I hadn't heard from Ryan in a full week. He didn't come by, didn't call, didn't even text. I don't get it. Just last week he'd stayed a few hours, even on a Sunday. I'd felt so close to him. And now he just vanishes.

Ben called Monday morning. That didn't go well either. Apparently I'd agreed to send back the finished catalog by May 29th, but I could swear I remembered June 9th.

My week started with a tiny little "oops." You know, the kind that makes you want to set your laptop on fire.

Ben is one hell of a manipulator. I didn’t dare put anything ahead of his work. Every day, I started with his material and only then moved on to the telecom translations. There seemed to be more and more of those arriving every week, too.

Just thinking about having to meet the yacht dealer made me nauseous. I was more nervous than I used to be before some brutal oral exam back in the day.

I waited until midnight on Sunday for Ryan to call—or at least send a message—and it took a ridiculous amount of self-control not to text him something as simple as goodnight. I’m proud of myself for holding out.

I never thought calling someone could be this hard. Especially someone you really, really want to talk to. Typing in the number was easy enough. Then I just froze.

Thessa called Tuesday morning to check how I was doing. Her sickly sweet voice sent chills crawling up and down my spine. I know Thessa.

Of course I didn’t take Adele’s advice and go into the office. I didn’t come clean, and I didn’t ask for help.

On Monday, Thessa landed a cheerful email in my inbox that felt like a punch straight to the stomach. She reminded me that the multilingual catalogue we regularly prepare for one of our longtime clients was supposed to be heading to print soon.