Page 145 of Manhattan State of Mind

But the real knife in my gut, the one thing that showcases my selfishness more than anything else, is that all I can think about is Lucy. I know how she’ll react because I’ve been here before. I’ve faced this torment once, and here I am, gearing up for round two.

I may just have found my biggest fear in life: being forced to relive the same damn mistakes.

I imagine her face crumbling as she learns the truth. That thought is the real blow, the gut punch that leaves me winded.

“Leave us, Amanda.” Killian’s voice cuts through the heavy air. She nods, but before she leaves, she drops one more bomb.

“Just one more thing, Mr. Wolfe,” she squeaks. “Security called. They wanted to know if Lucy Walsh from IT was authorized to access your car.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, scurrying out of the room and leaving me with my head in my hands. The laughter on the screen dies, replaced by an eerie silence. Killian must have paused it.

As Killian breathes in deeply, I raise my eyes to meet his. His gaze is filled with such raw fury, it’s palpable. He’s a breath away from breaking my nose.

The image on the screen freezes, capturing my glazed eyes. A mirror to my shame, my ego. I can only think about the damage I’ve done, the trust I’ve broken. And Lucy… Lucy…

Why would Lucy want access to my car? Has she found the letter? Fuck, does she know everything?

“I have to leave,” I announce abruptly, standing from my chair.

“What?” Killian is on his feet, his eyes blazing.

“I’ll talk to the lawyers and get ahead of this,” I say, grabbing my phone and shoving it into my pocket. “But first I need to see Lucy. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m begging for your trust. I’ll make the hard choices to protect us and this company.”

Ignoring Killian’s protests, I step out of the boardroom, my mind reeling and my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

The mutters and wide-eyed stares in the elevator, the hushed whispers of the IT department—they don’t register. They are nothing more than background noise, a ripple in my deafening inner turmoil.

“Where’s Lucy?” My voice comes out more as a command than a question as I stride toward Taylor’s desk.

“She wasn’t feeling well, she’s heading home. Matty just went down to the lobby with her stuff,” Taylor replies, her eyes wide.

“Thanks,” I growl, barely pausing in my march toward the elevator. The weight in my gut grows heavier, drenched in regret and self-loathing. I botched this. I played my cards all wrong, should have taken the time to tell Lucy privately, away from the prying eyes of media vultures. I thought I had more fucking time.

I find some solace in the thought that none of this reflects badly on Lucy. No one knows we were together, exactly as she wanted it.

The elevator ride down feels like a descent into purgatory. The car is packed with people, their faces a blur, their breaths seemingly held in anticipation of my impending breakdown. When the doors slide open, I storm out toward reception, a man on a mission.

Outside the reception, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Lucy disappearing, her bag slung low over her shoulder. A visceral ache ricochets through my chest as I beeline toward the entrance.

Several members of my executive board try to intercept me in the reception, but I barge on, seeing nothing but Lucy. She’s just a fading silhouette now, swallowed by the city streets.

“Lucy!” I bellow, my voice cracking with desperation.

She halts in her tracks, spinning around to face me. Her face hardens as our eyes meet. Before I can say another word, she’s marching away again.

Ignoring the sting of rejection, I bridge the gap between us and seize her arm.

“Lucy, please. Stop.” My voice is a hoarse whisper, barely audible over New York’s sounds.

“Get off me!” she hisses, tearing her arm away from me and casting me a look of pure disgust.

“Can we please go somewhere private to talk about this?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The harshness of her words slices through me, but I push on. “I just want you to hear me out, please.”

“Hear you out?” she scoffs, jabbing a finger into my chest. “I never want to hear your voice ever again.”