One week down, and only eleven left to go before I pack my bags and leave England forever. Not that I've accepted the job in Michigan yet, but I can't imagine the branch here could put together something that would make me want to stay. Gwen has offered to nanny for me if Ash quits before my time is up or if I have to transition to a new nanny if the offer to stay is too hard to resist. No part of me wants to stay anymore, though.

All of it is so depressing that I almost can't stand it. This week, the rest of the office has been a buzzing hive of rejuvenated energy with the code of conduct implemented. Even Jack's friends, the ones I feared would be hard to draw back from the unworkable edge, have rebounded. Turns out, when you remove the poor weather in the office, the overall climate gets a lot better.

The night custodians, who I've started to address on a first name basis, make their way through my floor. While the mature behavior might be to go home like normal and pretend everything is okay, I haven't been able to face Ash. After the first night when I got home and he was out for an impromptu drink with Tejinder, I figured I wasn't the only one who wanted to avoid talking about our situation.

I can't fire him for going back to Imogen, that would be beyond ridiculous, but I also can't face him without the prospect of my heart being a tattered mess at his feet. The worst part is that I'm missing time with Joey to avoid Ash. It's not sustainable, but I don't know what else to do.

"Paige, you're still here?" Penelope has her workbag slung over her shoulder.

"Trying to get caught up," I say, though that's partly a lie. For the last thirty minutes I've been down a social media hole examining the latest celebrity breakups. Anything to avoid going home to my own.

"I'd love to see you first thing in the morning on Monday," she says. "I've got to run now, but I have a contract for you. Really hoping you'll love it as much as I do."

"Oh." I sit up straighter in my chair. "You've got something?"

"Coles notes—and I shouldn't do this, but we've kept you waiting for too long, I think—promotion to oversee the biggest team in the office, pay reflects that increase in responsibility, but we are asking for a five-year commitment."

"Five years?"

"The construction and development project you'll be taking on is much bigger. We'll give you time to consider it, obviously. Either way, you're here until the end of April."

"Five years," I whisper again. What a gift that would have been before Imogen returned. All that time with Ash and Chloe.

"Have a fab weekend," Penelope says as she cruises down the hall to the elevators.

I stare at the computer screen in front of me, and I fight the urge to cry.

~ * ~

Gwen turns over in the bed beside me. Like me, she can probably hear Ash downstairs with the kids, but neither of us is getting out of bed.

"It's truly impressive to watch someone be ghosted in their own house," Gwen says.

"Work has been really busy. With trying to get back on track..."

"No one, not even the most dedicated employee, stays at work until midnight. You didn't get home until one in the morning. If I didn't know you were the boss, I'd think you were banging your boss."

"I have a boss—several, in fact."

"Are you banging another hot English guy?" She eyes me across the pillows.

"No."

"You need to talk to him. Speak to him like a human being. He deserves that, and you used to be good at it."

It's easy to be good at having tough conversations when you feel secure. Before Imogen returned, I knew exactly where Ash stood with me and with her. He was mine, and she was nowhere to be found. As long as things stayed that way, we had no issues.

Our conversation last Sunday was an earthquake, and the aftershocks have been hitting me all week. He doesn't know what he wants, and I'm supposed to be leaving. She's the obvious choice, the logical one. Same age and shared history and a child. There's no competition.

"He's going back to her," I say.

"That's not what he told me."

"Did he say he wasn't?"

Gwen purses her lips. "Having Joey was a leap of faith. Coming here to England was a leap of faith. Being with Ash in the first place was a leap of faith. Have you told him that you're in love with him?"

I shake my head, but I can't explain to her how I've never felt like the kind of woman men like him love forever. He struggled for a long time to even let Imogen's name be spoken, and it's hard to imagine all those feelings have vanished.

"We were never supposed to turn into this big thing," I whisper.

"Has he told you that he loves you?" Gwen asks.

"He hasn't said it either." I bunch up the pillow and let my mind drift to all the times I've felt it. There's no doubt he feels something for me, but I just can't believe it's enough. That's what I think he'd tell me—that he still loves Imogen more, craves what they once had. You don't admit that an ex wants you back to your current girlfriend if a part of you doesn't want that too. Not in the serious way he approached it.

"Leap again," she says. "Tell him."

"I'm not like you. You quit jobs or get fired and then immediately hop on a standby flight to another country after having packed your whole life into two hefty suitcases. You never look—you just jump. I'm still measuring distances and mapping out timelines, and you're already on your way to your next adventure. Those other things you call leaps were carefully planned."

"Ash was carefully planned?" Her expression is one of disbelief.

"Nothing with Ash has been planned at all, which is the terrifying part." I pluck at the duvet cover between us, and I let the silence sit heavy. "Work is going to offer me a promotion, a raise, and a five-year contract on Monday."

"Holy shit," Gwen breathes. "I'll get to keep your house in Michigan for five years?"

"Gwen!" I let out an exasperated huff, and she laughs. "I can't imagine staying here. I can't. Not now. The smart thing is to go home and lick my wounds."

Gwen throws back the covers and stretches. "I'm going downstairs. Smells like bacon and pancakes. Do you want me to have Ash deliver some to you in bed?"

"No!" I sit up and glare at her. "Stay out of it."

"If you stay up here too long, I will have him bring you breakfast, and I will keep the kids occupied while he does it. Lots of alone time with zero emotional buffer." She tugs a shirt over her head. "Feelings can't be measured and mapped—they just are."

Exactly. Unpredictable and messy. Two things I hate.

"I'm getting dressed," I say begrudgingly, and I set my feet on the ground at the edge of the bed.

"You've got ten minutes, and then I'm sending super nanny up."

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