Chapter 2: Exit Strategy

(Eden’s POV)

The office was unusually quiet for a Friday.

Half the team was already gone for the long weekend, and the other half had checked out hours ago. I’d wrapped up my final report, cleared my inbox, and set my out-of-office reply with an almost inappropriate amount of satisfaction.

Six weeks off.

No campaign launches.

No 2 a.m. “just checking in” Slack messages.

Just me, my too-loud family, and a wedding that somehow lasted thirty days.

I powered down my laptop, slipped it into its case, and leaned back in my chair for a second, letting it settle.

It wasn’t lost on me that this was the longest break I’d taken since college. I was either dedicated or a workaholic, depending on who you asked. Probably both.

My phone buzzed.

Harper: Boarding pass. Don’t be late. I swear to God, Eden…

I smiled and texted back a thumbs-up emoji before slinging my bag over my shoulder.

Elevator. Lobby. Out the revolving doors.

The city air was thick and unforgiving—early summer trying to choke the sidewalks to death. I flagged a cab and was about to slide in when I heard the voice.

“Eden Quinn. Still running like hell from anything fun?”

I froze. Of course.

Of. Course.

I turned slowly, already regretting it.

Daniel.

Dark polo shirt. Aviators. That same smug grin he wore like a cologne. My ex.

My worst mistake wrapped in khakis and cologne he probably thought was sexy but smelled like cheap bourbon and gym socks.

I didn’t even sigh. I smiled. Sweetly. Dangerously.

“Daniel. You’re still alive. I assumed the universe would’ve hit you with a bus by now.”

He laughed like I was kidding. “Still sharp. That was always your thing, huh?”

“Yup. That and boundaries.”

He took a step closer. I didn’t move.

“Where you off to?” he asked, glancing at my bag like it offended him. “Gonna go teach a book club how to ghost men?”

“Even better,” I said. “Going home for a wedding. Six full weeks of small talk, bad wine, and watching people pretend to be happily in love. It’ll be like dating you again.”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a split second.

“You still bitter I dumped you?” he said. “Come on, Edie. It’s been what—two years?”

“You didn’t dump me. You sulked for three months, then tried to pressure me into sex like a walking red flag, and I told you to go fuck yourself.”

He snorted. “Still hung up on that virgin act, huh? Jesus. You’re twenty-five. Most women your age know how to—”

He made a vague, crude gesture with his hands.

I blinked at him. “Wow. You really brought out the classics today, huh?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, shrugging. “You’re hot. You could’ve had me. Still could, honestly.”

“Oh, Daniel,” I said with mock sadness. “That offer is as tempting as licking a subway pole. But I’m good.”

His face flushed. Not from embarrassment—Daniel didn’t feel things like that. Just the sting of ego bruised.

“You’ll regret it,” he muttered, already walking away. “Someday.”

“Sure,” I called after him. “I’ll pencil it in between never and f*ck off.”

The cab driver whistled low. “You want me to run him over?”

I grinned as I slid into the back seat. “Only if it won’t ruin your tires.”

⸻

Traffic crawled, but I didn’t care. I leaned my head back, letting the cab’s air conditioning blast away the lingering grime of that encounter.

I hadn’t thought about Daniel in months. But seeing him now, still smug and cruel, reminded me why I never let anyone get close enough to matter.

Because when I wanted more—more time, more feeling, more patience—I was always “too much” or “too slow.”

A prude. A tease. An afterthought.

Maybe I was all of those things.

Maybe I was none.

But I knew one thing for sure:

Whoever I gave myself to?

They’d have to earn it.