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I would like to dedicate this book to the alphabet, for those twenty-six letters have changed my life. Within those twenty-six letters I have found myself, and now I live my dream. Next time you say the alphabet, remember its power. I do every day.
“Nice guys come last,
Life just isn’t fair sometimes.
They say that only the good die young—what about the best?
The sun’s reminder of what I have lost. I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.
He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on.
“Claire Anderson,” he calls from the stage. My horrified eyes meet his. “Sit back down.” “I . . .” I take another step toward the exit. “Claire,” he warns. I glance around at the 120 pairs of eyes fixed firmly on me and then back up at him. “I said sit. Back. Down.”
He rushes me and grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my lips, and he pushes me up against the wall. “Believe me, Claire Anderson . . . the last thing I feel when I look at you . . . is pity.”
The fucking wasn’t silent; it was a verb.
I’m kind of proud that I’m doing something for myself for once. This is so unlike me.
“Nous devons obtenir une réponse à ce sujet puis-je avancer a ce sujet cette semaine,”
“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.” He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”
“I want to go down in the history books as the woman who officially turned Tristan Miles into a motherfucker.”
When I’m holding her in my arms like this, intimacy is running between us like a river, and just for a moment . . . She is mine.
All good things come to an end . . . damn it. Why do you have to be him?
“You gave me an option: France or my desk. I took France. You don’t get the desk. Now you need to go.”
“We’re not over . . . till . . . I say we’re over.”
Tristan fucking Miles.
Do not turn up to a meeting unprepared.”
Eight million people live in New York City; what are the damn chances of being in the same bar as him?
the devil really does wear Prada.
in another life, we could have been great. Just not this one.”
“So . . . sleeping with only you . . . isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine. “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.”
I’ve cried buckets of tears in this shower. If the walls could talk, they would tell a very sad story indeed.
“For being everything that I thought you weren’t.” He smiles. “No, thank you.” He raises his glass to mine. “For being exactly who I thought you were.”
Holy hell . . . Tristan fucking Miles.
FOREVER LOVED, SADLY MISSED
Calm down . . . calm down . . . calm down. You’re just stressed; calm the fuck down.
“I’m saying goodbye . . . I’m nobody’s backup plan.”
What must it be like to lose something that you fought so hard for so long to keep?
