Page 161 of Boardroom Mask

I don’t move. I stay right where I am, back against the stone wall, hands in my pockets, and I let her come to me.

Because this time, it has to be her choice. Not mine. Not the mask’s. Not the dark’s.

Hers.

She stops ten feet away. Only when a cloud moves and the moon finally comes out to illuminate her face do I see just how pissed she is. Her chest is heaving, her hands are balled into fists at her sides, and her eyes are wet and furious as she searches me for something I hope to God she finds.

“Hello, little fox.”

She looks me up and down and left and right. “I don’t know what to do first,” she announces. “Should I hit you, kiss you, ask you where the fuck you’ve been, or just skip all of that and walk away instead?”

I smile, amused, heart throbbing like an open wound. “All reasonable options. You look beautiful.”

Her scowl deepens. “Spare me. I know you didn’t crawl out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding in just to come pay me half-assed compliments. Besides, I know I look good.”

That makes me laugh. Feisty and confident to the end, my little fox. I’ve missed her so fucking much it kills me. I’ll never get that lost time back. “Fair enough.”

“Why did you, then?”

“Why did I tell you you look good?”

“No, wiseass. Why did you come back?”

I take my hands out of my pockets. The night air is warm and thick with the scent of cut grass and summer flowers, and she’s standing right there, a few feet away, close enough to touch if I crossed the distance between us.

But I don’t.

“I came back because you need someone to drive you to New Jersey,” I say.

Her whole body stiffens. The scowl drops off her face—that’s one mask down—and there’s nothing underneath it except trembling, naked fear.

“Mat told me,” I explain before she can ask. “He called and said you still hadn’t gone.”

“That’s none of his business. Or yours.”

I shrug and push a hand through my messy hair. “But I’m here anyway.”

She shakes her head hard. “Nobody wants you here.Idon’t.”

“I know.”

“Did they not have calendars where you went?” she demands. “Or mail? Because you were gone for seven months, Kir. Sevenfuckingmonths without so much as a fucking postcard. And now, you waltz in here looking all tan and scruffy and expect me to just swoon into your arms?”

“No,” I tell her honestly. “I expect you to hit me first. You mentioned that was an option. It seemed appropriate.”

Her hand twitches like she’s considering doing exactly that. But in the end, it stays pressed against her thigh. The moonlightilluminates the wet shine in her eyes. She really does look beautiful. I hope she knows it.

Her voice gets softer when she asks, “Why are you really here, Kir?”

I open my mouth to give her the speech. Fuck knows how many times I rehearsed it on the way over here. It’s a good speech. Thorough. Covers all the bases. Acknowledges my failures, makes the case for my return, addresses counterarguments preemptively.

But this is Jillian. And I know beyond any reasonable doubt that she’s ready for it. Like me, she’ll have spent months imagining this moment and planning all the ways to keep it at arm’s distance. If she’s ready for it, she can prevent it from making her be vulnerable. She’ll have a mask prepared to fend it off. Just like me. Therefore, going through the whole exercise would be pointless and change nothing. By the time we’re done, we’d both be exhausted and nothing will have changed.

So I scrap the speech.

Instead, I say, “I came back because you’re a coward.”

Jillian recoils like I’m the one who hit her. “Ex-fucking-scuseme?!” she hisses. “How dare you?”