“Yes, you said you and your brother had a falling out, but I didn’t think you meantthis.” She shakes her head. “When were you planning on telling me?”
The question hangs between us. “I was going to.”
“When? After the board meeting? After the foundation launched? After you’d successfully compartmentalized me into whatever box felt safest? Just like you’re were planning on promoting me but conveniently never got around to it? Because, you know, office gossip?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like, Nico?” She steps closer, and I can smell her perfume, that vanilla and jasmine that haunts my dreams. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you let me get close to you while hiding the worst thing you’ve ever done. You let me trust you. You let me believe I knew who you were.”
“Youdoknow who I am,” I plead.
“Do I?” Her voice cracks. “Because the man in that article sounds exactly like someone else I trusted once. Someone who made me feel special while he was manipulating everyone around him, including me. Someone who destroyed my reputation and my career because I dared to set a boundary.”
Kendrick.
She has to be talking about Kendrick. The man she named in passing the other day. Ancient history, she’d claimed.
She’s crying now, the silent tears tracking down her cheeks. “You hid this from me. You had a hundred chances to tell me the truth, and instead you let me find out from a fucking gossip article that’s now calling me your latest victim. Do you understand what that feels like? To be reduced to that? Again?”
I want to touch her. Want to pull her into my arms and hold her until this nightmare passes. But I don’t have that right anymore.
The elevator intercom crackles to life and a voice comes over it. “This is building security, is everything—”
“This is Nico Rossi,” I interrupt. “I pressed the stop button. Because I felt like it. We’ll be moving again shortly. Until then, some privacy, please.”
“Sorry, Mr. Rossi.” The crackling over the intercom dies.
I turn back to Bree. “I should have told you. I know that. But I was scared.”
“You were scared.” She shakes her head. “The man who stalked me across Manhattan was scared to have a conversation.”
“Yes.” The admission tastes bitter. “Because I knew you’d look at me exactly the way you’re looking at me right now. Like I’m the worst version of myself. Like everything we built was a lie.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.” I step toward her. “Everything between us has been the most honest I’ve been with anyone in years. I fucked up ten years ago. I fucked up not telling you. But what I feel for you isn’t a manipulation or a strategy or a power play. It’sreal, Bree. You’re the first thing in my life that’s felt real in a long time.”
She looks at me for a long moment. I can see her processing, weighing, deciding.
“I need time,” she finally says. “Don’t follow me.”
Every instinct screams at me to argue. To chase and fix this the way I fix everything, through sheer force of will and strategic intervention.
But I instead I say, “Callahan will drive you home. Keep you away from the reporters.”
“I don’t need your protection,” she counters.
“I know you don’t. But take it anyway. Please.”
She hesitates. Then nods. I press the button for the underground parking garage, and swipe my card to confirm access.
The elevator starts moving again.
I text Callahan.Bree will be needing an exfil.
Roger that,comes the reply.
Bree had already pressed the lobby button, so when we reach that particular floor, the doors open. Before they shut again, I spot the line-up of reporters already queuing up outside.
