions.

  I don’t know if I should start with ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘Oh, fuck.’

  “It would have been nice of you if . . . No. I cannot believe you accused me of trying to

  fuck you over. You know me better than that.”

  I swallow hard. Fuck, I’m such an idiot. “Peyton . . .”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I understand your passion for your business and the

  employees that work for you. I’ve known from the beginning that you value each and every

  minute you’re working, but never would I have ever guessed you’d treat me as poorly as you

  have today.” She fixes her purse strap on her shoulder, pulling it closer to her body. “I would

  have expected you, out of anyone, to have respected m
e and my business enough to know I

  would never do that to you. Never deceive you or put your business on the line.”

  “I didn’t know what to think,” I say quickly, trying to come up with anything to ease the

  hurt in her eyes and the devastation in my heart. “You could have thought, ‘My girlfriend really likes me. No—I think there is possible

  love there. So even though these pictures look damming, I know she isn't capable of

  something so incredibly awful. Period.’” Love?

  My heart swells just as it’s deflated by the look in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” I drag my hand through my hair. “I was caught off guard.”

  Leaning forward, she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Then let me catch you off

  guard again. We’re done, Rome.”

  “What?” She starts to walk off, but I catch her by the arm again. “Peyton, come on.”

  “No, Rome.” She shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes that she quickly wipes

  away. She points to the coffee house. “Back there, where you first gave me the job to work

  with you on the women’s line, it meant the world to me that you trusted me enough with

  this project. And yeah, I might have fallen for you in the process of all this. But what it

  comes down to is that you’ve never really trusted me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No? Well, it sure as hell seems like it to me.” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll

  finish out my work with Roam, Inc., see through the launch of the women’s line, but I’ll only

  work with Hunter on it. When it’s over, I’m through with Roam, Inc. Done.”

  My chest constricts, my body is numb, and for the first time since I started dating

  Peyton, fear takes over me. She’s serious. She’s really ending this, and fuck if that doesn’t

  devastate me more than anything.

  Fuck the business.

  Fuck the women’s line.

  Fuck Project Mountain.

  I can’t lose Peyton, not after everything we’ve been through, not after I’ve . . . I’ve . . . Before I can come to terms with my feelings, Peyton is walking down the sidewalk, not

  even bothering to look back at me.

  I tell my feet to move, to chase after her, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to listen.

  Because all I can hear are her words: “We’re done . . . I might have fallen for you in the

  process of all this. But what it comes down to is that you’ve never really trusted me . . .

  We’re done.”

  CHAPTER 27

  ROME

  “It’s called a shower,” Hunter says, barging through my office and taking a seat in front

  of me, a folder in his hand. The dickhead has actually been doing my job for the past two

  weeks.

  My job of working with Peyton, and I can’t fucking stand it.

  I know when every meeting occurs, when it ends, and the exact moment they part ways,

  because Hunter texts me the goddamn update every time.

  Just getting to the coffee house. Short dress. She looks fine, dude.

  God, she’s so smart. She is really good at this shit.

  What’s her perfume? It smells amazing.

  Did you know she paints her fingernails often? Today it’s pink.

  The way she bites her bottom lip . . . dude.

  She gave me a hug goodbye today. Her tits pressed against my chest **okay hand sign

  emoji**

  Oh and she sways her ass when she walks away.

  I could seriously kill him. It’s been like that for the past two weeks. I know what she smells like, like fucking rain and sunshine. And I know she paints her

  nails. I’ve watched her do it wearing nothing but my shirt. And smart? Fuck, she’s the

  smartest girl I know, so clever and astute. It’s why I hired her. Not because of the emails or

  the flirting, but because she’s damn good at what she does, and I needed her on my team.

  Now I need her in my life. A permanent fixture.

  I miss everything about her. The way she tests my patience or brightens when I walk in

  the room, or the way she moans my name when I’m thrusting into her, never able to get

  enough.

  I love her ability to bring me to my knees with her quick wit, and I love that she knows

  when I need her to sit on my lap and let me hold her, breathing in her scent and empathy

  after a hard day.

  I love her personality—feisty and intelligent—how it kept me on my toes. And I love her

  smile, her sultry eyes, and her full lips.

  Christ . . . I . . . I love her.

  Hunter raps his knuckles on my wooden top desk. “Uh, hello in there. Were you even

  listening to me?”

