“Well . . .” God. This was harder than I’d thought it would be. I had heard it but now I was living it: Any woman who loses or gives up a job she loves because of a man will resent it . . . What had ever made me think I would be somehow exempt? “I can’t say yet that I’ll be making the move with you.”

Mark fell back against the burgundy vinyl booth. “This just keeps getting worse.”

“I’m not saying definitively that I won’t.” I tried to shrug it off as no big deal. “I’m just not sure that Gideon and I should be working together. I mean I’m not sure he should be my boss . . . or whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I hate to say it,” Steven said, “but she’s got a point.”

“This is not helping my problem,” Mark muttered.

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t tell them how sorry I really was. I didn’t even feel like I could offer advice. How could I be nonbiased about Mark’s options?

“On the bright side,” I offered instead, “you’re definitely a hot commodity.”

Steven elbowed Mark with a grin. “I knew that already.”

—

“SO”—Cary slung his arm around me when I curled into his side—“here we are again.”

Another night at my mom’s. She’d finally gotten suspicious, considering it was our fourth night in a row at her place. I confessed to arguing with Gideon, but not why. I didn’t think she would understand. I’m sure she would think it was perfectly normal for a man in Gideon’s position to handle all the pesky little details. And as for me possibly losing my job? Why would I want to work when I had no financial reason to?

She didn’t understand. Some daughters wanted to grow up to be just like their mothers; I wanted the opposite. And my need to be the anti-Monica was the main reason I struggled so much with what Gideon had done. Any advice from her would only make things worse. I almost resented her as much as I did him.

“We’ll go home tomorrow,” I said.

After all, I’d be seeing Gideon at Dr. Petersen’s office at the very least. I was desperately curious about how that would go. I couldn’t help but hope that Gideon had turned a major corner with therapy. If so, maybe there were other corners we could turn. Together.

I crossed my fingers.

And really, I had to give Gideon credit for doing his best to give me the space I’d asked for. He could’ve caught me in an elevator or the lobby of the Crossfire. He could have told Raúl to drive me to him instead of wherever I directed. Gideon was trying.

“Have you heard from Trey?” I asked.

It was kind of miraculous how often Cary and I ended up in the same place at the same time. Or maybe it was a shared curse.

“He sent me a text saying he was thinking about me but wasn’t ready to talk yet.”

“Well, that’s something.”

His hand ran up and down my back. “Is it?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m in the same place with Gideon. I think about him all the time, but I don’t have anything to say to him right now.”

“So what’s next? Where do you go from here? When do you decide you’ve got something more to say?”

I thought about that a minute, absently watching Harrison Ford hunt for answers in The Fugitive, which we had on mute. “When something changes, I guess.”

“When he changes, you mean. What if he doesn’t?”

I didn’t have that answer yet, and when I tried to think about it, I went a little crazy.

So I asked Cary a question instead. “I know you want to put the baby first and that’s the right thing to do. But Tatiana’s not happy. And you’re not, either. Trey’s definitely not. This isn’t working out for any of you. Have you thought about being with Trey and the two of you helping Tatiana with the baby?”

He snorted. “She’s not gonna go for that. If she’s miserable, everyone else has to be, too.”

“I don’t think that should be her choice to make. She’s as responsible for getting pregnant as you are. You don’t have to do some sort of penance, Cary.” I put my hand over the arm he had lying in his lap, my thumb brushing carefully over the fresh scars on his inner forearm. “Be happy with Trey. Make him happy. And if Tatiana can’t be happy with having two hot guys looking after her, then she’s . . . not doing something right.”

Cary laughed softly and pressed his lips to the crown of my head. “Solve your own problem that easily.”

“I wish I could.” I wished for that more than anything. But I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

And I feared it might be impossible.

—

THE vibration of my smartphone woke me.

When I realized what the buzzing was, I began searching blindly for my phone, my hands sliding around the bed until I found it. By then, I’d missed the call.

Squinting at the glaringly bright screen, I saw it was just past three A.M. and Gideon had called. My heart skipped as worry chased away sleep. Once again I’d gone to bed cradling my phone, unable to stop reading the many texts he had sent me.

I called him back.

“Angel,” he answered on the first ring, his voice hoarse.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No.” He blew out his breath. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh.” I blinked up at the canopy that I couldn’t see in the dark. My mother was a fan of blackout drapes, saying they were necessary in a city that was never truly dark. “I’m sorry.”