On that note, I left early, ignoring the curious looks from assistants and analysts who weren’t used to seeing me walk out before sunset. When I got home, the quiet of my apartment was like a reset button.
I pulled off my tie, tossed my jacket over the back of a chair, and flipped on the television for background noise. Some random basketball game filled the screen, a replay of the game from last weekend, maybe. I didn’t care enough to check right now, too busy mentally rehearsing for tonight.
After grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, I tried to come up with a game plan for how I’d explain everything to Emma without sounding like I was trying to negotiate my way out of my feelings for her. Just as I was finally getting my thoughts into a somewhat logical order, the game cut to a commercial break, then to breaking news.
At first, I barely paid attention, only vaguely aware of the financial ticker. Market updates. Standard end-of-week recap.
“…and in what could be one of the most aggressive corporate consolidations of the decade.” I glanced up absently and the anchor continued, her tone bright with unconcealed excitement. “Rumors are now circulating that the merger betweenWestwood and Sons, Vanderhaul and Marksmith, and Hinds Global may include an unexpected personal alliance.”
The picture on the screen shifted and my brain stalled when my face appeared where the anchor’s had been. It was a candid shot of me from probably about six months ago as I was leaving a charity gala. They’d caught me in the moment between one step and the next, a paparazzi flash bleaching half the image.
“While neither family has confirmed the reports,” the anchor continued smoothly, “sources suggest that Nathaniel Westwood may be engaged to Katherine Vanderhaul.”
A picture of Kate popped up onscreen beside mine. She was younger than we were now, standing in front of a university building. It looked like they’d managed to get an old photo of her from back in college, smiling into sunlight with no idea that her future would one day become the subject of national speculation.
My pulse slammed into my throat, but the anchor just kept going. “This rumored engagement is being viewed by industry insiders as a strategic move that could solidify the merger?—”
I muted the television, but the silence didn’t help. My ears were ringing, my pulse clawing at my insides like a raging tiger. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.
It wasn’t meant to be public. Not before we’d even figured out how to survive it in private. Someone had leaked it and whoever had done it had just immediately earned a permanent place on my shit list.
On my next inhale, my thoughts landed on Kate. If I was blindsided, she had to be too. She’d barely been in the office all week, keeping communication strictly professional when it happened at all. I shoved my feet into my shoes, adrenaline sharpening every movement.
If she was home, I needed to talk to her.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and when I glanced at it, everything in me went ice cold.
Emma: I can’t meet tonight. I’m really sorry.
The words blurred, then snapped back into focus as I stared at the screen. I blinked hard, but the message remained the same and a bitter lump formed in my throat, my chest hollowing out in slow, precise increments.
Me: Why?
It felt too blunt, but I sent it anyway. Three dots appeared. Danced. Disappeared. Came back. Disappeared again. Aggravation rolled through me as I paced the length of my living room, the game still playing in the background, but my attention stayed locked on my phone. The dots kept coming and going, appearing and disappearing until finally, a message appeared.
Emma: I’m nervous. There’s just a lot happening in my life right now.
I exhaled slowly, stopping in front of the windows and looking out at the skyline, wondering where she was right now. For a long minute, I just looked out at the familiar view, the snaking lines of cars in the traffic looking like dots trying to escape an urban maze.
Somewhere out there, the woman who might just be the love of my life was possibly pacing, feeling alone in a city where she had no one but me. Eventually, I managed to fire off a reply.
Me: I get that. Honestly, I feel the same. There’s a lot going on right now. If we don’t meet tonight, it’s okay.
But it wasn’t okay. I needed tonight. I needed to see her, to anchor this thing that had lived in texts and half-imagined futures for years. I needed to explain.
My thumbs hovered over the screen again.I need to talk to you about something.
I typed it, then stared at it with my stomach twisting as I imagined what she’d think when she received it. Whatever itwas, it wouldn’t be half as bad as the truth. Before I could send it, however, another message popped up.
Emma: Remember how we used to say we could run away together?
The question yanked me straight back through years of conversations, just two people building escape routes out of words and what-ifs. The impossible dream. I smiled slightly as I deleted my message and replied to hers instead.
Me: Always.
Her response came faster this time.
Emma: What if we did?
