Page 134 of Ten Day Affair

Sam, I know you probably hate me right now, and you have every right to?—

Delete.

The interview with the Post was to protect you. I couldn't let them?—

Delete.

Fuck.

I slam the laptop and grab a scotch from the bar cart. The amber liquid burns going down, but it doesn't touch the weight pressing against my ribs.

My phone buzzes with a text from Angela.

Board meeting moved to 8 AM tomorrow. Harrison wants damage control strategy.

I scroll through my camera roll instead of responding. I land on a picture of Sam laughing at me during the Dave Matthews cover show at Swifty's. Her head thrown back, eyes bright, completely unguarded. I snapped it when she was mid-guffaw, and now it's the only piece of her I have left.

The memory hits me hard.

Before she knew my role in all of this.

I swipe the photo away and set the phone face down on the counter. The silence in the penthouse is suffocating. Forty floors above the most crowded city in the country, and I’ve never felt more alone.

The crystal glass sits half-empty in my hand when my phone rings. Unknown number.

"Houston."

"Mr. Houston? This is Janet Reeves with Premier Properties. I'm calling about your Palm Beach house."

The realtor. Right. I was supposed to call her days ago.

“Right, Janet. I meant to get back to you. I've had my hands full.”

I stare out at the Manhattan skyline, lights twinkling like distant stars.

"It's okay. I just wanted to send this offer to you for your signature. We got a full price, cash offer, as-is. It's about as good as it gets."

“Great. Send it over. I’ll have my assistant FedEx the original tomorrow. I’ll DocuSign it tonight.”

We hang up. I stand there, staring at nothing.

Once the house is sold, what’s left for me there?

Nothing, and that thought guts me.

I already stepped down,but Meridian’s name is still on the papers, and this deal’s mess is still partially mine to clean up.

The glass elevator climbs forty-two floors, each number lighting up like a countdown to execution. My reflection stares back from the polished steel. I've got my best charcoal suit pressed, tie knotted sharp, jaw tighter than a steel trap.

The sleepless nights show in the dark circles under my eyes, but my spine stays straight.

Here we go.

The boardroom doors slide open with a whisper. Murmurs ripple through the room like water disturbed by a stone. I stride to my usual seat, ignoring the sideways glances and half-conversations that die as I pass.

Dorian's already seated, his face twisted in barely contained fury. Angela catches my eye and gives me a look that says,Brace Yourself. The clear glass of water she placed in front of my chair sits untouched.

Harrison doesn't waste time with pleasantries.