“Yes,” she says, folding her hands on the desk as her expression warms. “It’s been far too long since we caught up outside of work.”
Her tone is calm and pleasant. Not once does it occur to me to question it. This is Evelyn Kingston, after all. She doesn’t do anything halfway, least of all casual conversation.
“I’d love that.”
A small, satisfied smile curves her lips. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements.”
For a second, I wonder if she means a restaurant or her private dining room at the top of the Railers’ building. With Evelyn, either is a possibility. The air in her office hums with quiet control, as if the world outside bends just slightly to her will.
The vibration of my phone breaks the stillness.
Once.
Twice.
I don’t need to glance at the screen to know who it is. Although that doesn’t stop me from peeking just to confirm my suspicions.
Big D: You’re not getting rid of me that easily, babe.
Big D: I don’t care how hard you try to push me away, I’ll still be here.
My stomach tightens. The words slip beneath my skin like a whisper I’ve been trying not to hear. He sounds so damn sure. As if nothing can shake his confidence.
Another buzz.
Big D: You’re mine, Rina. And I’m yours. All you have to do is trust me.
Does he have any idea what he’s asking?
My thumb hovers over the block option.
If I were stronger, I’d do it and be done with this situation.
And him.
But something won’t let me. Instead, I darken the screen and curl my fingers around the phone, forcing my hand to stay steady.
Evelyn looks up from her papers, gaze catching more than I want her to see. “Hmm. Sounds like someone is very determined to get your attention.”
I force a polite smile. “Just someone who doesn’t know how to take a hint.”
Her expression eases. Rather than pry, she smooths the edge of a paper with the same deliberate precision she brings to the rest of her life. The silence stretches just enough for the tension inside me to ease.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I say before I can think better of it.
Evelyn’s gaze lifts, filling with curiosity. “Of course. You can ask me anything.”
The question feels clumsy on my tongue. “Why didn’t you ever marry again after your husband died?”
For a moment, she says nothing. The quiet of her office presses in, broken only by the faint ticking of a distant clock. When she finally speaks, her voice is measured. It’s the kind of tone people use when they’re handling something fragile.
“One marriage was enough.” Her eyes go distant, fixed on something past the glass wall, something only she can see. “Love rarely works the way people expect. Sometimes it only comes around once. And even then, it can be complicated.”
Her honesty catches me off guard. There’s no regret in it, just experience. A quiet ache she’s learned to live with.
I sit still, afraid that any movement will break the spell.
With an exhale, she reaches for a new document, composure sliding seamlessly back into place. “Now, about the press conference tomorrow. You’ll be there?”
