The limo pulls up to the curb five minutes after Luke calls the driver. Five minutes that seems like five hours of uncomfortable silence. I feel embarrassed by the way he rushed us out of there. Like I’m a child who threw a hissy fit in a grocery store and had to be yanked out by an adult.

The driver opens the door up for us. I get in first while Luke stands waiting for me. I’m surprised he does something so gentlemanly, considering his clearly agitated state. He gets in after me, and we pull away from the curb.

We sit in the limo, drowning in silence. There’s no laughing or playful banter. It’s completely different than the ride to the restaurant. It’s as if a different person is now in the limo with me. Someone cold and distant. Someone I really don’t know at all. Something is seriously wrong. He was fine until he went to the toilet. Did he get a phone call when he was in the bathroom? Was it business related? I want him to tell me what’s going on. He’s hiding something.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him. It’s the third time I’ve asked, but I can’t help it. I won’t just settle for ‘nothing’. It’s tearing me apart that he won’t just tell me what’s happening.

“Nothing,” he repeats. There’s a bitter tinge to his voice.

This is driving me crazy. Tonight, I felt myself get ready to take a ride on cloud nine. Now, I don’t know if things between us are heating up or cooling down. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll have to quit my job and move away. I’ll have to start all over.

“Please, Luke. Just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” I’m not trying to sound like I’m begging or anything, but desperation creeps into my voice. He’s totally shutting me out, and I don’t know what to say to get through to him.

“It’s really nothing, okay?” he says, staring out of the window.

I’m getting more and more upset with him. Is it too much to want to know what the hell is going on? One moment everything is hunky dory and the next, he has become this cold stranger. My mind goes into overdrive. Maybe he went to the restroom because he was having second thoughts about me. Or he suddenly realized he didn’t actually like me, after all. Maybe this is what all the women in his life get when he is done with them. Maybe it was all in my head. I was always just another notch on his bedpost.

This last thought hurts, and the pain motivates me to keep pressing him.

“Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Luke ignores me. He just stares out the window, avoiding my gaze. Like this is just some fling he’s had, and he desperately wants me to go away. This is bullshit, and I want to call him out on it. I want to tell him he’s being a complete asshole, and I don’t deserve this shit. Not from him. Not from anybody. Maybe I just shouldn’t care. Maybe I should turn cold and distant like he is. But I do care, dammit.

Plus, the way he spoke to me really bothers me. I turn my head to look out the window, puzzled and hurt. I just want to get back to the hotel and not have to deal with any of this.

I feel his hand on my leg, and whirl my head around to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “It’s a long story, and one I have never shared with anybody. It has to do with my father.”

This issue, whatever it is, is clearly personal and painful. I want to place my hand on his to comfort him, but I don’t because my feelings are still hurt. I don’t want him to feel like I’m pressuring him, but I do want to know. I want to know what his father has to do with me. “Will you tell me?”

Luke winces, then looks out the window, like he can’t face me. “When I was little, I looked up to my father. He ran his own business like I do now. It was nowhere near as big as mine, but it was a respectable size, and he was respected in our community. Then, he had an affair with his secretary and when my mom confronted him, he simply ran off with her.” He shakes his head bitterly at the memory. “What my father did was awful. It tore my mom apart. It tore our family apart. When people found out, they treated my mother like a joke. Like it was somehow her fault. And they treated him like a joke. He was that cliché fucking businessman chasing skirts at the office and banging his secretary. Ever since then, I’ve had my rule about not dating people who work with me. I refuse to follow in his footsteps.”

I take a deep breath, as I try to process it all. I’m glad he opened up, but I’m not really sure what else to say to him. Even if he is having some kind of internal crisis, the way he’s treating me still isn’t fair. So, he has some issues from his past with his father? I don’t understand what this has to do with me, or why he feels the need to treat me this way. None of this is making any sense to me.

“Because I never wanted to repeat the sins of my father.”

I’m not really sure how he expects me to take this. It feels like a knife to the back. I don’t really know what to do. It’s easily the most hurtful thing I have ever heard in my life. And possibly, the most heartbreaking.

“Fuck, this sucks so bad. I don’t know what to do with these feelings I’m having.”

Pride comes to the rescue. “Pleeeeease, don’t uproot your principles for my sake,” I say sarcastically, and scoot myself away from him. I stare out the window, picturing how the night could have gone had he not freaked out like this. We could be sharing dessert right now, or getting ready to leave. We could be headed for a stroll, or just headed back to the hotel to screw each other’s brains out.

Instead, we’re sitting here in this icy silence. So now, for the first time since we got here, I feel homesick. I feel ready to go home. But we still have two more days here. Two more God-awful days. Neither of us speak for the rest of the ride back to the hotel. When we get there, we walk inside and ride the elevator together in silence. I stare at the lighted floor numbers. What is there left to say? Obviously, he’s made up his mind and I’m not going to beg.

I can feel him staring at me. His gaze is boring into me. I try to ignore it and focus on the elevator passing each floor.

Only four more to go until ours.

I have never felt so uncomfortable in my life. I hate every second of the ride.

Three more floors.

I just want out of here. I don’t want to be standing next to him any longer.

Two more floors.

Hurry up, I silently urge. We’re almost there, then I can be away from him.

Just one more floor.

Evading his look, I pull my cardkey out of my purse. As soon as we reach our floor, I step out of the elevator and go to our suite. I shove the key into the slot as fast as I can and open the door. I get inside, dash across to my bedroom, and close it quickly.

