Without saying another word, I leave. Accessing the human resources files, I find Claire’s address. I set it on my GPS and go to the flower shop.

We’re fixing this. I’ve been an asshole. That night I should’ve woken her up and talked to her. We wouldn’t be in this mess if I had.

When I arrive at her apartment, there’re a couple of things that cause my throat to close.

One, there’s a moving truck. Two, there are guys coming in and out with boxes from her apartment. Three, the place looks empty.

I can’t breathe when I realize—fuck—this can’t be happening. She’s leaving me.

There’s a tall guy coming out of the apartment. His dark eyes look familiar. The moment he spots me, he gives me that I’m going to kill you glare that’s very Claire Solis.

“You,” he says accusatorially. “Get the fuck out of here before I kill you.”

I look at him closer and recognize him from the pictures Claire shared with me. This is Thomas, her brother. She never told me he was almost as tall as me.

“Listen,” I say.

“No, you listen to me, you fucking asshole.” His voice booms through the building. “No one hurts my baby sister and gets away with it.”

“Thomas, stop!”

I move my gaze toward Claire, who is wearing nothing but a pair of tiny shorts and a tank top. Fatal mistake. Blinded by her beauty, I miss her brother’s fucking fist. My head pounds as his knuckles connect against my left temple and then the other fist punches me in the gut.

“Stop right now,” Claire says, standing between us.

“He hurt you,” her brother says.

I wish I could talk but I’m having trouble breathing.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Archer?” she asks, crossing her arms and glaring at me.

“Well, it’s Friday. I gave you a couple of days off, not the whole week. We have work to do,” I say, covering my throbbing eye with one hand.

Son of a bitch, he has a mean hook. If I didn’t deserve it, I’d fight back.

“I quit,” she answers. “As you can see, I’m moving. I’ll be in New York next week, enjoying a new life.”

“There’s a rumor about it. You can’t be serious. Why would you move to New York?”

“It’s what’s best for me,” she answers. “You can keep your lower management position. I’m going to a place where they’ll pay me what I’m worth.”

Is she fucking kidding me? I know her worth. If what she wants is a better salary, we could’ve worked it out. But leaving without a fight?