“You won,” she says without turning around.
“Wewon.” The correction matters. “It was your proposal. Your strategy.”
“Butyouexecuted,” she says. “Strategies are useless without the proper execution.”
“Like I said,wewon,” I repeat.
She’s quiet for a moment.
When she finally turns to face me, her eyes are wet but her voice is steady. “So what happens now?”
I want to touch her. Want to pull her against me and promise her everything will be perfect. But I’ve learned something in the last few weeks about the difference between controlling a situation and earning trust.
“Now we rebuild,” I tell her. “Properly this time. With you actually getting the credit and the authority you deserve.”
She smiles sadly. “I meant... what happensnow... withus?”
The question hangs between us.
“That’s up to you.” The words are harder to say than any statement I’ve ever written. “I meant what I said, Bree. Every good decision came from you.”
She studies my face. Looking for the lie. The manipulation pattern everyone keeps telling her to expect.
“You gave a lot up today,” she says finally.
“Did I?” I step closer. Close enough to smell her vanilla and jasmine perfume. “None of it matters. Not if I haveyou. I’m done hiding. From the board. From the media.From you.”
Her hand reaches up. Touches the scar at my jaw the way she does when she wants to show me she accepts me just the way I am, warts and all.
I pull her against me and kiss her.
30
Nico
Sunday evening. Two days since the board meeting that should have felt like a victory.
Martin’s gone. Stripped of his board seat, facing legal action.
The foundation restructuring is approved. My CEO position is secure. At least for now.
And yet.
Bree has been different since Friday. During sex on Friday and Saturday nights she was present but not present. Her body responded the way it always does, arching into me, her breath catching when I hit the right spot.
But something behind her eyes stayed distant. Like she wasperformingintimacy instead offeelingit.
I thought she’d be happy. I gave her credit in front of everyone. I publicly acknowledged what she’d done for this company, and for me. I made Martin look like the scheming piece of shit he actually is.
So why does she feel further away than ever? Is it because I haven’t given her an official promotion yet?Haven’t made her more than my secretary? Or is it something else?
I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t stop replaying every interaction from the past forty eight hours, looking for what I missed, or the moment I fucked up.
She left early today to go “shopping with the girls.” Whatever that means.
Anyway, around seven, I finally gave up torturing myself and told Indira to drive me to the office, hoping to catch up on the mountain of work that’s accumulated while I was busy fighting for my professional life.
The building is quiet on Sundays, the parking garage empty. The executive elevator hums upward, and I use the silence to scroll through emails I’ve been ignoring.
