Chapter 3

"Wait, didn't the head honcho tie the knot with Jim?"

"Shh, Jim's right over there!"

"Jim, don't mind us, we're just messing around. Don't take it seriously."

One glance at the sea of lattes and chocolate cakes, and I knew the score.

Holly felt bad for Charles' grueling diet, so she treated the whole office to a snack.

I would have loved to savor that sweet gesture of their love.

Too bad chocolate is off-limits for me.

Holly used to court me with the same zeal, constantly fretting I would skip meals because of work. She would find excuses to keep me around, to share a bite.

When I was sick but stuck at my desk, she would sneak meds into a cupcake, delivering it herself, all to catch a glimpse of my awkward grimace.

Our office romance once brought that place to life.

However, now, that thrill and thoughtfulness have shifted to someone else.

I could not dwell on it; my workload was a beast.

This project had me burning the midnight oil for nights on end, and today was no different. I had to push through.

Evening crept in, the sky dimming to dusk, and before I knew it, Holly was by my side.

"Jim, still grinding away?"

Her sudden appearance caught me off guard. I wondered what brought her there.

"Ms. Jones, is there something you need?"

She seemed thrown off by my distant tone, but she got straight to the point. "Let's hand this project to Charles."

Despite bracing myself, the words still stung.

"Charles has been the target of too many rumors lately. If he takes on this project, no one will question his competence."

Holly knew the lengths I had gone to secure that project, the sleepless nights, the endless talking. Yet then, she was casually passing it off to him. Her every word was a shield for Charles, protecting him from the whispers, with no regard for the injustice I felt.

I let out a dry laugh, dripping with irony. "Fine, give it to him. He can come by tomorrow to discuss the details with me."

I had given my all to this company, and it was time to move on. I should let Charles handle the projects that followed. I was ready for some peace.

Holly was taken aback by my swift acceptance. She fished out a man's watch from her pocket and offered it to me. "You've always wanted a watch from this brand. I should've been more thoughtful. Guys dig this stuff, and I'll make it up to you, bit by bit."

It was the brand I had my eye on, but her timing was off. The watch had lost its allure. I was never one for the old bait-and-switch.

After I gave her the nod, Holly's voice softened, and she surprised me by wrapping her arms around my waist. "Let's not butt heads anymore," she said gently. "I messed up last time. Why don't we scrap the divorce papers in the next few days? And you've been dying to check out Dalewood, right? I'll make it up to you. We'll go there together, okay?"

I kept silent, and Holly mistook my quiet for agreement, chattering away about plans and promises.

On my way home, scrolling through friends' updates on social media, I stumbled upon Charles' latest brag: a watch, identical in brand and packaging to the one Holly gave me, but his was leagues more luxurious and refined.

That was when it hit me: the watch from Holly was nothing more than a promotional throwaway. Ridiculous. She knew I liked it, but she could not be bothered to pick out something special.