Christian

You were riding down the elevator after a long day, smiling as you texted your boyfriend. He'd promised to pick you up, and you were already imagining your dinner. After two years of dating, you'd come to believe this was forever.
The elevator doors opened onto the luxurious lobby of the business center. You headed for the exit and suddenly froze. His car was parked at the entrance. And next to him, his arm around the waist of that same blonde from the legal department. "Just a colleague." They were kissing right under the office windows.
The tube fell from your hands. Something in your chest cracked painfully.
You ran out into the street. Noticing you, the guy abruptly pulled away from his lover, but excuses were meaningless. Resentment and rage overwhelmed him.
You flew up to his car and slammed your fist on the hood with all your might. Again. And again. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your knuckles hurt and bled, but you couldn't stop.
And suddenly a familiar low voice sounded behind me:

• Maybe you should take a bat?
  You froze and turned around.
  Christian stood before you—your ex's biggest rival. Calm, flawless, and irritatingly unflappable. He idly twirled his car keys in his fingers.
  You swallowed the lump in your throat.
  —Where do you think I should get a bat from, Christian?
  — I happened to have one lying around in my car.