Page 8 of Hot Buttered Kisses

My mouth goes dry. “Excuse me?”

He takes a step closer, the heat of him radiating across the desk, blue eyes burning through me. “You don’t get to just walk away, Deirdre. Not after everything—” His jaw flexes, cutting off whatever would have come next.

I square my shoulders, adrenaline drowning out the last of my fear. So, Mr. High and Mighty finally decided he wants something from me. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m giving my notice, just like any other employee.”

Eamon’s hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can’t help but notice how the veins stand out along his forearms. His spicy scent wraps around me, and I fight the urge to jump his bones. Get yourself under control. “You don’t get to walk out on me,” he spits out, rage and something else warring behind his eyes.

Nathan is on his feet now, trying to de-escalate, but I barely hear him. It’s just me and Eamon, locked in a silent game of chicken, neither willing to back down.

Finally, I say what I’ve been holding in for months. “I’m not walking out on you. You never had me.”

He stares at me like he doesn’t recognize the person in front of him. Then, without warning, he turns and storms out of Nathan’s office, slamming the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the paintings on the wall.

The silence in his wake is suffocating.

Nathan sits back down, running a hand over his hair. “I’ll talk to him. He just… doesn’t handle change very well.”

I manage a laugh, but it’s hollow. “He handles a lot of things badly. I’ll survive.”

Nathan gives me a look—half admiration, half apology. “We really are going to miss you, Dee. When are you going to tell Roni? Or does she already know?”

“I didn’t tell her.” I stand, legs a little shaky, and force a smile. “I didn’t want to ask her to keep secrets from you.”

“I understand,” Nathan tells me, and I nod, but my pulse is still rocketing through the stratosphere. I just quit my job. Like, for real. It’s done, out loud, and there’s no way to take it back.

Nathan tells me to make sure to tell Roni as soon as possible. As I nod my head, he says something else about paperwork, and I can’t even process it right now since my brain is busy replaying the last few minutes on an infinite loop.

That look in Eamon’s eyes.

The way he said I didn’t get to walk out on him, like he meant every word with his entire goddamn soul.

The way he left.

Oh. My. God. I don’t want to leave him. In fact, the thought of not seeing him every day is killing me, but I can’t live like this anymore. I need more. I deserve more.

For a second, my legs wobble so badly that I have to grip the edge of the chair to keep from face-planting into the rug. The second I’m in the hallway, alone, my whole body goes slack, and I realize I’m shaking. Not from fear. Not from anger. From relief.

Two more weeks. I can do this. I have to do it. It’s the only way I’ll ever get over Eamon.

I duck into the staff break room, splash water on my face, and press a cool hand to my forehead. This is fine. I’m fine. If I keep saying it, maybe it’ll come true.

Eamon's nowhere in sight. Oddly enough, that hits me two ways—a rush of relief and that little stab of disappointment, the one I wish I could ignore. But for the first time in ages, I feel like I've stopped lying to myself. I can’t keep running in circles after some impossible dream. It’s time to move forward and embrace my clean slate. All that’s left is figuring out how to break Eamon’s grip on my heart, piece by stubborn piece.