Seeing her name, even as RB, makes my heart ache. God, I’ve missed her.

This is it. The end of RB and JD. Doomed before we even began. We never got a chance.

I think we could have worked, Sunflower.

I sigh, fingers moving across the keyboard in a death march, four letters cementing my funeral, concluded with a period to show I haven’t been obsessively waiting to hear from her.

Me: Sure.

I turn my phone over, vowing to not touch it, no matter how badly I want to know what she’s going to say. I need to focus on work and not the unfamiliar pain radiating across my pectoral muscles and lodging its way on the left side of my chest. The pestering presence is noticeable, and I fucking hate it.

“Henry?”

Without an invitation, Emma’s walking into my office and shutting the door behind her.

That was quick.

Swallowing the batch of nerves nearly suffocating me, I do my best to appear composed. “Hey,” I croak out, bringing my eyes to meet hers.

Her hair is down today, blonde waves spilling over the top of her shoulders. On her body is a forest green dress, showcasing bare arms that are doted with freckles. I inhale sharply at the color of the material—it’s my favorite, and the sight of her in it rattles me.

It’s the exact shade she wore the night I helped zip her up in the hallway. In the weeks that have passed, I can’t get the image of her out of my mind. The vision of her warm skin under my palm is seared in my memory.

She’s so fucking pretty.

“Is now a good time?” she asks.

I gesture to the two leather chairs opposite me. Emma lowers herself into the one on the right, crossing her feet at the ankles. Judging by her stance, she’s here to discuss business.

“What can I do for you, Emma?”

I’m going to keep this interaction professional as I erase any lingering remnants of what could have been from my memory.

“I wanted to talk to you about your parents’ party.”

“What about it?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Look, I understand wh—Wait, what?” I stare, not sure I heard her correctly.

“I said I’ll do it.”

“Why?”

“We had an agreement, and I always honor my agreements. There’s a caveat, however. I don’t want your money.”

“Why wouldn’t you take the money?”

“I don’t need your pity payment.” She juts her lip out and I run my fingers through my hair.

Yup.

Definitely want to sink my teeth into that plump bottom lip of hers and revel in the sounds she’d make.

“Pity? I’m not paying you because I pity you, Emma. You would have taken the money if it wasn’t me, right?”

“Right.”

“So why can’t you take what I owe you?”