Jack lingers just long enough to smirk at me. “You’re insufferable.”
“Get my lunch,” I say pleasantly.
The door shuts behind him.
God help me—I could get used to this.
When Sabrina comes back, her cheeks are still pink.
She settles on the couch again, knees tucked under her, notebook pulled back into her lap like a shield she doesn’t quite need. Jack drops lunch off and finally disappears, thank God, leaving us alone with paper containers and the quiet hum of the city outside my windows.
We eat together—easy, companionable. She talks while she chews, gestures with her fork, gets animated about something she read earlier. I mostly listen. Watching her relax in my space feels like a small, dangerous victory.
Halfway through, I clear my throat. “I had a thought.”
She looks up. “Uh-oh.”
“My lawyers can look over your nonprofit paperwork. Make sure everything’s clean. Filed right. They’re fast.”
Her smile fades immediately.
“No,” she says. Firm. No hesitation.
The word lands harder than it should.
I set my fork down slowly. “No?”
“I don’t want it tied to your business,” she says. “Or your name.”
There it is.
Something tight twists in my chest. Of course she doesn’t. One year. Exit plan. No strings. No reminders when she leaves. I should’ve expected it.
I nod once, keeping my voice neutral. “Right.”
She frowns, like she hears what I didn’t say. “Langston—that’s not—”
“I get it,” I interrupt gently. “You want it to be yours.”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean—yes, but not like that.”
She sets her food aside and turns fully toward me. “If it fails… I don’t want it to reflect badly on you. Or your company. Or your family. People already think this marriage is some kind of transaction. I don’t want them saying I used your name and still couldn’t make it work.”
The knot in my chest loosens. Just a little.
“You think it’s going to fail?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I think anything new is scary.”
I study her for a long moment, then lean back in my chair. “It’s not going to fail.”
Sheopens her mouth to argue.
“I’m serious,” I say. “Not because of me. Because of you.”
Her eyes flicker, surprised.
She steps out a little while later to take a call—something about printing costs and a follow-up meeting. The door closes softly behind her, and my office feels too quiet without her in it.
