“Yeah.” I push back from the table, suddenly needing to move, to get out of this room that feels too small, too confining. “I need some air.”
Sin catches my arm as I head for the door. “Nitro. It’s gonna be okay.”
I wish I could believe that.
Outside, the Nevada sun is brutal, beating down on the parking lot like it’s got a personal vendetta. I pull out my phone,my thumb hovering over Marley’s contact. I could call her right now. Text her. Ask her to meet me tonight so we can talk.
Instead, I pull up her Instagram, the one she started posting on more regularly since she left Derek’s firm and found her confidence again. Her latest post is from this morning, a photo of her desk at Blackwell, a cup of coffee with a heart drawn in the foam, her laptop open to what looks like a design mockup. The caption reads…
When you love what you do,
Monday doesn’t feel like Monday.
Grateful for this opportunity and this team.
#NewBeginnings #CreativeLife #Blessed
The comments are full of encouragement from Sage, from Beck, from coworkers I recognize from the company directory. Everyone is celebrating her success.
Success, I gave her.
Success built on a foundation of lies.
My phone buzzes with a text, and my heart stutters when I see who it’s from.
Marley:Hey you. Just wrapped the campaign presentation. They LOVED it. Like, standing ovation, loved it. I know you’re at the clubhouse, but can I swing by later? Want to celebrate with my favorite man.
The warmth that spreads through my chest at those words,‘my favorite man,’ is immediately chased by guilt. She thinks I’m Nitro, the biker VP who drives Uber and happens to know someone who got her a job interview. She has no idea that I’m the reason she has this job. That I’m the billionaire owner of the company that’s giving her this new beginning.
Me:That’s fucking incredible, Small Town. Proud of you. And yeah, come by whenever. I’ll be here.
Marley:See you in an hour. Bringing Chinese food for everyone as tribute to the clubhouse gods. Love you.
Me:Love you too.
I stare at those three little words on my screen until they blur.
I love her.
She loves me.
And I’m about to risk it all by telling her the truth.
But what choice do I have?
I pocket my phone and head back inside, where Will is still hovering near the window, and Deek is setting up another game of pool. The normalcy of it all feels surreal, as if I’m watching it through glass, separated from the easy camaraderie by the weight of what I know.
“You good?” Will asks, and there’s genuine concern in his eyes. The prospect who’s so worried about messing things up with Millie that he won’t even try, looking at me as though he can see the cracks forming in my carefully constructed walls.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Marley?” he guesses.
“Always Marley,” I confirm, because that much is true. Everything circles back to her. My choices, my fears, my hopes, they all center on that red-haired woman with the quirky glasses and the curves that make my mouth water and the heart big enough to forgive what I’m about to confess.
At least, I hope it’s big enough.
Because in a few days, I’m going to find out if the love we’ve built can survive the weight of my secrets. If trust can be rebuilt once it’s been broken. If Marley Wren will still look at me the same way when she knows who I really am.
