Martin beams, already mentally counting his bonuses. Violet just nods, her face carefully blank.
The meeting wraps up smoothly after that—next steps, timelines, the usual polished corporate bullshit.
When everyone rises, I move toward her, catching the quick hitch in her breath.
“Violet,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, professional. “Can I have a word? Upstairs.”
Martin glances at her, expectant, making it impossible for her to refuse without drawing attention.
For a second, she hesitates. I catch the flicker of resistance in her eyes. The way she wants to say no.
But she can’t—not with him standing there.
“Of course,” she says finally, tight and controlled, the words falling like stones.
Violet looks tight enough to snap as I walk by her side to the elevator. I want to pull her into my arms until the tension uncoils.
It’s a sobering thought—that I’m the cause of her turmoil.
It seems like forever as we wait for the elevator. She won’t look at me, like if she just keeps her eyes fixed ahead, I might disappear.
The polished chrome of the doors throws back our reflections—me, standing there like a man seconds from falling to his knees, and her, every inch slipping further from my grasp.
Eventually, the doors slide open, and I step back to let her in. She steps inside, almost pressed up against the side wall in an effort to maintain distance.
A part of me wants to tear that distance to shreds.
I feel the edges of my patience fraying, but Bethany’s warning looms large in my mind—be gentle.
So, I hold back. Barely.
As the elevator ascends, I watch her in awe. How has she somehow got more beautiful? Her hair is slightly longer, maybe a shade darker, making the green in her eyes almost iridescent.
Her plump, red lips are caught between her teeth with worry.
And God help me; all I can think about is tasting them again.
“It’s good to see you, Violet,” I finally manage—words that hardly skim the surface of what this moment means.
That’s all it takes for her stonewall to crack.
“Why?” she snaps. “Last time I saw you, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. So excuse me if I don’t buy that bullshit.”
And there she is. My little hellion. Bold. Brave. Eyes on fire.
“That’s not true,” I say, voice low. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“For what?” she scoffs. “You fired me. What were you expecting? That we’d roll into La Cantina Mexicana for margaritas at sundown and a friendly chat?”
Despite the hell-storm raging between us, that punches a small, twisted laugh from me—the kind only Violet could ever wring out.
“So now you know I’m in the clear,” she spits. “You invite us here for a pity deal. I don’t care if you drag me into your mess, but not them. They’re good people.”
I try to keep it together, but my composure slips—my breath jagged, the tempo off.
“No,” I say firmly. “That’s not what this is. I admit, I only looked into Nexora after I saw your name attached, but thesoftware is brilliant. Someone else would’ve snapped it up. I just got lucky.”
“Oh, please.” She folds her arms and presses back into the wall, like she needs more space, not just physically, but emotionally, like maybe she’ll lose a part of herself if I’m too close.
