Chapter One

I'll never forget the day he walked into my computer science class, he was I tall al shaggy-haired in a red baseball cap, oversized army jacket, well worn jeans, and scuffed-up construction boots. It was like he was screaming,
"I'm the new, edgy, brooding outcast, just begging for trouble." As luck would have it, the only empty desk, save the front row, was catty-corner to mine. So, there is where he plopped himself down and flashed those piercing green
eyes at me. That was the first time I laid eyes on my one and only great love-

Rhence Dalton. Even after a decade, he still haunts my dreams. Sometimes they're so vivid I can still smell his scent, feel the touch of his fingers on my skin, and taste his kisses on my tongue. In those brief moments, I'm lost in heavenly bliss. But in the cruel light of day, he vanishes along with the memories, just as he vanished from my life with not so much as a word of explanation. "Rachel, have you heard a single word we've said?" I snap back to the present and stare across the table at my mom and dad as we dine at one of their favorite restaurants. "Yes, I heard you," I reply
respectfully but firmly. They been communicating the same message on
repeat for the last five minutes. "I get what you're trying to do, and I really
appreciate it. But I can't let you bail me out of this. I got myself into this mess,
and I'm perfectly capable of getting myself out." "Rachel, honey, we know that," my mother replies in her normal, soothing manner that only a well-practiced psychiatrist could so effortlessly pull off. "But you've put so much of yourself and finances into building this company, we just don't want to see you lose it all." "Yes, sweetheart," my father, the brilliant law attorney, chimes in. "Just consider it a small business loan until you get back on your feet. It's no imposition at all, and this way, you maintain control of your business instead of having some faceless corporation call the shots." "Dad, you know that I'll remain in control as president of my company with," I make a wobbly gesture with my hand, "a little bit of involvement from senior leadership." Before Dad can object, I add, "Look, you know I love you guys to death for always wanting to be there for me." I emphasize the sentiment with a heartfelt smile. "But I'm an adult now, so it's high time for
me to sink or swim on my own." I broaden my smile. "Please, trust that all
your hard work is going to pay off... without you having to bail me out."
My father's shoulders slump in resignation as he realizes he won't be able to play the knight in shining armor for me this time. It's endearing, but they've already sunk a couple of hundred thousand into my Harvard education and

even helped fund the startup of my business. It's time to prove that the Ivy
League MBA wasn't in vain. Even if that means I'll spend the next few months
groveling at the feet of some gray-haired, greedy, old corporate overlord.
Mom refuses to meet my eyes as she sips her favorite buttery chardonnay.
"I still can't believe Quinn pulled that stunt and stole half your clients," she
clips in her posh New England accent. "It's outrageous and highly unethical.
His parents must be appalled."
"We had a sharp difference of opinion on the direction in which he wanted
to take the company," I explain for the hundredth time. "Quinn threatened to
walk, I showed him the door, and the rest is history." "The insufferable ingrate," she sniffed. "Where would he have been
without your clout? I would've like to have seen him parlay his little
community college degree into the lucrative business he's stolen riding your
coattails." I sigh, rolling my eyes dramatically. "Mom, Quinn's one of the best natural- born salesmen I've ever met. He could outsell a Harvard MBA any day of the week. That's why I brought him aboard." In many ways, my mom's my hero- but her persistent snobbery really grates on me at times.
I catch the small gesture, Dad's hand upon Mom's, silently willing her to
cease this line of discussion, knowing full well where it will end. But, of
course, Mom has to be Mom.
She stares at the ceiling. "Yes, I suppose it could be worse." "Helen..." Dad says under his breath. I grit my teeth in anticipation. "You could've ended up with that horrible boy," she says with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "Yes, yes, we must count our blessings. It could've been far worse." My blood pounds in my ears as I grip the napkin in my lap.
"So, I've read over all the acquisition documents," Dad quickly interjects in
a welcomed attempt to change the subject. "If you'll just swing by the office
this afternoon, I'll walk you through them for your signature." I close my eyes and slowly count to three to steady my nerves. As a psychiatrist, my mother should understand better than anyone how devastating those memories are to me. She recommended the therapist
whom I saw for months in an effort to get over that "horrible boy". If it weren't for the love of my family and support of friends, I don't know how I would have survived the darkest period of my life. Yes, I went on to graduate high school and enroll at Harvard, but the first few months were spent in a fugue state fueled by deep depression and rage as I incessantly pondered the question,
Rhence-why did you leave me? What did I do to make you go? I was so angry at Rhence. I am so angry at Rhence. But I've learned to cope with it, to navigate it so that I can get on with my life. But my god, heaven help that man if he ever crosses my path again.