  I shake my head and rub my hand down my face, the three-day-old stubble growing into

  an actual beard. “No, I’m not listening to you because whatever you’re saying is probably

  going to torture me, and I don’t want to hear about it. Just give me the notes and move on.”

  After every visit with Peyton, Hunter makes his first stop here in the office to torture me

  with details about how amazing Peyton is.

  Newsflash: I fucking know, and I’m the dipshit who screwed it up.

  “You’re right.” Hunter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a protein bar. Unwraps,

  chomps, chews. The crinkling sound makes me want to drive my head into the wall. “I would have told you that she looked sad today. Her ‘I’m okay’ façade has worn off, and she’s

  lacking the brilliance in her eyes.”

  Fuck.

  I can’t handle the image in my head. A sullen Peyton, barely getting through the

  meeting, that spark she carries, dulled and masked.

  Fuck, I’m a moron.

  “She didn’t even order a drink this time.”

  “What?” I snap my head at Hunter. “Why?”

  “Said she wasn’t thirsty or hungry. Didn’t stop me from eating a croissant and licking

  my fingers afterward.”

  “Shit,” I mumble and lean back in my chair.

  Hunter exhales and props his ankle up on his knee. “Dude, what’s stopping you from

  saying you’re sorry?”

  “I already said I was sorry, but she walked away.”

  “Don’t be a moron. Of course she walked away. You hurt her, big time. And mind you, I

  told you not to blow up, and look what you did.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “Seriously though, what are you waiting for? You look like shit; she looks like shit. You

  clearly miss her, so go grovel at her feet.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I answer, staring at the wallpaper on my computer screen. It’s a

  picture Peyton took of us at Serendipity. She’s sitting on my lap, arm wrapped around my

  neck as I kiss her cheek, the smile on her face so gorgeous.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she wouldn’t even say yes to moving in with me—” “Because she wanted a grand gesture, not some bullshit statement that you guys should

  move in together.” Hunter snaps his finger and lowers his foot, inching closer to my desk.

  “Pull up Pinterest. I bet we could find some good ideas on how to win her back.”

  “I’m not looking at goddamn Pinterest.” I push back from my desk, and pace my office,

  rubbing the back of my neck. My mind whirls but not with ideas, with worry. What if I’ve

  waited too long? What if she doesn’t want me back?

  Head bent forward, completely deflated, I say, “I love her, Hunter.”

  “I know, so what are you going to do about it?”

  Turning toward him, I eye my computer again, her infec
tious joy reminding me where

  we started . . .

  “I think I have an idea.”

  Hunter rubs his hands together and leans forward. “Oh, my nips just got hard. Lay it on

  me.”

  I really need to get a new best friend.

  ***

  Hunter suggested I clean myself up before I try to win Peyton back, and I think he was

  right, for once. I didn’t shave, kind of liking the scruff, but I trimmed it up so it didn’t look

  like a truck just dragged me down nine miles of bumpy road. I chose to wear a pair of black

  jeans and a gray V-neck sweater with a white shirt underneath it. Peyton always said she

  loves me in my business clothes, but it’s my “street” clothes that really turn her on.

  Fuck, I’m nervous.

  I’ve never had to win a girl back. I’ve never been interested enough to put in the effort,

  but Peyton is worth every single second of my time. Sitting at a restaurant across from the coffee house, I have the perfect view of her.

  Dressed in jeans and a simple blue sweater, brown boots up to her knees, she looks so good.

  The minute I laid eyes on her, knowing she’s so close, I felt the beat of my heart wanting to

  erupt out of my chest.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pull up the email I put together and give it one

  more look, tweaking it until I’m comfortable.

  I glance at Peyton again. Her nose is buried in her computer working diligently, a cup of

  coffee next to her. What did she get today? A latte? She favors those more, but when she’s in

  dire need of caffeine, she goes for the espresso. Does she need caffeine today like I need it,

  to help combat the sleepless nights I’ve had?

  Only one way to find out.

  Taking a deep breath, I press send and wait.

  CHAPTER 28

  PEYTON

  This latte is doing shit for me right now. I should have gone with the espresso with five

  shots, because oh my God, I can barely keep my eyes open as I look over these ad copies. My

  vision feels blurry, and my mind is elsewhere—on a certain asshole who unfortunately

  captured my heart.

  I press my hand against my forehead, trying to keep myself propped up through my

  drowsiness.

  Okay, maybe I kind of wish he would come apologize again. Yes, I’m that girl. What he

  did was presumptuous and mean and the definition of his personality, but it still stung . . .