I feel miserable. I have done nothing the whole week but lie in bed feeling sorry for myself. By Thursday I smell because I haven’t been in the shower for three days. My hair is a tangled mess, and I have no trace of makeup left because I’ve cried so much it’s been more cleansing than any makeup remover.

What am I crying about? My job, mostly. My job, and Wes. That I’m crying this much over a man I shouldn’t care about tells me how far I’ve fallen.

I haven’t told my mom about what happened. I can’t bring myself to admit to her what a failure I am, how badly I messed up. When I got the scholarship, she was so proud of me.

“You’re going to make something fantastic of yourself,” she kept saying. I got the student loan to study for my MBA, and she was just as proud of me, then. “You fight the right battles to get where you need to be.” Her words of encouragement were what got me through my degree, through my MBA.

When I was hired as a receptionist instead of anything noteworthy, she told me that everything starts small. Rome wasn’t built in a day. It’s her favorite saying no matter how cliché. And I held onto that hope. I got promoted to project manager and I was so proud to tell her she was right, to tell her that I was finally building the life I always dreamed of.

And now? Now, in less than a month, I’ve been fired from the job I’ve been working toward my whole life and my career is over. With a black mark on my résumé like that, I don’t know what I’m going to do, where I’m going to end up.

My phone rings, and it’s Paris. I think about not answering, but I do, and I hold the phone against my ear.

“We’re going out for lunch,” she says.

“I don’t think I’m up to it,” I say. “I feel sick.”

“It wasn’t a question. Shower and get dressed. I’m coming to your place in an hour. If you’re not out of bed and ready for me by the time I get there, I’ll drag you out of bed and put you in the shower myself.”

She hangs up. I shake my head at the phone and groan. Paris is the only person that knows what happened. She knew about Wes, so it was easy to explain, and she’s my best friend.

I get out of bed because I know she’s not joking about dragging me out of bed if I don’t do it myself. Paris might fool around a lot when it comes to big life decisions, but she’s the most loyal friend I have. If the same thing happened to her, the roles would be reversed, and I would be the one threatening her on the phone.

An hour later, I’m dressed and ready for her. My hair is still damp, but I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a cartoon print on it and ballet flats. I’m not wearing makeup – that’s pushing it – but I open the door, and she smiles.

“Come on,” she says. “You look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

I know I have dark circles under my eyes. I don’t know why, because it feels like sleeping is all I’ve been doing.

We go out to Brenda’s Meat and Three, a very casual restaurant with southern food. When we arrive, a waitress leads us to the back of the dining area, and we sit down in a booth. I slide into the black leather seat. Paris sits opposite me.

“So, tell me,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “It’s such bullshit,” I say. “What did I do to deserve this?” I sigh. “I guess it’s my fault, too, because I did sleep with him and I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. But still, this can’t be the end for me. It’s not fair. And Wes, God.” I’m getting angrier as I speak. “He will just bounce back from this. It’s so typical. He’ll probably be able to shrug it off while I have nothing left.” I bury my face in my hands. “Is this what I get for conspiring against the company?”

Paris shakes her head. “So, you move on. You’ll figure something out, I know you.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I can fix this.”

“You’ll find a way. You know what we need? Beignets.”

I laugh. “I haven’t even eaten food yet.”

“So?” Paris says. “You’re eating your emotions. Might as well make it worth your while.”

I chuckle, and Paris orders us two coffees and beignets.

“So, I’m assuming you’re not talking to him, anymore?” Paris asks when the waitress leaves. I shake my head.

“What would I talk to him for? He’s the reason I lost my job.”

Paris stays quiet and lets me speak.

“Besides, it was never going to work, anyway. It’s not like we would fit into each other’s lives. The only thing we had in common was RidgeCo, and now that’s gone. I’ll probably never see him again. He was so good to me, too, when I just started, making sure I was set. He taught me a couple of things, and he stuck up for me.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out with a shudder. “Maybe that’s what made me think he’s a nice guy. I never should have abandoned my original plan.” It doesn’t come out very convincing, even to my own ears.

