I CLICK SEND ON an email promising I will have an updated finance report for the new project in Chicago on the lawyer's desk by Monday afternoon and then close out of my email program for the day. It's been an entire week of slamming doors and jelly sandwiches, and Vincent hasn't said anything. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
He's been nothing but ice cold—worse than when I started this horrid job.
We are really and truly done.
Not that we were much in the first place.
Regardless, it feels as if my heart is missing from my chest. Damn Vincent turning me into one of those love-sick women.
Nothing I did to piss him off has worked. He hasn't apologized or yelled. Worse, he has done nothing.