“Clay.”

“I also learned to stop fighting when there is nothing to fight for, which is why I’m done,” he says softly, gently even.

But even as soft and as gentle as his voice is, I know in that instant that he’s saying he’s done with me, and a pain so harsh it feels physical crashes into my chest, causing my breath to get stuck in the back of my throat.

Lost for what to say or do, I watch him get up and button the button of his suit jacket. I see his mouth move as he comes around the side of the desk to stand over me, but don’t hear a word he says. But I do feel the touch of the tips of his fingers to my face as he runs them along the edge of my jaw before he turns and walks out of my office, shutting the door before he goes.

I don’t know how long I sit there, it could be minutes but it’s most likely seconds before Katy steps into my office.

“Oh no,” she whispers as soon as she sees my face. “I was going to ask how the meeting went, but I can tell by the look on your face that it was not good.” She shuts the door. “Are you okay?”

Shaking my head no, I then start to nod yes because I can feel my throat starting to itch and if I admit how upset I am, I know I’ll break down and cry. I can’t cry, not at work, and not over a guy I hardly know.

“I’m fine.” I croak and she comes over, placing both her hands on the top of my desk.

“Good, that’s good, honey.” Her voice is quiet as her gaze locks on mine. “Learn and learn quickly that men are assholes, and they don’t deserve your tears.”

I want to tell her that Clay isn’t an asshole. Is he bossy? Yes. Pushy? Absolutely. Overbearing? Definitely. But an asshole? Not even a little. Since the first moment we met I’ve felt safe when I was with him, desired from a single look, and protected in a way that only my father has ever made me feel. I know without knowing that if I was out with him and got locked in a bathroom, he would be searching for me before his meal arrived and he would never use jealousy as a way to get my attention or a reaction from me. He’s the opposite of every single man I have ever dated and I’m starting to realize that I might have screwed up horribly not telling him the truth which is he scares the crap out of me. Because the truth is I know exactly who he is, and I maybe even knew it the second we met. I might not have wanted to admit it, but it was like something inside of me recognized him, as cheesy as that sounds. That said I don’t know that I’m ready for what will come if I open myself up to the possibility of us. For so long, I’ve dated men that didn’t have what it would take to keep hold of my attention—maybe it was even on purpose, though unconscious. I’ve enjoyed my life just as it is, and I know that if I give in, everything in my life will change in an instant. And I don’t know that I’m ready for that.