"I'm not giving up on you."
"You should."
"Well, too bad. You don't get to decide that." She heads for the door, then pauses with her hand on the handle. "For what it's worth? You are a good man, Thorne. You've just made some bad decisions. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah." Her hand reaches for the handle. "One can be fixed. The other can't. Figure out which one you are before you throw your life away tomorrow."
She's gone, leaving me alone with my choices.
I sit in the silence, staring at the spreadsheet I'm not reading. I get up to refill my coffee, but stop when my phone buzzes.
My heart flips. It’s from Ivy.
Madison's at a sleepover tonight. Want to forget about everything for a few hours? We could take the bikes out to that burger place. Been craving their jalapeño burger. And maybe seeing you not scowl for once. ??
The tightness in my shoulders eases for the first time since I called Bill Fischer. Just her name on my screen cuts through the bourbon fog and the FBI dread and makes me remember what it feels like to want something instead of dreading everything.
She doesn't know yet. Bill hasn't called her yet. She's still the woman who teases me, who challenges me, who suggests motorcycle rides and greasy burgers instead of five-star restaurants.
She's still mine. For a few more hours, at least.
Give me 30 minutes. I'll meet you at home.
Don't make me wait. I'm already thinking about that burger. And you in leather. Priorities. ??
I can already picture her on that Bonneville, the way she leans into curves with more confidence than caution. The way she glances over at stoplights, visor up, grinning at me like we're teenagers stealing freedom instead of two people running from our problems. The way her laugh carries over the engine noise when I try to show off. The weight of her hand when she reaches over to squeeze mine before we gear up.
Pocketing my phone, the weight of it feels different now. Heavier. Like I'm carrying these last few hours with her, knowing they're already slipping away.
Tomorrow I'll face the FBI. Soon, Ivy will leave me.
But today, I'm going to ride motorcycles with the woman I'm falling for and pretend that I'm not about to lose her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ivy
Leather jacket. Boots. The helmet Thorne bought me. Yes, it should be in the garage, but it’s too pretty. My finger traces the elegant script of my initials embossed on the back. Madison is at a friend’s house for the night.
I hold the jacket for a moment, feeling the quality of it, the weight of what it represents. He takes care of me in ways I never asked for. Ways that make me feel cherished and then remind me he could vanish just as easily.
Setting it back on the bed I glance out my window. The summer afternoon outside my window is perfect, golden and warm. We’ll ride for a few hours, leaving all the mess behind. Bill’s ultimatum. His family scandal. The constant negotiations of what Thorne and I are to each other. Tonight, it's the road and the bike and us.
Bill Fischer's name lights up my screen. My good mood plummets.
I set my helmet on the bed and pick up my phone. “Bill, I thought I had until next week to give you my answer."
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. Good news—the partners met this morning and we've decided to keep you on."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, clutching my riding jacket. Relief floods through me so suddenly that my knees go weak. "You have?"
"We reviewed your file thoroughly. Your track record is impressive, Ivy. Very impressive. We'd be fools to let you go over one... complication."
They saw reason. Maybe the other partners looked at my cases, my win rate, my billable hours and realized—"
“In fact,” Bill continues, his tone shifts, becoming too smooth, too pleased, “we'd like to put you on the partnership track. Formally. With an eye toward making you partner by year's end if things continue as they have.”
