“And you?”
“I’d be the guy who finally proves Bigfoot’s real.”
“You don’t believe in Bigfoot.”
He grins. “No, but I like a challenge.”
And just like that, we’re Textually Frustrated and Carl again, laughing. Easy. Warm. Our plates empty, the night curling around us like a warm blanket.
Then he goes quiet.
“I hit Jackson.”
The words are quiet. He doesn’t look at me right away.
“I lost it,” Nolan says. “He tried to laugh off what happened today. Like it didn’t matter—like nearly getting you killed was just... part of the game.”
He pauses. Not for effect, but because the words stick.
“I couldn’t stand it. So I punched him.”
I say nothing. I wait. Let him fill the silence with the truth.
Nolan scrubs a hand down his face. “He threatened to tell Thatcher. Said I’d be finished. And I told him to go ahead. Told him I wasdonewith him, with all of it.”
My pulse ticks up. He just punched his CEO’s nephew. Risked everything he’s worked for—blood, sweat, and ruthless ambition…because of me.
I don’t want him to do this for me.
I want him to do it because he finally understands he deserves better. Being someone’s puppet isn’t the legacy he was meant to leave behind. Fighting for himself shouldn't require a reason outside of him.
He looks over at me, eyes steady. “I had my assistant pull everything. Emails, security footage, texts from his company phone. Turnsout the golden boy’s been spreading more than sales pitches around the office. He’s enough to keep HR busy for a decade.”
“And Thatcher?”
“I haven’t told him yet.” Nolan leans forward, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes fixed on the ground. I can tell the words are heavier than he expected. “But I will. All of it. I don’t know what he’ll do—maybe he follows through on the blacklisting threat. If he does, I lose everything I’ve built.” He looks up, gaze steady now. “But at least I’ll walk out knowing I didn’t sell my soul for a title. That I said what needed to be said. And did the damn thing right.”
My shoulders slump. This version of Nolan—fierce, vulnerable, decisive—isn’t just trying to protect me, he’schoosingto step out of the shadows. To stand for something. To fight for himself.
And for me too.
“I’m sorry, Rorie. For everything. For the accounts, for not realizing it sooner. For being so wrapped up in the climb I didn’t see how high the cost was.”
I reach over, my fingers brushing his.
“I get it,” I say. And I do. More than he knows.
His neck turns so he can look at me. “You do?”
I nod. “Yeah. I really do.”
He doesn’t move. Neither do I. But the air between us shifts.
It’s soft. Open.
His eyes narrow. I clear my throat and when I shift, a sharp pull of pain tears through my leg and I hiss.
Nolan’s expression falls instantly. “You’re hurting. And by the blood seeping through, you need to redress that wound.”
