Page 75 of Royal Deception

I glance at my untouched coffee, then at Aaron, who’s still standing there like he hasn’t completely botched the simplest tasks.

I already know he’s not going to last the week.

On top of Aaron’s incompetence, I’ve gotten the cold shoulder from Callie after the gala. I feel it even in her latest text.

Callie: Got the schedule. Let me know when your team is ready.

No sign of the usual lighthearted tone. I tap out a quick reply.

Rory: Will do. Thanks for sending over. I’ll have everything set up.

No response.

I keep busy, trying to make the day go by, but the emptiness of the office without Clary and the chill with Callie hang over me. I send a follow-up message, trying to make things right after last night’s rejection, but she just responds with brief, professional answers.

Rory: Can we talk about what happened?

Callie: The press tour is all set up. Finalized schedule coming your way.

That’s all. No friendly banter. No acknowledgment of anything other than the task at hand.

I hate it.

And as the day wears on, I’m reminded of how much I’ve lost—both at work and with the people around me.

I can’t sit still. Every second without Clary feels like it’s dragging me under. I’m losing everything, and I can’t stand it. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore without her.

I press her name on my phone again. I need to hear her voice. I need her to hear me.

The line clicks.

“Rory,” she says, sharp and unyielding, like she’s already anticipating my call.

“Clary, please. Will you at least meet with me?” I beg, my voice desperate. “I need you to hear me out. Can we meet? Please?”

There’s silence on the other end, a long, pregnant pause. And then, she speaks.

“Where?” Her voice is guarded, but it’s there—just beneath the surface—a hint of curiosity that I can latch onto.

“I’ll come to you,” I say quickly. “Anywhere. Just please give me a chance to explain.”

I wait as she considers it. Finally, she responds.

“Fine. Meet me at Cafe Benediction,” she says, her tone flat, but there's no refusal. “It’s in the Marlowe District. One hour.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. “Thank you.” I’m willing to travel to the ends of the earth if it means getting a chance to see Clary again. But before I can say another word, the line goes dead.

I arrive early, trying to calm my nerves, but the wait feels endless. I’m out of my element here, standing in a neighborhood that doesn’t belong to me. I feel like an outsider, like I shouldn’t be here, but I push the feeling down. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this right.

I check my phone again, hoping for some sign that she’s on her way—but there’s nothing. No message. Nothing.

When she finally walks in, her gaze is cold, calculating, and she doesn’t spare me a single second longer than necessary before taking a seat at the table. She crosses her arms, and I can already feel the wall between us.

“You wanted to talk,” she says, her voice sharp. “So talk. What the hell do you want from me?”

I swallow hard, trying to get my thoughts together. The words feel like they’re stuck in my throat, but I have to say it. I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine when I know I’ve screwed this up beyond measure.

“I want you back, Clary.” I can’t keep the desperation from creeping into my voice. “I want you as my assistant, as you—everything. I didn’t realize what I had until you were gone. Please, come back. Let me fix this.”