Page 70 of Buttons

Relief floods through me. “That would be incredible, Shane. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This is good business. The sanctuary gets the funding it needs, and Archer Capital gets associated with a meaningful community project. Win-win.”

“I’m so happy, I could put your name on a plaque on the wall.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Send me a picture if you do.”

By the end of the morning, I’ve secured commitments totaling sixty thousand dollars. Not insignificant, but still forty thousand short of what we need. I stare at my contact list, scrolling past names I’ve already called, until my finger hovers over the one I’ve been avoiding.

My darling, estranged husband.

I think of the animals waiting for their second chance. Leo reading patiently to frightened cats. Meredith confidently explaining adoption procedures to visitors. Beatrix’s rare smile when I presented the sanctuary blueprints. None of this is about me and my pride, or Julian and our history. But I can’t just call him; I need to speak to him in person.

I step through the glass doors of Plaza Investments and feel the familiar chill of air conditioning. Funny enough, I forgot how Julian prefers the temperature at sixty-six degrees exactly to “keep him on his toes.” Even during the winter, he kept it that low. When it snowed outside, I’d bring in a mini-heater for my desk. Sometimes if it was extra chilly, I’d stovetop some hot cocoa.

My sensible flats click against the marble floor. While they’re not the designer heels I once wore daily, they’re not shelter sneakers, either. I’ve struck a careful middle ground for thismeeting: dark jeans that could pass for slacks, a crisp button-down, hair pulled back but allowed to maintain its natural curl. It’s professional enough for Plaza Investments, and authentic enough for me.

Virginia’s eyes widen in recognition as I approach her desk. We worked closely together for several months. She was below me in the company, but I trained her. Knowing Julian’s system was so complicated, I focused on his process and left the smaller tasks to her.

“Mrs. Plaza,” she says, then quickly corrects herself. “I mean, Ms. Fallinger. How are you?”

The adjustment from my married name to my maiden name hangs awkwardly between us. I offer a smile that I hope communicates both confidence and ease.

“I’m well, thank you. Is Julian available? I don’t have an appointment, but it’s regarding a business matter.”

She nods. “Mr. Plaza is finishing up a conference call. Would you like to wait? I can let him know you’re here.”

“That would be great.”

I move to the waiting area, which is only a few steps away. This part of the office has a sort of fish-bowl design, with a waiting area in the middle and the offices surrounding it in a circle.

Since I have nothing to do but wait, I watch Virginia sit at what used to be my desk, efficiently organizing a stack of folders. But I note how they’re not just any folders; they’re color-coded, arranged in the exact system I used during my years as Julian’s assistant. Within each color, tabs are arranged chronologically, with sub-categories indicated by small colored dots. It’s Julian’s system. Did she learn this herself? There’s no way Julian taught her. Rather than teach, he’s more ‌the ‘figure it out yourself’ sort of man. That’s probably why he rated me favorably on his pro-con list for organizational skills. He knew I’d ‌naturally get his system with little direction.

Curiosity pulls me to her desk. “That’s quite an organizational system,” I say.

She glances down at the folders. “Oh, this? It took me a few weeks, but Mr. Plaza helped me figure it out.”

“He helped you?” I ask, sure that I misheard her.

“Mm-hmm,” she says as she staples a stack of papers. “He prefers physical copies, so I upload everything to the office’s system, then print copies for his filing cabinet.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s working for you,” I say, warmth spreading through my chest at this small Julian victory.

She nods enthusiastically. “Now that I understand it, it’s not so bad. Mr. Plaza was incredibly patient about showing me, which was surprising.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Between us, patience isn’t exactly his defining characteristic.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”

Before I can process this further, Julian emerges from his office, pausing briefly when he sees me. His expression shifts to surprise.

“Elowen,” he says, my name coming out smoothly. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

I straighten my spine, professional mode activating. “I should have called first. If you’re busy—”

“I’m not,” he interrupts, then corrects himself. “That is, nothing that can’t wait. Would you like to come in?” He gestures toward his office.

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “I appreciate you making time.”

He steps aside to let me pass, exposing an office that is both achingly familiar and subtly changed. The massive desk still dominates the space, but the formerly bare walls now hold framed photos. There are Leo and Meredith at the park, a candid shot of Meredith with Pepper that must have been taken on his phone at the shelter. It’s all evidence that our children exist evenwhen they’re not physically present. Spotting our wedding photo in the center, I rub my chest at a sudden ache.