Not His Fault

MARISSA

Days at the office dragged on and on. The clock seemed to have slowed down, hours passing as slowly as an antagonizing snail. One who knew you’d bet on him and was intentionally showing you why it had been a mistake to do so.

At the same time as it felt like years had passed since that day in Layton’s office when I broke things off, it also felt like the conversation had happened mere minutes ago.

With the stubborn refusal of the hands on the clock to move at any freaking decent speed, I had way too much time to think about the man in the office on the other side of the building. I found myself bracing for when I would finally see him again, both hoping I would and dreading the minute it would happen.

When he came to my office earlier, it was all I could do to not burst into tears. I hated the distance between us, the frigid tension. I wished more than anything that things could be different between us.

Those few weeks I’d spent being more than just his employee—if not as his