Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 111

Chapter 100: Durian Has Opinions

The silence on his end was the silence of a man receiving something he’d known was possible but had been holding at a distance And now hearing it being confirmed was doing things to him that he did not know how to deal with it and was trying to manage it but failing.

“Is she okay?” he asked. His voice had gone quieter. “Just-is she-”

“She’s fighting,” I said. “She’s doing well. She has people with her.” A pause. “That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

I ended the call.

Set the phone face-down on the bar, without giving a second thought about it, there was no need to give Logan false hope when Sedona had been specific about what she thought about Logan returning to her life.

Durian was looking at me.

“You told him she’d found someone new,” he said.

“I implied it.”

“Why?”

I looked at the empty glass. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

I didn’t answer.

“You wanted someone else to be in pain,” Durian said. Not an accusation. Just a description. “You were sitting here hurting and you wanted-”

“I know what I did.” The words came out sharper than I intended. I set the glass down. “I know it was-I just needed-” I stopped. The sentence didn’t have an end that was willing to say out loud. “He hurt my sister for three years,” I said finally. “He doesn’t deserve comfort.

“He doesn’t,” Durian agreed. “But that wasn’t entirely why.”

No. It wasn’t entirely why.

I’d wanted someone else to feel the specific quality of being told that the person they wanted had moved on. Had found something better. Wasn’t available and wasn’t going to be. I’d wanted to give someone else the sentence I’d essentially given myself tonight when I’d stood in my own office and watched what I watched and then made the decision I’d made.

She doesn’t want you. Let her be.

I’d said it to Logan Hayes and I’d meant it for myself.

“I fired him,” I said, to no one particularly.

1.3

Danan Hasement

Hknow.

“He was the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“I know that too.”

Clam

“He left and made sure the transition was covered.” The thing that had been sitting in my chest since the office shifted, became something more acute, more specifically located. “He got fired and on his way out he reminded me about the Wednesday Meridian call and where to find the temp agency contact.”

Durian was quiet.

“Who does that?” I asked.

“Someone who’s very good at their job,” Durian said carefully. “And possibly someone who wanted to leave you with as little reason to regret the decision as possible.”

I looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means-” Durian paused, with the precision of someone deciding how honest to be. “It means that in my experience, people who are fired for legitimate professional reasons don’t generally spend their last moments in the office making sure the transition is covered. They’re hurt and they leave. The making sure is the behavior of someone who cares about the person doing the firing, even in the moment of being fired. He cared more about the person than the actual fact that he was fired injustly in his mind.” He tilted his head slightly. “But I could be wrong.”

I said nothing.

“Cameron.” He turned on his stool to face me fully, the way he did when he was about to say something he’d decided needed to be said regardless of how it landed.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.”

“Enough to make decisions you wouldn’t make sober, or enough to feel things you’ve been not-feeling sober?”

“Both, probably.”

“Then here’s what’s going to happen.” He set his own glass down. “You’re not driving, which I assume you already know. You’re not going to your apartment, because you alone in your apartment tonight is not a good situation. You’re going to come to my house, where you’re going to drink water and eat whatever my housekeeper left in the refrigerator and sleep in my guest room.”

He picked up his coat from the stool beside him as he continued speaking in that unhurried tone of him as he continued. “And tomorrow, when you’re sober, you’re going to think about whether firing Lucian Park was actually the decision you wanted to make, or whether it was the decision that felt like the only option available from where you were standing tonight.”

“It’s done,” I said. “HR has been notified. His access has been suspended.”

“Access can be reinstated. HR processes can be paused. Nothing that happened tonight is irreversible if you decide tomorrow that you made the wrong call.” He stood. “I’m not telling you what to decide. I’m

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<Durian Has Optment

Claim

telling you that you made a significant decision in a state that I would not describe as optimal, and that The morning is available to you.”

I looked at the bar. At the couple by the window, still there, still leaning toward each other.

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