James Sinclair
I finally left the office, the faint scent of her perfume still lingering in the air, a reminder of everything I’d just lost.
The parking garage was dim as I climbed into my car, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
Drive to her house? Show up on her doorstep like some desperate teenager? And then what? What the hell would I even say to her?
Sorry for being an i***t? Sorry for making you feel like you’re just a fling?
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. That wasn’t going to fix anything. I knew Olivia was hurt. She deserved more than vague answers and half-hearted attempts to brush everything under the rug. But every time I thought about what it would mean to actually be with her, the walls started closing i
