"Thank you. That's very professional of you to say."
Professional.
"That's not—" Alex ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. "Lily, can we talk? Please? There are things I need to say?—"
"You had five weeks." Her voice was steady, but he caught the tremor beneath it. "Five weeks, Alex. You could have called. You could have emailed. You could have sent a carrier pigeon for all I care. But you didn't."
"Iknow. I was?—"
"You were what? Too busy? Too important?" She finally turned to face him fully, and the hurt in her gaze skewering him in the gut. "Or just too scared? Because that's kind of your thing, isn't it? Being too scared to actually say what you feel?"
The words carved through him because they were true. Every single one of them.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I was scared. I am scared. But Lily?—"
"Ms. St. John?"
They both turned to find a young woman in SPECA-branded attire approaching with a tablet clutched to her chest. "I'm Dr. Okonkwo's assistant. She's ready for you in the conference room whenever you'd like to head up."
Lily's professional smile snapped back into place so quickly it made Alex's chest ache. "Perfect. Thank you. I'll be right there."
The assistant nodded and stepped back to wait at a respectful distance.
Alex's heart was pounding. "Lily, please. Just give me five minutes after your meeting. That's all I'm asking."
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then something shifted—not softening, exactly, but a crack in the armor. Just enough to let him see the woman beneath the professional facade.
"I don't know, Alex." Her voice was quieter now, meant only for him. "I spent two weeks falling for you. I spent five weeks trying to get over you. And now you want five minutes?"
"I know it's not enough. I know I don't deserve?—"
"You're right." She cut him off, her jaw tight. "You don't."
She turned and walked toward the waiting assistant without looking back.
Alex watched her disappear into the elevator, his rehearsed speeches dissolving into ash.
He'd thought he was prepared for this. He wasn't. Nothing could have prepared him for the wall she'd built, or for the realization that he'd been the one who'd handed her the bricks.
The next ninety minutes were the longest of Alex's life.
He couldn't go back to his office—couldn't focus, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except pace the lobby like a caged animal until the security guard started giving him concerned looks.
Finally, he retreated to a bench near the harbor-facing windows, where he could see the elevator bank without being immediately visible to anyone exiting.
She's going to walk out of that meeting and leave. She's going to fly back to California and you're never going to see her again.
You blew it. Again.
His phone buzzed. Harold.
You've been AWOL all morning. Everything okay?
Alex typed back:Handling something personal. Cover for me?
The mysterious "nothing" from before?
Something like that.
