Chapter EighteenKeaton
Slate doesn’t love me. This is the thought that threatens to spill out of my mouth every time it passes through my mind.
I’m busier than I’ve ever been. It’s the last day of our fiscal quarter, and I’m in the office on a Sunday morning, trying to wrap everything up. I’m juggling multiple phone calls with clients and distributors, but the conversation from last night won’t leave me alone long enough to focus on the work at hand. I find myself repeating in my mind how much Slate is truly and deeply not in love with me, despite what he may say or think.
There’s no way that’s even remotely possible. This isn’t some cheesy rom-com flick where the sweet, nerdy girl changes the playboy. This is my life. I promised myself I wouldn’t confuse our physical acts with somethin
