“I care about you, too,” I reply.
The relief that floods his face is almost painful to witness.
“But I don’t know if it’s enough,” I continue. “You hid this from me, and let me find out from a gossip article. And now my reputation is destroyed.”
“I’ll fix it.” He steps closer. “There’s a board meeting on Friday. I’ll fix all of it.”
“How?”
“Do you trust me?” His hand reaches for mine, stops halfway.
I hesitate. Finally: “Yes.”
He nods slowly. “Then give meuntil Friday.”
I look at him. This scarred, broken, brilliant disaster who looks at me like I’m his world.
Don’t let him go so easily,Sora’s voice reminds me.
“Until Friday,” I agree.
It’s not forgiveness.
It’s not even a promise.
But when his fingers close around mine, it feels like something close to hope.
26
Nico
Thursday evening. The office is mostly empty except for the cleaning crew and the small army of people trying to save my ass.
Bree came back this morning, that gorgeous mouth set in a firm line.
We talked.
I told her everything. About the years of toxic anger I weaponized against my own brother.
She said she cared about me, too.
Then she said she didn’t know if that was enough.
Fucking fair.
But she’s still here. Still at her desk outside my office, laptop open, working on my last minute plan for tomorrow like the world isn’t actively trying to burn us both alive.
I haven’t touched her since Sunday night.
Four days.
Feels like four years.
My phone buzzes. Larissa. I answer on the first ring.
“We have a problem.” My general counsel’s voiceis tight. “Kieran Ashby’s publication is running a second exposé tomorrow morning. Six AM embargo lift. The headline is ‘Rossi CEO: Pattern of Control and Questionable Ethics.’”
I close my eyes. “Have you read it? Is it bad?”
