I let him go.

I kissed Joe goodbye at 4 a.m. Monday morning while he was sleeping. I didn’t think I’d be able to make love with him one more time and then pass him along like yesterday’s clothes that were no longer wanted. I wrote a note and left it by the kitchen sink.

It took all my willpower to walk out that door and I cried buckets on the way home. I was puffy-eyed by the time I made it to the office. I texted Violet Joe’s details and copied him with hers. I emailed Tyler Gentry and reminded him about the office party on Wednesday night.

I hadn’t eaten since I downed some nachos at the hockey game the night before, and my stomach felt like it might revolt. I wandered into the coffee room and looked in the box of donuts open on the table.

“Why didn’t we do a Secret Santa this year?” Ian asked. “It doesn’t really feel like the holidays without a Secret Santa. Don’t take the last glazed donut, Charlotte. I’ve got dibs.”

“Got it.” I picked up a chocolate butter cream.

“I still can’t believe you signed Sophia Vanderveld,” Hailey said.

“She’s practically perfume royalty,” Ian said. “She might even show up at the party tonight.”

“Congrats,” I said half-heartedly, munching on the pastry.

“If it doesn’t work between Violet and Joe you could set him up with Sophia,” Ian said.

“Not a bad idea,” Hailey said. “She’s gorgeous and fabulously wealthy. What do you think?”

I pitched the donut across the room where it collided against the wall and plopped onto the sink. ““I’m trying not to. Thinking’s over-rated.” I stalked out of the room.

Over the next few days I divided my free moments between hanging out at the dog park and running on the path around Lake Shore Drive. I cut my runs short, turning around right before the Delacroix Hotel came in sight. I knew it would only make me sad and I was depressed enough already.

The dog park was a different story. I went there on my lunch break and returned after work. Watching dogs play seemed to calm me down more than a glass of wine, anti-depressants, or ice cream. I wondered if Violet had met Joe yet. They’d probably fallen in love immediately and would send me an invite to their wedding next year. I’d find a way to be out of town for that one.

Wednesday arrived and along with it the big White Glove Agency holiday party at Positano—an adorable five star trattoria in the Armitage and Sheffield neighborhood.

“What are you wearing?” Hailey asked when she stopped by my cubicle. “Don’t throw a donut at me if you don’t like the question.”

“Clothes,” I said. “I’ve got to find someone for Tyler Gentry. I think I’m going to concentrate on him from here on out.”

“Good call. If you change your mind I’ll take him.”

I collapsed my chin into my hands on my desk. “Holidays suck.”

“For everyone,” Mr. Black said, standing in his winter coat. “Why so glum?”

“No words.”

“I hear you. So, some guy called here today looking for you.”

“He did?” I perked up. “Joe Delacroix?”

“No,” he said. “I overheard snippets of the conversation with Janet, that super relaxed receptionist from the temp agency.”

“She just got her medical marijuana card,” I said. “She showed it to me. Maybe it was a new client. A referral.”

“That would be good. Might I make a suggestion, Charlotte?”

“Sure, boss.”

“Don’t lock up late tonight. Have fun at the party. Just enjoy. You’re overdue.”

* * *

I almost didn’t go to the White Glove holiday bash. I changed outfits five times. I styled my hair three different ways and cracked open two cans of cat food for Benedict. Then I laid on the couch and watched an episode of The Golden Girls, before getting up and re-touching my makeup in the bathroom mirror.

By the time I got to Positano Trattoria, the event was in full swing. The restaurant full of people, plates on the table, the smell of Italian spices wafting through the air.

“White Glove holiday event?” a hostess asked.

“Yes.”

“All the way to the rear and through that door.”

“Thanks.” I made my way through the trattoria and entered a banquet room in the back. It was bigger than the actual restaurant. There was a bar in the corner, a mixture of high top tables on the outskirts, and a dinner buffet manned with a few uniformed servers. A few waiters circulated amongst the guests while Christmas classics played through invisible speakers.

I spotted Violet, wearing a black velvet cocktail dress, at the far end of the room. Her long, shiny hair was held with a pretty rhinestone pin. She was even prettier when dressed up if that was possible. She chatted with a woman who could have been her twin.

A firm male hand landed on my arm. “I’m here,” Tyler Gentry said. “Can I leave yet?”

“No. Give it an hour. We both need to socialize. You never know, you might get lucky and meet the love of your life at some stupid Christmas party.”

“I’m only here for the free eats and booze. I’ve got a threesome lined up in a bit with a hot brunette and her roommate who live in the ’hood.”

“That’s nice. Come with me.” I dragged him through the crowd toward Violet.

“Charlotte!” Violet kissed me on both cheeks. “I thought you were bailing.”

“Me too.” I extended my hand to her look-alike. “Hi, I’m Charlotte. You are?”

“Valentina Accardi,” she said with a thick Italian accent. “Lo solo il suo cugino.”

“She’s my cousin from Sicily. Just got in town for the holidays.” Violet glanced up at Tyler. “You are?”

He stared slack-jawed at Valentina.

“Apologies,” I said. “Tyler Gentry, meet Violet Accardi.”

“Right,” he said, and shook her hand.

“Valentina’s only in town for a few weeks,” Violet said. “She’s not fluent in English. Her parents thought I might show her around.”

“I’ll show her around,” Tyler said.

“I thought you were busy tonight?” I said.

He plucked his phone from his pocket and texted. “Nah. That’s off the table.”

And just like that I saw a spark in Tyler’s eyes that I’d never seen before. A tenderness. His breathing even changed. Dare I hope that he was interested in more than a blowjob? Would Charlotte Louise Bauer make another successful match? And what about Joe and Violet?

Oh crap. Bad move. Do not think about Joe and Violet.

“Great. Why don’t we grab a table?” I walked toward a four-top.

Violet took a seat at the table and pointed toward the bar. “Who’s that man over there? Tall. Brunette. Chiseled. Looks familiar.”

I craned my neck. “My boss. Mr. Black. You probably met him when you stopped by the agency.”

“I’ve never stopped by the agency,” she said. “I would have remembered him.”

“So, I take it you met Joe?” I asked, half hoping she’d say no.

“Yes,” Violet said.

Her dress was stunning in the candlelight. Joe would have to be blind not to be attracted to her.

“He’s funny,” Violet said. “Smart too.”

“And good God, he’s hot.”

“Totally handsome,” she said. “If you like your men timeless in that ‘Kennedy’ kind of way.”

“Sparks?” I asked nonchalantly.

“Kind of,” Violet said. “He’s meeting me here tonight. He’s got a board meeting for the Delacroix Library and couldn’t make it until later.”

“Great,” I said, trying to pretend I was good with this, even though it felt like a knife twisted into my stomach. “That’s excellent.”

“Charlotte,” a man said.

A chill swept through me. His was a voice that showed up in my nightmares. His was the voice I prayed to God every night for a solid six months that I’d never hear again. I turned around and saw Ryan Kessler. Still good looking with the cowlick. Dressed in preppie clothes. The last person in the world I wanted to see.

“Charlotte,” Ryan said. “I need to talk to you in private.”

A sick feeling permeated my body like a toxic mist. I pointed to the back of the room. “There’s an empty table over there. Go. I’ll meet you.”

“Good,” he said, and walked away.

“Who’s that guy?” Violet asked.

“My ex-boyfriend.”

“You okay?”

“Bent not broken.” I walked away.