Heat crept up her neck. “I have to go to work because it pays my bills. I have to listen to my boss because that’s how life is. I’m not a trust fund baby who has a cushion if it doesn’t work out.”
He didn’t take the bait. “Right.”
She made a sound of frustration. “I don’t want to fight with you. That’s not what this is supposed to be. We agreed…no complicated shit. We had sex. That doesn’t mean you get to lay a guilt trip on me for leaving to do my job.”
He stepped closer, his eyes not leaving hers, and cupped her shoulders. “I’m not fighting with you,” he said softly. “We’re supposed to be doing a job for each other this summer. This is me doing mine. I’m fighting for you. Remember why you wanted this. Remember why you came here. It wasn’t for a good lay.”
“Finn…”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes serious. “I’ll still be here in two weeks, but don’t forget the point.”
He released her, and her breath whooshed out. Before she could say anything back, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
She gripped her elbows, feeling chilled and a little lost. He didn’t get it. He’d lived a life where he always had a financial safety net. She wasn’t running to work because she was scared. She was going because she had to.
Right?
She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Then why did she feel so damn shitty?
chapter
EIGHTEEN
“How is it possible that someone who can make such beautiful food can be so bad at photographing it?” Liv asked, chin in hand as she stared at her computer screen.
“I know!” Kincaid announced in her ear. “I told you I’m lighting impaired. Maybe it’s my kitchen.”
Liv frowned as she clicked through the photos Kincaid had emailed her. Her pancakes looked weirdly yellow and the sausages gray, so lighting was definitely an issue. But even if she could adjust the coloring in one of her photo-editing programs, the angles were all wrong, too. “Are you sure you didn’t purposely take bad ones to make me feel worse about standing you up?”
Kincaid snorted. “Sadly, no. This is my best effort. I have similar trouble when I photograph houses for work. So there’s no way to adjust them?”
Liv sighed. “I may be able to tinker with them a little when I get done with work tonight, but I think a reshoot would be better. When I get out there, I can train you to get better angles and show you where the best light is in your house or yard. Natural light is your friend.”
“Thanks, but when do you think you’re going to be able to get out here again? If you left Mr. Hot Cop’s bed behind, you clearly had an emergency, because why else would you leave that behind?”
Liv grimaced and glanced up to make sure none of her coworkers were close enough to hear her. Oh, how she loathed the open-concept office model. “I never said I slept with him.”
“Uh-huh. You were staying at his place—after that kiss I caught you in on the porch—and you’re not sleeping with him?”
Liv rubbed her temple, a mild headache brewing. “I never said that either.”
Kincaid laughed. “Ha. I knew it. You’re my patron saint right now. Have I told you that?”
“Don’t canonize me yet. Things have been so crazy here at work that I haven’t talked to him since Monday morning when I left. I kind of accidentally one-night-standed him.”
“Accidentally?” Kincaid asked, the don’t bullshit me tone clear.
Liv closed her eyes, regret pressing down on her. “Okay, maybe work has conveniently gotten in the way. I just don’t know what to say. He made it sound like he thinks I’m choosing work over following my letter stuff, but I can’t help that I have a job to do, bills to pay. But I feel shitty because we’d made an agreement to be there for each other—not in the bedroom kind of way but in the friend way—and I’ve had to bail on him.”
Kincaid was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to spend more weekends with him?”
“Yes. But…”
“But?”
Liv looked up at the ceiling, hating the relief that had rushed through her when she’d gotten back into the routine at work. When she’d left Finn, she’d had every intention of getting back to Wilder as soon as possible. She’d made a promise to him and to the other women. To herself. But when she’d stepped into the office on Monday afternoon, and everyone had been happy to see her because she could make things happen, all she’d felt was relief.
The chaos had felt familiar, comforting. Things made sense here. She knew her role. She didn’t have to think about the past or ponder her letter or replay what had happened with Finn. She didn’t have to worry about flashbacks or panic attacks. She could do what she always did—throw herself into work and get shit done. Be the go-to girl.