Chapter 22

Mira

I feel like I’ve been staring out at the view from my new office for hours, though I know it’s only really been more like minutes.

I don’t know what to do.

I want to cry. So badly, I want to cry.

How could I be left so heartbroken over a man I barely know?

And yet here I am, heartbroken, nonetheless.

I lie and tell myself that it’s the sunlight that’s stinging my eyes, rather than the threat of tears.

Choking back a sob, I turn away from the window and move over to a glass wall-enclosed office clearly meant for the head of the office space.

Me.

CEO of Wilder Lingerie.

I have to remember that. It’s been my dream for years. And Owen fully supports it.

But that just makes it all the more painful that I can’t have him.

We suit each other so much. And the sexual tension…

Well. You could cut it with the wrong end of a knife.

I prepare myself for the decision I have to make.

If I have to give up my feelings and attraction to Owen Westbrook, then you can be damn sure I’ll be putting my all into my company.

And when I’m a well-established name in my own right—when I have my own money and can break away from Carl—I’ll aim for Owen again.

Well, there’s no harm in trying, right? Ambition is good for you.

Hunkering down in front of my new desk and even newer computer, I work out a game plan for organizing the office space into the perfect working environment that I truly need it to be.

I call a few people, arranging for supplies, food and clothes to be sent to the new office, then set about cleaning the kitchen while I wait.

Not that it really needs cleaning. I just need something to do to keep my mind off of Owen.

Thankfully, new clothes arrive first. Shirking off my ruined dress and placing Owen’s suit jacket gently over the back of my desk chair, I throw on a camisole top and a pair of form-fitting leggings—the kind of clothes that won’t get in my way while I get down to some hard work.

I look at Owen’s jacket. I hope he doesn’t ask for it back.

At the very least, I want to keep hold of something.

My food delivery arrives: gourmet pizza and a root-beer float, because that’s what a broken heart needs, right?

I take it over to one of the beautiful red sofas with a view over the river.

I gorge on the food, eating my feelings à la Bridget Jones. Admittedly, it makes me feel a little better—though some wine definitely wouldn’t go amiss, either.

Part of me wonders if Owen thinks I’m too young for him. Maybe he wants someone more mature.

Another part of me thinks that it just turns him on even more—the idea that he can have any woman he wants, even if she’s barely out of grad school.

I shake my head slightly at the idea, then pick myself up off the sofa.

“Time to get to work, Miss Wilder,” I say in lieu of a pep talk.

You can do this. You’ve gotten this far already.

When my office supplies arrive, I spend hours rearranging the office, unpacking, shelving, organizing and filing.

It’s menial, boring work—and exactly what I need.

By the time I’m done, the sun has long since set.

I collapse into my desk chair, swiveling back and forth as I eat the remains of my cold pizza—I don’t have the energy to head over to the kitchen and reheat it.

I successfully staved off all thoughts of Owen for the day.

But now they’re back, as if they never left.

I squeeze my hands between my thighs, frustrated beyond belief.

“It’s not fair,” I complain aloud, knowing I sound entirely like a petulant child.

I look at my computer. A few new emails have shown up in my inbox while I was organizing the office, so I glance through them.

A feel a frown deepening on my face as I ingest the contents of one of the emails properly.

It’s from Carl; it causes me to bring up all of our previous correspondence.

Even as I do this, I know I’m far too exhausted to properly concentrate, but something in his email has my curiosity piqued—and not in a good way.

It’s not anything serious, not at first. Just the way Carl has worded a sentence here, a sentence there…in all of his emails.

I search through my physical files for the contract I signed with him.

Surely not, I think. I had a lawyer comb through the entire thing, after all.

But there it is: one damning line in my contract that allows the company’s board of directors to dissolve Wilder Lingerie and sell off all company assets without my permission…if I’m deemed unfit to run the company, at any rate.

Which will never happen. But still.

It’s fucking weird.

I feel a headache coming on. Why did my lawyer allow this in the contract? Why did she let me sign it, knowing this?

I search for my lawyer online. It takes so much digging, way more than could have been expected of me to do when I vetted her in the first place—but eventually, I discover that she actually works for one of Carl’s subsidiaries.

She was working in his best interests this whole time.

Fuck.

“But what does it mean?!” I exclaim, furious at my lack of understanding.

I need coffee. Or sleep. Probably sleep.

I wish Owen was here to help me work things out.

My new ‘doting’ step-father clearly has plans for my company that I’m not privy to. If I were to bring it up with him, what would happen? Would he simply dissolve my company?

And is that why that clause exists in my contract in the first place—to stop me from going against his wishes, lest I lose everything I’ve worked so hard to build?

There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Is that why Carl gave me the terrible offices with locked doors and no emergency exits—because I wouldn’t be able to complain?

But why invest in my company in the first place if he didn’t want it to be successful? I just don’t understand.

It’s not as if Carl chose to invest in my company after he saw me with his brother, so the reason behind that damning clause in my contract has jack squat to do with Owen.

I lay my head on my desk and sigh.

Today has taken a lot out of me.

And I don’t understand a damn thing.

But one thing’s for sure—I need to let Owen know what’s going on.

He can help me.

I’m sure of it.