Cate is gone.

She flew away on the private plane that I offered to her without a second thought, like I’m a whipped idiot who’s in over his head.

I am in over my head.

Was.

When she leaves, her back retreating out the door, I go into the kitchen. I tell Laurence to take the rest of the night off. I send Gloria an email letting her know that I won’t be needing her in the morning, and I tell everyone else on staff except for Peter that I’ll contact them in a couple of days.

I don’t want to see anyone.

The first night she is gone, I mix a drink so strong it could be paint thinner. I sit on my couch alone, watching some shitty movie about car racing that I didn’t like when it came out and I don’t like any better now.

The next day, I try to work out with my trainer and act like everything is fine, but the guy seems like something’s bothering him.

“Should we end the session, Carl? You seem distracted,” I say, sounding far more like an asshole than I intend.

“Nope. I’m all good to go. Sorry about that. I have a friend on my mind today.”

“Let’s focus on the workout then.”

“Fine by me.”

Carl is the only one, aside from Peter, who comes and goes—and that’s only because if I’m going to allow myself to wallow like this, I at least need to stay in some semblance of shape. And Carl is divorced from every other aspect of my life, so there’s not much chance of awkwardness.

As the second day passes, and then the third, I retreat farther into my penthouse. I let Gloria return on the fourth day, but I leave when she’s there, haunting the city in my Aston Martin like a pathetic ghost, a billionaire who still found a reason to feel sorry for himself.

Aside from giving my staff an inexplicable vacation and spending my evenings drinking in front of the TV, I put all my effort into playing this whole thing so cool that even I almost believe it.

But the truth stabs at me with every single heartbeat.

Cate is gone.

And I’ve given her no reason to come back.

It would be so easy for her to send a moving service to her apartment. They could pack up everything that’s not here and send it home. At least, to wherever she decides home is. Once Cate’s done being royally pissed off at me, she’ll be able to get a job wherever she wants. Seattle. Chicago. Her options are endless.

Selfishly, the one place I want her to be is in New York City, preferably in my penthouse, her gorgeous body pressed up against mine.

I don’t text her.

I don’t call her.

The situation with her sister sounded serious, and I’m sure the last thing she wants is to be interrupted by a desperate ex.

That’s what I am now.

Her ex.

For some reason, I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that it’s over. That Cate is the one who ended it and walked out without a backward glance, without an apology text, without so much as a note saying that her plane touched down successfully.

I know it did. It’s my plane, after all. But it would have been nice to hear it from her, to get another chance to talk to her…

Thinking about her consumes me, even when I’m pretending to be wholly absorbed in other work.

I sign contracts while I think about her. I review the numbers from Basiqué while I picture the sway of her ass in a tight skirt. I place orders with Laurence and my favorite carryout places while I picture her face, flushed with pleasure as she grinds her sweet, sweet slit up against my hand until she finds her release. I order coffee from the shop down the street—a last-ditch attempt to give myself something to do—while I remember the sensation of my hand coming down across the firm expanse of her ass and hearing her sharp intake of breath, pain and delight all wrapped up in the most beautiful package the world has ever seen.

And the one thing I can’t escape: this is all my fault.

Cate had every right to be furious. I can’t blame her for not wanting to listen to me. I would have been pissed. I would have said worse things.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say.

I could have handled it differently. I could have waited longer to approach her about it, could have sweetened the deal in advance instead of planning some stupid gesture that she probably wouldn’t accept anyway, could have made it clearer to that bitch Sarzó what the next steps would be instead of leaving the details in her hands to the extent that I did.

Since I graduated from college, I’ve had nightmares where I arrive at my office only to find out that someone has taken everything: my name, my fortune, everything. I wake from those dreams soaked in sweat, shivering, heart pounding.

How is it that I managed to force the only woman I’ve ever loved to endure one of my nightmares?

Yet I did.

And even at the end, when her eyes were flashing with rage and she was spitting her fury at me, I should have fought harder.

I should have insisted on taking her to the airport. I should have gone with her into the elevator. I should have run out into the street after her car, waving my arms and making such a scene that the driver would have had no choice but to stop.

I should have fought it every step of the way.

Instead I let her go, like the world’s biggest jackass.

Every day, I see more clearly how dull and colorless my life is without her.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.