Back at work, I got off the elevator, returning from a late lunch with my old college roommate Paul, who’d had a rare day off as he was now doing his residency at New York-Presbyterian. I’d been thrilled when he and his wife Taylor had moved to NYC from Pennsylvania last June after he’d graduated med school. We now tried getting together when we could, which wasn’t often due to his busy schedule, but today just happened to be one of the few times he had a break.

I’d told him about my phone call this morning with Sonya and he’d shaken his head, pissed that after everything we’d gone through, she’d met someone else and was willing to call it quits with me.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man,” he’d told me. “You gave it everything you had. I mean,” he’d shrugged, “not much else you can do.”

I admitted to him that I wasn’t really shocked or surprised because everything had seemed to be building in that direction anyway. I was upset, of course. I loved Sonya and hated that things had come to this, but I was at a loss when it came to patching shit up. The past two years, it seemed that the harder I’d fought for us to work, the more she’d pushed me away. Now I realized that maybe she’d done so because she’d been in love with another man all along.

Christ.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, and I blew out a breath before the doors opened, trying to get back into work mode, telling myself I’d think about everything on my cab ride home then Sonya and I would talk when I arrived.

But when I stepped out of the elevator, my world turned upside down.

I’d always imagined what it would be like if I ever saw Birdie again, because, you know, in a city of eight and a half million people it was bound to happen. Yeah, that’d be me being a sarcastic prick again. Anyway, the ridiculous, romantic side of myself saw me going to her, taking her in my arms and bending her back to give her one of those great big Hollywood movie kisses, one like the sailor-nurse picture in Life Magazine. However, I was a pragmatist not a romantic, and the idea of my actually really doing that always made me chuckle.

But I’ll be damned if right then it wasn’t all I wanted to do—take her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her.

I stood frozen at the sight of her, heart pounding in my chest, God, she was so fucking beautiful, and from her expression I saw that she was in as much shock as I was. In the few seconds before I could muster up my voice to speak, I took all of her in: long, brown hair in waves cascading down past her shoulders, a tight, black pencil skirt that hugged her hips sexily, a white blouse through which I could see she wore a white camisole underneath, and high-heeled red “fuck me” shoes that had my dick twitching and my fingers rubbing at my palms, itching to touch her, wanting to make sure she was real. 

“Birdie?” I finally uttered raggedly, swallowing roughly after.

She took in a breath, her lips parting as she started to smile, then I knew she remembered I was a bastard and I watched as she composed herself, her expression immediately going blank as if a light inside of her had been turned off.

“Beck,” she replied, going for aloof and indifferent, but I knew seeing me was taking its toll on her, if her pale face was any indication.

“Birdie, I—”

“I have to get back to work,” she interrupted, suddenly all business. Moving my way, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, which I recognized as one of her tells that let me know she was either nervous or agitated, probably a bit of both. When she got to me, she smiled perfunctorily and stated, “It was nice seeing you again,” then just kept going.

I watched as she walked through the cubicle area and at the boardroom door, she went in. I could still see her through the windows, but she didn’t miss a beat, putting her purse under the table then sitting down and clicking at the keyboard of a laptop, going right to work as if seeing me had meant nothing.

Fuck.

I’d known a forensic accountant was coming in to check the books, but it hadn’t even crossed my mind that it’d be Birdie. Hell, I didn’t even know she did that kind of thing. I stared at her a moment more until Rance Jones, who sat at a cubicle outside my office, gave me a leer and muttered, “She’s one hot piece.” I cut my eyes at him until he became embarrassed and turned away then I trudged my way into my office, wishing once again that the door wasn’t glass with a pneumatic closer so I could slam the fucker.

The rest of my day was wrecked. All I could think about was Sonya and the talk we needed to have, and then there was Birdie and her reaction at seeing me which had really torn me up.

I hated that she hated me.

Because I still loved her.