I lean against the door feeling so hurt, so angry. He led me up the garden path, with his bullshit about being his. He made a fool of me. Tonight, he actually made me think we could be together. That he might actually be falling for me. If he has such a big problem being with me, he should have never let things get this far. He should never have allowed this to start in the first place. I hear his footsteps move to his bedroom and his door shut.

“Fuck this,” I mutter.

How could he? He led me to believe tonight was an actual date. That he really wanted to be with me, but here we are, further apart than ever. For the first time since we’ve arrived in Thailand, we are sleeping in separate bedrooms. Unsteadily, because I am so devastated, I walk to the bathroom. In the mirror, my eyes looked crazed. Blankly, I remove my makeup and get out of my designer knock-off. I was so in love with it. I had such high hopes when I picked it out to wear tonight. Now I hate it. I’ll never be able to look at it again and not remember tonight’s humiliation and hurt.

I take off my stockings and suspenders then nearly sob with the memory of how he ate me out this evening. God, how stupid I’ve been. I climb into the big bed. The bed I shared with him the night before. I turn my head and I swear I can smell him. His cologne, his skin. It’s too much. I don’t think I can sleep here tonight. I grab a pillow, pull the blanket off, and make my way over to the couch. I’ll sleep here. Far away from any reminders of him.

I punch the pillow a few times and lie my head on it. For an expensive hotel suite, the couch is awful to sleep on. I guess nobody ever thought someone would try to sleep on it. I know it has a pull-out bed, but I’m not going to put the work into getting it pulled out and situated. I’m too mentally exhausted. I know that I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

I think back to the first day he hired me. I remember thinking to myself that I was going to have a hard time keeping my hands off him. For two months, I did just that. Then, I come on this trip with him and almost every single one of my fantasies came true. I was so close to what I thought might be a fairytale romance. Maybe that’s the problem. They are fairytales for a reason. Girls eat them up because they want it so bad, but in reality, there are no prince charmings. Just bosses that use you and throw you to the curb without explanation.

I grab my phone. It’s ten in Bangkok, so it’s nine in the morning in New York. I could call my best friend Emma. I need someone to talk to. She might be sleeping, but maybe she’ll wake up.

I dial her number. It rings and then goes to voicemail. I don’t want to worry her, so I leave a generic sounding message. “Hey, Emma. Just checking in. From Bangkok. I still can’t believe I’m here. Anyways. I’ll try again later. Miss you.”

I hang up the phone. I have no one to talk to. I’m hurt all over again, and I feel even more lonely. I punch the pillow again and try to go to sleep, but it’s impossible. The tears are threatening to take over and drown me.

“No,” I snarl. “I’m not going to cry.”

Because more than anything, I don’t want to cry. Crying is a sign of weakness. I’m just tired and need sleep. Maybe if I can sleep on it, I’ll wake up and won’t have feelings for Luke anymore. Maybe I won’t even remember his name.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

My phone starts vibrating on my lap. I almost forgot I left it there. I pick it up and see that Emma is calling me back.

“Hey!” I say, trying to sound cheery. I don’t want her worrying about me.

“How’s jolly old Bangkok?” she asks.

“It’s amazing,” I say. A few hours ago, it wouldn’t have been a lie. It is now.

I’m holding back tears. The sound of her voice is making me miss her and home so much more now. I just want to get back there and retreat to a time when none of this happened. Back in my old bed and my old fantasies about my boss. No longer having to deal with these feelings. In fact, I want to go back and choose to not apply for this job.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asks.

“Nothing at all. Why?”

I hear her sigh. “Dude, come on. We’ve been friends for long enough. You think I don’t know when something is bothering you?”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Tears sting my eyes. I try hard not to cry. I don’t want her to hear my voice crack. I clear my throat. “I’m homesick I guess.” My voice cracks. Ugh. Now she’s going to know.

“You’re crying,” she says. “What happened?”

“It’s Luke,” I reply.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the thought.”

“Honey, before you carry on, I have to tell you the sex is never as good when you’re sober.”

I laugh through my tears. “No. It’s not the sex. That was even better when I was sober.” My voice cracks again. I really hate that.

“Then why are you so upset? Come on. Tell Aunty Emma what happened?” she prompts soothingly.

“I have feelings for him,” I confess sheepishly.

“You think I don’t know that?” She laughs. “I’ve known since the moment you told me you got the job there in Danny’s Bar. Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when you talked about him.”

“Really?” I wish I was better at hiding things. I wish I was like him.

“Yes, really.”

“He asked me out on a date, tonight,” I say.

“And it didn’t go well?”

A tear rolls down my cheek. I dash it away. “No, it didn’t.”

“What happened?”

I tell her about the date and how well it was going, how he acted when he came back from the bathroom, and what he said about mixing business and pleasure because of his dad.

“Now I feel like a complete idiot,” I finish.

“Sweetie, this is all on him. If he’s got some weird daddy issues, he should have stayed away from you. He especially shouldn’t have asked you on a real date. Listen, I’ve got to get to work. I’m running really late. But don’t let that son of a bitch get you down. If he’s too scared to be with you, that’s his loss not yours.”

“Thank you, Emma,” I say.

“No problem.”

We hang up, and I instantly feel alone again. I felt better when I was talking to her, but now that the loneliness has sunk in once again, my heart is starting to hurt all over.

I know it’s going to be a long night for me.