The ties had been cut as far as I was concerned.

Aiden had been a fucking jackass, when I had never accused him of being anything other than practical and determined. I could relate to that, but I couldn’t connect with him being such a traitor. I was no Trevor or Rob. I didn’t make extra money off the choices he made, and if anything, things were better for me when he was happier. Hadn’t I tried to do what was best for him? Hadn’t I tried to do things that made him happy?

Yet he’d let that asswipe talk about me when I’d spent last Christmas in Dallas, instead of going to see my little brother, because he still hadn’t been able to move around much at that point.

Unfortunately, I thought about Aiden first thing in the morning for days after I walked out. My body wasn’t used to sleeping in until eight; even on my days off, I was usually up and about by six. I thought about him as I made my breakfast and chomped on breakfast sausage. Then I thought about him again at lunchtime and dinner, so used to making his meals and eating part of them.

Each day for those first two weeks of freedom, I thought about him often. You couldn’t work with someone five, six, or even sometimes seven days a week for two years without getting into a routine. I knew I couldn’t just erase him from my life like he’d been drawn in with a pencil.

Much less erase that moment when I realized I’d been holding on to a job with a man who wouldn’t come to my funeral, even if it fell on a day he was supposed to rest. The fact I had family members who wouldn’t go to my funeral didn’t really help ease the sting of it enough.

After a few days, my anger abated, but that feeling of betrayal that had seared my lungs didn’t exactly go away completely. Something had been going on with him; that much had been obvious. Maybe under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have acted like such a massive prick.

But he had crossed the thin little line I’d drawn in the imaginary sand. And I did what felt right.

So it was done.

I kept living my life as my own boss, which was exactly what I’d planned on doing anyway.

And I didn’t look back at what I’d done.

I was speed-walking toward my apartment one night after a visit to the gym, finalizing the last brainstorming touches I wanted to add to a paperback design I was aiming to finish before I went to bed, when I spotted a figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Patting the pepper spray I always kept within reach, especially when I was in my complex, I narrowed my eyes and wondered who the hell would be sitting there right then.

It was nine o’clock at night. Only drug dealers hung around outside at our complex after dark. Everyone else knew better. Plus, who liked sitting outside with the summer heat and mosquitos?

With that in mind, I walked a little faster, conscious that my knee ached only a little after my two-mile run. Two miles! It had only taken me half a month of jogging four times a week to work up to a steady one-mile distance, and then I’d added another mile, going just a bit faster. It was something, and I was proud of myself. The plan was to up another mile this week.

My hand was still on my pepper spray as I kept a wary eye on the… man; it was definitely a man sitting at the foot of the steps. I squinted. My keys were in my free hand, ready to get put to good use, either to open my door or to stab somebody in the eye if it came down to it.

I had just started pulling my spray out when a male voice spoke up.

“Vanessa?”

For one split second, I froze at the sound of the rumbling, raspy tone, more than slightly caught off guard at the fact that this stranger sitting on the stairs knew my name.

Then it hit me. Recognition.

I stopped in place just as the not-a-stranger stood up, and I blinked.

“Hey.” My ex-boss straightened to his impressive full height, confirming it was him. Aiden. It was Aiden. Here.

Crouched down, he could have been any guy who worked out, especially when he had his arms tucked into his sides, hiding the girth of muscles that made him famous. The possibility that this was the first time he’d ever used the ‘H’ word with me was the first thought that ran through my head before I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

I was definitely frowning. My forehead was creasing and scrunching up as I took him in, in his T-shirt and shorts, for the first time in a month.

His face was that same immovable mask as always. Those brown eyes I’d seen hundreds of times in the past bore down on me, his eyes going over the bright ruby red I’d let Diana color my hair two weeks ago. He didn’t comment on it. “You live here?” His question cut the air between us abruptly. His gaze dropped to the hand I had on my pepper spray and the set of keys clutched between my fingers.

I thought about my neighbors, the crappy building, the number of cars parked in the lot that were always in some sort of disrepair, and the cracked sidewalk with a dying lawn straddling it. I rarely had people over, so it wasn’t like I had any reason to care about where I lived. All I’d needed was a roof over my head. Plus, it could be worse. Things could always be worse. I tried to never forget that.

Then I thought of the beautiful, gated community Aiden lived in, and the awesome kitchen I’d cooked in so many times before… and finally, I envisioned the stained carpet in my apartment and the peeling vinyl countertops with only a slight cringe.

I wasn’t going to be ashamed that I didn’t live in an upscale condo. It was the first place I’d ever had all to myself, and it had done what I needed it to do: give me a place to sleep and work in peace.