“I have a set goal that I am determined to achieve. Any feelings I might have for you won’t get in the way of those goals. Sometimes, you make me forget, but I always come back to the original plan—a plan that doesn’t include a significant other.”

He let my words simmer for a bit. “Is that what happened with you and Jackson? He didn’t fit into your guidelines for the future?”

“This isn’t about Jackson.”

“You don’t talk about him much.” He sat back.

Shit. I didn’t want to get into this conversation with him.

“That’s because I don’t need to.”

“Weren’t you engaged?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Nothing, huh? Didn’t shed a single tear?”

“I don’t really…do that. I drink.”

“Like that night at Cutter’s?”

“Exactly like that night at Cutter’s. So, I guess we’re even.”

Thomas’s mouth fell open, not even attempting to hide his wounded ego. “Wow. I guess so.”

“Thomas, you of all people should understand. You were faced with the same decision when you were with Camille. You chose the Bureau, didn’t you?”

“No,” he said, slighted. “I tried to hang on to both.”

I sat back and clasped my hands together. “And how did that work out for you?”

“I don’t like this side of you.”

“That’s unfortunate. From now on, this is the only side you’re going to get.” I stared him straight in the eyes, unwavering.

Thomas began to speak, but someone knocked on the door and pushed it open.

“Agent Lindy?” a smooth but high-toned voice came from the hall.

“Yes?” I said, recognizing Constance standing in the doorway.

“You had a visitor downstairs. I brought him up.”

Before I had the chance to wonder who on earth would be visiting, Jackson Schultz walked around Constance and stood in my doorway.

“Oh. My. God,” I whispered.

Jackson was in a French-blue button-down shirt and patterned tie. The only times I’d seen him look so well dressed was the night he proposed and at Agent Gregory’s funeral. The hue of his shirt set off his azure eyes. They used to be my favorite thing about him, but in that moment, I could only notice that they were as round as his face. Jackson had always been fit, but his smoothly shaved head made him appear more portly than he was.

The longer we had been together, the more his less appealing features and habits had grown noticeable—the way he’d suck food through his teeth after a meal; lean to the side when he passed gas, even in public; or not always wash his hands after he had been in the restroom for half an hour. Even the three deep wrinkles where his skull met his neck made me cringe.

“Who the hell are you?” Thomas asked.