33. Bryn

33

brYN

Isaac sighs heavily but smiles. “We’re going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you.”

He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together. “I knew it was only a matter of time. You were never ours to keep.”

I laugh softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And I know you are going to do big things.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat, draw a breath, then tell him one more thing. The hard thing. “Also, since I don’t want you to hear this from anyone else, I’m dating Mr. Clarke.”

“Oh.” He sounds shocked.

But it’s not as difficult a thing to say after all—because it’s true, and because everything about this moment feels right. All of this. “It started before he bought the company. Before either of us knew who the other one was. And that’s what our meeting with you today was going to be about. To let you know. But I guess we don’t have to worry about those details now.”

“No, seems you don’t.” As his eyes narrow, his papa bear comes out with a growl. “Did he pressure you to leave though? I have to ask.”

I scoff, waving a hand. “Absolutely not. I think this has been brewing in me for a long time. I want to do my own thing. Be a consultant. Run my own business and advise others on content partnerships. It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me.”

He nods and smiles. “Good to know.”

I thank him, leave, and head to meet my team for the editorial meeting. But I stop inside the conference room door.

That’s odd.

Logan is here, holding a Calvin and Hobbes lunch box.

Next I register the frozen tableau of Matthew, Rosario, James, and Quentin. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

Practically in unison, they gesture to Logan. “He’s Mr. Lunch Box?” Rosario blurts, and I wince.

“Mr. Smolder,” Matthew adds, like I might have forgotten who Mr. Lunch Box is.

I heave a sigh, frustrated that today isn’t going to plan.

I wanted to do things in the right order, at the right time. To tell them I was leaving, then to tell them who I was seeing.

But you don’t always get to do things the way you want.

“He is. But I won’t be writing about Mr. Smolder anymore because . . .” I stop, an unexpected torrent of emotions flooding my throat. “Because I won’t be working here much longer.”