I tugged her into a quick hug. “You’ve been incredible, Ridley. We make a good team. Go get some rest—you’re going to need it.”
She laughed. “I’m meeting my boyfriend at midnight, but yes. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for opening day.” She cocked her head. “What about you? Any plans?”
My mind betrayed me instantly, floating away to firelight, Holden’s mouth brushing mine, a promise made in the quiet glow of our last night in the Library. But I’d shattered that promise myself.
“No,” I replied softly. “Have a good night.”
We parted, and the moment I stepped into the hallway, it felt like shrugging out of armor I’d worn all day. Voices drifted from the West Bar. Piano notes tangled with conversation. Someone in the lobby started a countdown far too early.
New Year’s Eve always found me alone. Tonight, the tradition felt heavier than ever.
Crossing the lobby toward the elevators, my eyes kept scanning the space, hope flickering against my will that I’d spot Holden.
Ridley said she’d delivered the dinner to him in his office. I never got a text. Not even a simple thank you or acknowledgment at all.
Maybe he was avoiding me too. If so, I deserved it.
Exhaustion dragged at my limbs as I headed for my suite, already imagining the weight of blankets and blessed silence in my bed. When I opened the door, I froze.
A massive arrangement of roses dominated the entry table—deep red, lush, extravagant. Their scent filled the room, rich and overwhelming, like spring crashing headfirst into winter.
“Oh my God…”
I barely breathed as I stepped closer, fingers trembling when I reached for the card tucked against the vase.
Lilah,
There’s one rose for every hour we spent together since Christmas Eve.
Every hour I’ll never forget.
If you leave me, we’ll never know what might have been.
But if you stay…?
And yes—I got the interview killed.
—Holden
My vision blurred. Tears spilled hot and fast, no stopping them.
He counted the hours. Whodidthat? A man who didn’t see me as a liability. A man who didn’t flinch at headlines or whispers of reputations. A man who once told me ‘You’re the only woman on my mountain I see.’
“Oh, Holden.” I clutched the card to my chest as sobs broke free. I thought I’d pushed him away. I thought I’d ended this. And yet—there were truffles. My parents visited. Roses. The interview—gone. Why was he still showing up for me?
‘You’re the only woman on my mountain I see.’
My gaze flicked to the clock. Minutes to midnight, clarity hit sharp and certain. I knew exactly where I needed to be when the year turned—not alone, not hiding or running away, not pretending this week hadn’t unraveled me.
I bolted for the door. The elevator crept toward the lobby at a maddening pace, my nerves a mess with every floor. Once there, I rushed through corridors, searching every familiar corner.
The restaurant and the kitchen were empty. The library had sadly been stripped bare, cots and blankets gone, twinkle lights removed like it had all been a dream.
Back in the lobby, I stopped anyone who looked remotely helpful and asked, “Have you seen Holden?”
“Just missed him.”
“Try the bar.”
