She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You're at about seventy percent forgiveness.”
“What would get me to a hundred?”
“A time machine, ideally. But I'll settle for you never using the word 'optics' in bed again.”
“Done.”
“Also, I want breakfast in bed tomorrow.”
“That seems unrelated to the original offense.”
“I'm a complex woman, James. My forgiveness has layers.”
Satisfaction warms my chest. I might have fucked up with my optics comment, but the damage wasn’t permanent. At least with this gesture, I was able to bring our relationship back to some kind of equilibrium.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I was an insensitive asshole, talking about schedules and optics right after we were intimate. It wasthoughtless timing, and you deserve better. I meant to tell you that yesterday in the studio, but…”
“But then I started bleeding all over the place?” she finishes. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much it means for me to hear that.”
Her smallest finger brushes against my hand, and the silence between us feels heavy and charged.
“Can I ask you something?” Maura says quietly.
“Of course.”
“Why do you work so much? I mean, I understand ambition, but you have more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes. You could retire tomorrow and never worry about anything. But you're in the office at 6:00 a.m. and you don't leave until midnight most days. What are you running from?”
The question hits closer to home than I'd like. I could deflect. I could give her the corporate answer about shareholder obligations and market competition. Instead, for reasons I don't fully understand, I tell her the truth.
“When my parents died, I had just graduated, and suddenly I was completely alone. The only thing that made sense was work. If I was in meetings, I didn't have to think. If I was analyzing numbers, I didn't have to feel.”
Maura is quiet, listening.
“At some point, it stopped being about avoiding grief and became...who I am. I don't know how to stop.” I let out a breath. “I'm not sure I want to.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.” The admission surprises me. I've never said that out loud before.
Her hand moves, covering mine on the counter. Not romantic—just warm.
“You're not technically alone anymore,” she says. “For whatever that's worth.”
I look at her—really look at her—and something shifts in my chest.
“It's worth quite a lot,” I say quietly.
It’s like something between us has shifted. When I fucked Maura on the floor, wet from the rain, our relationship changed. It became something different than what we agreed to on paper. I tried to pretend we could go back to how things were, but it only hurt Maura. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore—whatI’msupposed to do.
“I want to know where we stand,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean, where do we stand?”
“The marriage contract we signed doesn't have to be set in stone. At least, not between the two of us. If one of us wants to change the terms of this relationship, then I think we should discuss it.”
