The first time I thanked my boyfriend for offering to help with my surgery, he stared at me as if I had slapped him. For six years, Daniel Hayes had complained that I leaned on him too much, asked too many questions, sent too many messages, and behaved like a child who could not make a decision alone. So when I finally became the independent woman he claimed he wanted, neither of us was prepared for how much he would hate it.
Chapter 2
The next morning, I learned Daniel had called my surgeon personally and moved my procedure two days later so he could attend. The surgeon smiled when she told me, as though I should be touched. “He rearranged everything for you. That man really cares.”
I felt too tired to argue. I called Daniel, but Lily answered his phone.
“He’s asleep,” she whispered. “He was up with me almost all night. Oh—weren’t you supposed to have surgery today?”
A few minutes later she posted a photograph online. Daniel sat sleeping in a hotel chair while the caption read, It feels wonderful to have someone who always protects you.
I blocked them both.
Then I called another hospital, booked the procedure under a different surgeon, and kept my flight reservation.
My first week in Chicago was difficult enough to keep me from thinking much about Daniel. My transfer paperwork mysteriously vanished, approvals stalled, and the department director assigned me a project with a deadline that would have required bending the laws of mathematics. I soon learned our office was divided between an old executive who effectively ran everything and the company founder’s grandson, Grant Sullivan, my actual supervisor.
People called Grant “the Prince” when he was not around.
He was handsome, wealthy, frighteningly intelligent, and famous for having no patience for fools. I had never met him because he was traveling when I arrived.
One miserable afternoon, believing I was texting Maggie, I sent a crying-cat sticker followed by: I’m surrounded by lunatics. Please rescue me before I commit a felony involving a stapler.
The answer came immediately.
I’m here. What happened?
My blood went cold.
I had sent it to Grant Sullivan.
Before I could apologize, he wrote, Stay there.
Three hours later, Grant walked into the conference room carrying a suitcase. Snow melted on the shoulders of his coat.
“What trouble are you having?”
I stared at him. “You came back from Milwaukee because I accidentally sent you a cat?”
He sat down. “Apparently your paycheck never gets accidentally deposited into my account, so I figured the message was intentional enough.”
The rumors about his mouth, at least, were accurate.
Yet he listened while I explained everything. One phone call cleared the approval that had been stalled for five days, and another ended the absurd project assignment.
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”
Grant studied me. Then he smiled slightly. “Claire Morgan. You really don’t remember me, do you?”
I searched his face and found nothing.
That evening Daniel finally reached me from another number.
“Why weren’t you at the hospital?” he demanded. “I waited for you.”
“I changed hospitals.”
“You changed hospitals without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“And your clothes are gone. Where are you?”
“Chicago.”
The silence lasted so long I checked the screen.
“Chicago?” he finally said. “What do you mean, Chicago?”
“I accepted the transfer.”
“When?”
“Before my surgery.”
His breathing sharpened. “Claire, that is a major decision. Why didn’t you discuss it with me?”
I almost admired the irony.
“You told me to stop depending on you,” I said. “You said I was clingy. You said I bothered you with things I should handle myself. So I stopped bothering you.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I became exactly what you asked me to become, Daniel. I make my own appointments. I solve my own problems. I make my own career decisions. Why are you upset?”
His voice softened. “Because I’m your boyfriend. You used to tell me everything.”
“And you hated it.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
“No. You just treated everything I gave you like noise.”
He had no answer.
I looked through my apartment window at the unfamiliar Chicago skyline and realized I was not crying. That surprised me more than anything else.
“There’s one more decision I forgot to discuss with you,” I said. “We’re finished.”
“Claire—”
I hung up.
Over the next week, Grant and I fell into an odd friendship. He sent absurd photographs of his cat wearing a necktie, complained about the office coffee, and answered messages with such consistency that at first I assumed it was a managerial habit.
Then came Maggie’s wedding.
She had insisted months earlier that I bring Daniel. Instead, I arrived alone with a generous check tucked into her card.
At the hotel, Maggie looked radiant in her wedding dress. When I began crying, she laughed and squeezed my hand.
“I was going to throw the bouquet directly at you,” she said. “Now I think I’ll let you escape.”
Her groom overheard and kissed her temple. “She can escape. You can’t.”
During the ceremony, he took Maggie’s hands.
“You are the strongest, most capable woman I know,” he said. “But being strong doesn’t mean you should carry everything alone. With me, you get to be tired. You get to ask for help. You get to send too many messages. I don’t want to be someone you protect from your needs. I want to be the person you trust with them.”
The room erupted in applause.
I turned my head.
Daniel stood at the back.
Our eyes met across the room. Once, that look would have made my heart race. Now I felt only a quiet sadness for the woman I had been.
Afterward, Daniel approached me beneath the hotel awning. “I took the day off because you said partners were expected.”
“We aren’t partners anymore.”
“You can’t erase six years in two weeks.”
“No,” I said. “It took much longer than two weeks.”
Before he could answer, I went back inside.
The seating chart had been rearranged, and somehow I ended up at a table full of children. One little girl pointed proudly to the only other adult there, a stylish man with silver-white hair and glasses.
“That’s my uncle Grant. Mommy says adults at this table are single.”
Grant slowly lowered his water glass.
I burst out laughing. “Mr. Sullivan?”
He sighed. “This hair was supposed to convince my family I’m too young to marry.”
“It convinces me you’ve lost a bet.”
For the first time, he laughed.
We spent dinner talking about everything except work—childhood disasters, bad cafeteria food, pets, family, snowstorms. Beneath the sharp tongue and expensive suit, Grant was funny, attentive, and unexpectedly easy to be around.
As we left, a sudden pain doubled me over.
Daniel saw me from across the lobby and rushed forward.
The next thing I knew, I was in an emergency room.
