He’s not even taking my resignation seriously.
I stalk to the desk and grab a pen from the cobalt blue organizer bearing the Triada logo. Then I exchange my tablet for a block of Post-it Notes and hastily scrawl the wordsI quitalong with my signature and the date. With a flourish, I peel the note off the pad and slap it on the center of his monitor.
Good luck ignoring that.
I turn back to him, forcing myself to meet the electric blue eyes that are my kryptonite. “Satisfied?”
Surprise flickers across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by skepticism.
Becauseof courseit is.
“Not by half,” he says, voice low and growly. My breath hitches as Miles climbs to his feet, rising with the kind of athletic grace that can’t be taught. At six-two, he towers over me by nearly a foot, but I hold my ground as he leans forward and braces his palms on the desk, narrowing the gap between us and filling the air with the intoxicating scent of his cologne, a heady blend of citrus and cedarwood. “And what exactly are you planning to do when you leave Triada?”
Good question. In my anger, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“I’m—” I hesitate, searching for a plausible reply.Mierda. What am I going to do? Rage quitting felt great in the heat of the moment, but self-righteous indignation won’t pay the bills. Miles arches a brow in silent challenge, and my pulse spikes. Panic races up my spine, and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m going to become a travel influencer.”
What the ever-loving fuck?
I might as well have told him I’m planning to fly a rocket to the moon.
And he knows it.
A sexy half smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You won’t make any money.”
No kidding. You’ve got to be gorgeous and have millions of followers to get paid on social media. Case in point, Miles is in the midst of closing an endorsement deal with Hollywood’s latestitcouple.
“I can, and I will,” I say, infusing my words with false confidence.
I may be low-key freaking out, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Life’s too short to waste time on things that don’t spark joy.
Or, you know, lusting after a guy who will never return the sentiment.
And as much as I care for Miles, I can’t keep doing this to myself. Can’t keep thinking one day he’ll see something other than a woman who’s great at organizing schedules and putting out fires around the office. I deserve to live my best life, on my own terms. That won’t happen if I’m busy working my ass off to make someone else’s dreams come true.
“Do you have any idea what it takes to become a travel influencer?” he asks.
Nope.
“I’ll learn.”
How hard can it be? I’ve always loved photography. Would’ve studied it in college if my parents hadn’t insisted on a degree in business administration.
“It’s going to be expensive,” he continues, throwing up roadblocks like it’s his job.
I shrug. I don’t have an answer for that—yet.
“Lucy,” he drawls, pitching his voice low, the way he always does when he wants something.
“Don’t you Lucy me.” I jab a finger toward him. No way am I going to let him charm his way back into my good graces. Not this time. “I’m serious, Miles. You’d better get HR on the phone and find a new assistant, because I’m putting you in the rearview mirror.”
Adios Miles, hola aventura.
Chapter Two
Miles
