When I marched up to the counter of the convenience store, holding the precious pint of ice cream and a cheap bottle of wine, the elderly man at the counter had given me one of those looks—the kind that tried to convey empathy but had judgment written all over it.

Can’t a girl just have a bad day?

I’d made my way back to our apartment, too moody and upset to even notice the old wrought iron fences that lined our street. I usually loved to run my hand along them, wondering who else had done the exact same thing over the years.

That was why I loved history—the connection it brought to the generations that followed.

It was comforting, knowing those that came before us had struggled, laughed, and loved in much the same way we did even now. Maybe there had even been a young woman who lived in this very apartment many years ago, dealing with a bad day of her very own.

And what a bad day it had been.

The nervousness that I was going to be fired had nearly eaten away at me, when Mr. Cavenaugh had finally made an appearance. I’d planned on standing proud and explaining exactly why I deserved to stay. Instead, I’d stood there, like a trembling idiot, focusing more on his to-die-for looks than his inappropriate behavior. I was a mockery to feminism everywhere.

But, by some miracle, the asshole hadn’t fired me, and tomorrow, I’d return to work for another day.

Joy.

“It wasn’t a miracle,” Tyler had said when I returned home, still gainfully employed. “He screwed up, babe. He hit on you in a public place. If he fired you now, he’d basically be admitting fault. Keeping you employed is the only option he has. Right now, he’s probably praying to every god there is that you don’t file charges against him… which, you could, by the way.”

I’d thought long and hard about that tiny fact.

I’d only known Roman Cavenaugh for a total of twenty-four hours. In that time, he’d been gruff and remote in the office and anything but outside of it. Based on his reaction today—the almost frantic look in his eyes as he’d rushed toward the elevator—I just couldn’t see him as the type of man who slept around with his employees. Or tried to. Calling him out on his indiscretion would end him and bring me into a bright spotlight.

I didn’t want that.

But how would I go on working for this man?

Letting out a long sigh, I scooped up a large spoonful of ice cream and slowly sucked it off the spoon, letting the caramel and cream hit my taste buds in tandem.