On top of not being able to focus on work, every so often I found myself getting up from my desk to look and see if she was still in the boardroom. Then trying to make my watching her not so obvious, I moved my trashcan closer to the door so I had a reason to get up, maybe take a little lackadaisical gander in her direction unconcernedly. Soon after, there was needing a drink at the water fountain in the lobby numerous times as well as acting like I had to piss almost a half a dozen times. Jesus. Hashtag stalker, anyone?

Twice Birdie had walked by my office, I assumed on her way to—then from—the ladies’ room, and I’d actually been busy but had peered up in time to see her passing. Both times she didn’t spare me the least little glance.

A minute before five, I resolved to at least tell her goodbye, but when I pulled on my wool overcoat and walked out of my office heading toward the boardroom, I saw the company’s CFO, Joel Gaines, was inside talking to her. When they shared a laugh, I frowned. Joel was a pretty good guy as far as I could tell, but he was a bit flirty with the ladies in the office, despite his being married to Yasmine, who was a total knockout. Then again, Yasmine was quite the flirt herself, having bantered playfully with me on several occasions, which I’d taken as her just being friendly. Then it dawned on me. Fuck! Did they have an open marriage? Was Joel trying to seduce Birdie? And was she flirting right back?

At this thought, I picked up my pace to the boardroom and stepped inside ready to kick his ass. He had ten years on me and was still pretty fit, but I knew I could take him.

Putting his hand on my very tense shoulder, Joel said, “Beck! How’s everything going? Did you get the numbers on the Valdaxamil adjusted?” I turned my murderous glare—which I hadn’t realized I’d been sporting—from Birdie to Joel who was giving me his million-dollar smile. “And have you met Ms. Chapman? I was just telling her that Yasmine has the same pair of shoes.”

Well, shit. He wasn’t hitting on Birdie. He’d just been making small talk. Blood pressure back to normal, I cleared my throat and nodded, my demeanor now changing from I’ll-kill-this-motherfucker mode to composed business coolheadedness. “Hey, Joel. Yes, the report is adjusted.” I looked at Birdie. “And, yes, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Chapman.”

She narrowed her eyes, totally onto me and what I’d had in mind when I’d entered the boardroom.

When I noticed that she had her overcoat on, purse on her arm and was ready to go, I asked, “Can I walk you out?”

Who was brandishing the murderous glare now? I snorted as I saw her grit her teeth and clip out a, “Sure.”

“See you two in the morning,” Joel said as he held the door open for us to exit.

“Good night,” “’Night,” Birdie and I answered at the same time as we left.

At the elevator, she stood stick straight facing forward, both hands in front holding her purse by the strap.

“So, how’ve you been?” I asked and got a huffed-out breath in reply. Inside the elevator, on which three other people rode, I watched as she put her purse strap on her shoulder then I leaned down but just a little because at five-foot-ten, with her heels, she was almost my height of six-four, and trying again, I said quietly, “Have you been okay?”

She slowly turned her head toward me, looking up at me as if I were the world’s biggest imbecile. “We haven’t talked in over two years.” She faced the front again and shook her head, looking annoyed as hell.

I gave it another go. “I know, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

There was a ding when we reached the lobby then the doors opened. The other occupants disembarked first before Birdie took a step forward to get out as four people were waiting to get on. When I started to follow, she suddenly turned and slapped her palm against my chest.

“You don’t get to say shit like that!” she snapped, her eyes sparking in anger as she looked up at me. “You left me!” she hissed, pointing a finger in my face with her other hand. “You walked out on me! And you lied to me!”

“Birdie, I’m sor—”

She shoved as hard as she could with her palm making me take a step back inside the elevator since I hadn’t been prepared for it, and a guy waiting to get on stepped forward putting a hand on one of the doors to keep them from shutting. Then through clenched teeth, her eyes blazing, and keeping her voice scary low, Birdie proclaimed, “You can take your ‘sorry’ and go to fucking hell.”

I watched as she turned and walked through the lobby toward the exit, her heels clicking harshly on the tile floor.

“Damn,” the guy holding the door muttered.

I turned toward him and scowled then stepping out of the elevator made my way toward the exit, mumbling to myself, “Fucking Mondays.”