Ilet out a frustrated huff as another car cuts me off on Fifth Avenue.
“Damn tourists,” I mutter under my breath.
I’m already running late for a lunch with one of our investors, and it feels like every car in New York has decided to hit the streets today. It’s snowing, the roads are slick, and naturally, when the roads are slippery …
“ALL THE MORONS ARE OUT DRIVING!” I shout, leaningout the window, just as some woman flips me the bird for not letting her cut in. Real classy.
Grumbling, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Mr. Lee, apologizing for the delay. I explain that traffic is insane today and assure him that I’m not usually this late. I don’t mention the part about my assistant not speaking to me for three weeks. That’s more of a personal reminder than anything else.
Since January 1st, when the clock struck midnight and the new year began, Lauren has stopped speaking to me unless it's strictly about work. No more calls—especially after I tricked her into one, pretending it was about a meeting, only to beg her to explain what happened that night. Now, it’s just texts and emails. She won’t answer her door, doesn’t leave her place and, yes, I waited outside her apartment for many hours. The parking meter charged me over a thousand bucks for that stunt. I’ve tried everything to get her to talk to me. I’ve asked around the office, investigated every little detail, even locked the team in a room, hoping someone would crack. No one said a word.
I finally find a parking spot a few blocks from the restaurant. As soon as I shut the car door, I sprint toward the Hilton, where Mr. Lee is already waiting. I’m late, but this meeting needs to go well, or everything I’ve been working for could be at risk. As I enter the hotel, the receptionist gives me a once-over, her expression a mix of desire and confusion—probably wondering why I look like I’ve just run through a storm.
“I’m Silas Walker. I have a reservation,” I manage, still catching my breath.
“Yes, Mr. Walker, right this way,” the brunette says kindly, leading me to the best table in the house. I can’t help but suspect that Lauren had something to do with this choice of venue. Of course, I’d know if shetalkedto me—but she doesn’t.
Mr. Lee stands up as soon as he sees me, extending his hand. “Silas …” he says warmly, shaking my hand.
I smile and return the handshake, trying to shake off the whirlwind of frustration still buzzing in my head.
Time to focus.
I tower over Mr. Lee, but he’s the one holding the power in this meeting, and I never forget that. He’s a Japanese investor with a deep trust in the New York real estate market. Probably around fifty years old, with billions in his bank account and the final say on whether this deal moves forward.
“Sorry for the delay,” I say, trying to ease the tension. “You know how New York is this time of year—everyone wants to see the snow.”
“I completely understand,” he replies smoothly. “Your assistant called me a few minutes ago to let me know you were on your way, and she was kind enough to order some appetizers.”
I glance at the table and see several plates of food already laid out. A small smile creeps onto my face, but inside, my stomach knots. The fact that Lauren spoke to him, that she’s handling work matters so smoothly while completely shutting me out—it’s a knife twisting in my gut.
“Shall we get started then?” I say, pushing the thought of her aside, trying to focus.
The meeting flows well enough, even though my mind is swimming in unanswered questions that have nothing to do with real estate.
Did I scare her with what I said?
Did I misread her feelings completely?
Why won’t she just tell me what’s going on so we can fix it and start living our life together?
I feel Mr. Lee’s gaze on me.
Focus. He’s asking you something.
“Of course,” I respond, snapping back to the conversation and hoping my answer fits. “My father is very excited about this project and is one hundred percent on board.”
Whether or not my father is excited doesn’t really matter—I’ll give Mr. Lee whatever reassurance he needs. He takes a sip of his wine, still studying me carefully, as if he’s weighing something I can’t see.
Finally, he nods and extends his hand. “Well, Mr. Walker, you’ve convinced me.” His handshake is firm, and in that moment, the deal is sealed.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say, feeling the satisfaction of a deal well done. “Believe me, this is an investment few have had access to. I personally selected the list of investors.”
“That’s what your assistant told me. What was her name again? Laura?” Mr. Lee asks.
“Lauren,” I correct, feeling a sharp pang in my chest at just saying her name. God, I miss her.
“Yes, Lauren. She’s very kind, much more so than your other assistant, I must admit,” he chuckles lightly, a bit embarrassed by his honesty.
