More Than Sorry

1: She Sees Too Much

EDEN

I'm as stealthy as an elephant-sized mouse.

My sparkly sneakers squeak on the marble floor as I exit the elevator. These shoes are the shit—glittery gold Jimmy Choos—but even if they are designer, I bet I'm the only person in the world who dares to kick around the offices of Worley and Stone wearing sneakers.

Not that anyone will see me. Every office I scurry past is empty, abandoned hours ago for Friday night drinks and weekend plans.

My mouth goes dry, but I fight the urge to bail. There's something super creepy about being in one of Sydney's most prominent law firms late at night. No matter how many times I pop into this place—and it's been at least a dozen times now—I don't think I'll ever get rid of the ick. The after-hours lights are about as bright as an abandoned warehouse in some horror movie I would never watch. You know, scary as shit.

All my nervous energy focuses on the only light burning at the end of the corridor. My target. Zach's office.

A grin a mile wide is plastered on my face, and the brown bag clutched in my hand swings as I scurry past the shadowy offices. Zach is going to love this. Montecito is one of the most exclusive restaurants this side of the harbor. They don't do takeout. Actually, scratch that. They don't do take out for anyone but me. Not to brag or anything, but I worked my charms on Montecito's head chef so I could surprise Zach with his favorite albondigas—meatballs so damn good you wait at least three months to get a booking.

Lucky for me, my hair salon, Trend, is even more sought after than Montecito.  The chef's wife got to skip my eight-month waiting list for this bag of tapas, and last time, I bartered paella for his daughter to get a balayage. The chef gets the better deal every time, but honestly, it's worth it.

Little moments like this matter.

Zach and I hardly see each other these days. He is always working. Late nights. Weekends. It's the same old story. Billings are too low—whatever the hell that means—and there's some big promotion announcement coming soon. Blah, blah, blah. Catch me on a good day, and I'll sing from the rooftops how much I love Zach's drive and determination. He wouldn't be one of Sydney's top lawyers if he didn't have that edge. But my heart is sinking through the cold, concrete floor of this creepy building even thinking about how much I miss him.

I miss us.

Our relationship started like wildfire. One glance across a karaoke bar set off a crazy, sexy rollercoaster where there was nothing—no one—except the two of us. That man swept me off my feet and spoiled me for weeks with fun dates, staying up all night talking, and weekends rolling around in bed.

Six months later, the roller coaster is parked and going rusty at the station. Life has become a long, monotonous routine, and even though Zach and I are shacked up together, we never see each other anymore.

Well, to hell with that. I want our spark back, and with Zach always stuck in this concrete prison working his ass off, it's up to me to shake things up. Remind him what he's missing.

That's why I started dropping by Zach's office some nights. Tonight's the first time I've surprised him on a Friday. Usually, I drop by on Wednesdays after I close up the salon. I bring takeout, we eat together and catch up.

Well, kinda.

The catching-up part is a bit hit-and-miss because nine times out of ten, I end up wasting time playing on my phone while Zach finishes some boring property law thingamabob. But eventually, he'll look up at me, eyes blazing behind those sexy glasses of his, and we'll be out the door before I can blink.