Paris frowns at me. “He does sound like a nice guy,” she says.

“And hot. God, if you could see this guy. But he’s out of the picture now, and good riddance.” A little bit of the anger returns and I embrace it. I prefer it over all the other things I’m feeling. Anger makes me feel like I can handle everything.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m not going to see him again, that’s for sure.”

Paris smiles. “I meant about a job.”

I sigh and shrug my shoulders. Our coffee arrives and we stop talking while the waitress puts our cups in front of us. When she’s gone I pour sugar and milk into my coffee and stir it.

“Maybe I apply as a receptionist somewhere else.”

“With your MBA?” Paris asks. “I’m sure you deserve more than that. Hell, I don’t even have a job or a qualification or anything and I think I deserve more than that.”

I shake my head. “But I’ve been fired from a good position. If I apply to another they’re going to ask why and I’ll never get the job. I’m worried I got the job because of Wes, anyway, and no other reason. He just hired me so he could fuck me over in the first place. I guess I should congratulate him. He managed to do it, after all.”

Paris leans her elbows on the table and sips her coffee carefully.

“I can’t tell if you’re mad at him or yourself.”

“What? No. Him. Obviously. He’s the reason I’m in this mess. I mean, I am, too, but if he wasn’t so damn hot.”

I know I sound stupid so I stop talking and sip my coffee.

The beignets arrive and they look fantastic. Paris was right, I’m about to eat my emotions and I might as well do it properly.

“God, this is good,” I say, biting into the delicious, sugary dough. “Comfort food makes everything better.”

Paris nods, eating, too, and for a while we just sit together.

“You liked what you did?” Paris asks.

I look up at her. “The project managing?”

She nods.

“Yeah,” I say. “A lot. And I was good at it, too. Wes told me that my ideas were better than anything he’s seen, and that’s saying something, considering how many projects he’s overseen the last while.”

Paris smiles and shakes her head, looking at the food she’s eating. I frown at her.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s nothing,” she says. “You don’t want to hear it.”

I groan. “Obviously, now I do. What? Tell me.”

Paris sighs and reaches for her coffee.

“Well, you’re talking about him a lot,” she says.

I blink at her. “Of course. He’s responsible for all of this.”

Paris shakes her head. “I hear you, but you’re saying lot of good things about him, too. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“What?” I ask, lowering the beignet I was about to sink my teeth into. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Paris shakes her head. “I’m not. I’m just looking at you raving about how terrible this guy is and then finding something to redeem him, every time.”

I shake my head back and forth. There’s no way I’m in love with him. I don’t date. I don’t do relationships and love and all that. I’ve seen how it can ruin someone’s life. My mom and dad are perfect examples. Relationships never end well. If it wasn’t for my gran, I don’t think my mom and I would have gotten through it. I told myself I would never follow in her footsteps. If you don’t fall in love, your heart can’t be broken.

I focused on my studies, instead, and it was so much more rewarding than a relationship.

“I’m not in love with him,” I say again.

Paris is smiling. “Whatever you say, Ky.”

She can’t be right. I won’t accept that. It’s bad enough that Wes has been my downfall, that I was unable to resist him and that I’m in this hole in my life, now. I can’t be in love with the man, too. My life would be a lie then.

But of course, I’ve already done so many things I never thought I would do. And I liked it. I fucked him, repeatedly, and I wanted more. And now?

Now I’m sitting here, eating comfort food, talking about a man that I shouldn’t be thinking about twice if he really doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s out of my life, after all.

But Paris is right. I know she is. I hate her for it – she’s always had a knack for knowing how I feel before I do – but with this, I don’t want her to be right. I can’t afford to be in love with this man. Or any man. My life is in shambles, and he’s a spoiled, rich ass.

A very handsome, fucking-good-in-bed ass. That I admittedly wish I didn’t have to walk away from.

But this mess that I’m in because of him is exactly the reason I shouldn’t be with him or love him or even think about any of those things. Because men are nothing more than heartaches.

“I’m better off without him,” I say to Paris, but I sound so unconvincing that I don’t even believe myself.