Ch. Mr.chatterbox for her, Mr.Icebox for me? Ice melts and so did my love. 11 Mr.chatterbox for her, Mr.Icebox for me? Ice melts and so did my love. 11

Chapter 1 

My boyfriend came back from his trip with gifts for everyone-even the security guard got a fancy belt. 

Me? The birthday bag I’d been talking about for two months? Forgot. 

Then his secretary posts on Instagram with my bag: “Best boss ever!” 

His comment? “Anytime.” 

I broke up with him right there. 

“Over a bag? Seriously?” He laughed at me. 

“Yeah. Over the bag.” 

His phone buzzed. “Tina’s waiting for lunch. Get an Uber home.” 

He left. 

I didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. 

Hit send on the email I’d been sitting on: “Paris studio? I’m in. Tomorrow works.” 

Pulled off my ring. Dropped it on his desk. 

“You actually dumped him?” 

Sarah’s call hit the second I walked out of Brendan’s office. 

“Yep.” 

“You two have been together since middle school. Nine years. And you’re throwing it away over a purse?” 

I stopped on the sidewalk. 

“It’s not about the purse.” 

Brendan spent a week in Paris for work. Before he left, I told him point-blank. 

Don’t forget my birthday bag. 

Chapter 1 

He looked me right in the eye. I got you. I won’t forget. 

When he got back? His secretary scored a gift. The security guard in the lobby got a gift. Every single person at his company walked away with something from France. 

Me? Empty-handed. 

“Babe, I’m so sorry. The meetings were back-to-back. It slipped my mind.” 

“I’ll get it next time, I promise.” 

Three months since the engagement. Seventeen broken promises. 

The first time? Period cramps hit me like a truck. 

I texted him. Can you grab Midol on your way home? 

Yeah, no problem. 

He stumbled in at midnight smelling like bourbon. 

“Henderson wanted drinks after the pitch. I had a couple and totally forgot.” 

I didn’t say anything. Just got him to bed and DoorDashed myself Taco Bell at 1 a.m. 

Second time? My studio got hit with a rush of custom orders. 

I was buried. Texted him around six. Can you bring dinner tonight? I can’t leave. 

Sure thing. 

By eleven, my hands were shaking from low blood sugar. No food. No text. 

When I got home past midnight, he was asleep in clean sweats. 

“Crazy day. Passed out the second I hit the couch. My bad about dinner.” 

I stared at his fresh clothes. The empty sink. Didn’t say a word. 

Then came number three. Number eight. Number seventeen. 

I stopped counting. Stopped expecting. Started ordering backup plans before I even asked. 

Until I found Tina’s Instagram. 

Every other post? Her “incredible boss.” 

09:28 

Mr. Chatterbox for Her, Mr. Iceberg for Me? Ice Melts, and So Did My Love! 

8.8% 

Chapter 1 

March 21: 

Boss heard me complain about cramps ONCE and showed up with heating pads and Advil the next day. Dead.? 

April 7: 

Photo at Catch LA. 

Mentioned this place to my boss last week and he surprised me today. When a man LISTENS >>> 

April 7th. The exact night I asked Brendan for dinner. 

And today? 

Brendan’s back from Paris. 

Tina’s feed is flooded with the Celine bag he brought her. 

“BEST BOSS EVER! You remembered from ONE conversation. Obsessed with you! ??” 

Brendan’s comment? 

“Easy.” 

Same bag. Same brand. Same boutique I asked him to hit. 

For me? Back-to-back meetings. 

For her? Easy. 

“I’m done, Sarah. Don’t waste your breath.” 

She exhaled hard. 

“And you still haven’t told him about Paris?” 

My throat tightened. 

“Tonight. I’m telling him tonight.” 

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Chapter 2 

That night, I was on a video call with my Paris contacts when Brendan walked in. 

The bridal studio had been chasing me for months-seven invitations, six rejections. All because of him. 

Number seven? I finally said yes. 

“My studio’s covered. Give me two days and I’m on a plane.” 

“Finally!” Howard grinned through the screen. “You’re too talented to stay stuck there. When you land, I’m showing you all of Paris myself.” 

“Paris?” 

Brendan’s voice came from behind me. 

I spun around. Didn’t even hear him come in. 

“You’re home? It’s barely eight.” 

The last three months, eight o’clock meant he was still with his assistant. Every night. 

He blinked at me. 

“Why do you sound surprised?” 

Before I could answer, he brushed past me and started digging through my desk drawer. Grabbed two concert tickets. 

“Oh right-Tina bought me lunch today, so I’m taking her to this show tonight. Returning the favor.” 

Then, casual as hell: 

“Don’t overthink it. Just being polite.” 

I kept quiet. 

Just stared at those tickets in his hand. 

Purchase date: yesterday. 

Not last-minute. Planned. 

09:28 

Mr. Chatterbox for Her Mr Iceberg for Me? Ice Melts, and So Did My Lovel 

9.30%