Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that they’ve known me for so long and yet they still don’t understand me at all. Then I remember that I spent the first thirty years of my life making sure that’s exactly how it worked.

But there’s one thing they should know: when I want something, I find a way to make to happen.

I wanted out of a home filled with derision and contempt, so I worked my ass off for a scholarship and then I worked my ass off some more to make the Dean’s List. I wanted power and success, so I kicked ass for Ryder, played the game with Vance, and risked it all for Kinnetik. I wanted beauty, functionality, and luxury, so I bought into a market that no one thought was viable and transformed a run-down loft into a haven, a sanctuary, a showplace for everything that I am.

I want Justin to be happy.

I tap my fingers against the desk blotter and lean back in the chair, closing my eyes to the sound of Ted’s shuffling feet and the low murmur of Cynthia’s voice.

I want Justin to be happy. And I hear him, week after week, raving about LA. Thrilled with the people, the parties, the events, the work. Gushing over the thrill of seeing his art transformed into something bigger than he is. He’s been given opportunities, fantastic opportunities, and he has to reach out and grab onto them just like the tenacious little fucker that he is. And he can’t let go. He’s got a new life now, and the last thing he fucking needs is the old boyfriend blowing into town, reminding him of what he left behind. When what he’s got there is so much better.

He has to embrace that life, become that big fat fucking success that I’ve always told him he’ll be. And he won’t if...

I open my eyes to see Ted and Cynthia deep in conversation. My friends. Think they fucking know me. They don’t know a thing.

They think that my biggest fear is that Justin will leave me.

My biggest fear is that he won’t.

Ted glances up and catches my eye. “Ready, Bri?”

I take a breath as I push away from the desk and that closed drawer.