Page 45 of Obeying

"It does when the other party is a CEO with resources and a grudge. The man has money and connections, and he's using them to settle a personal vendetta."

He's quiet again. I can hear my mother in the background saying something I can't make out. My father covers the phone, responds to her, then comes back.

"Your mother wants to know if you're eating properly."

"Tell her I'm fine."

"She also wants to know if this complaint is the reason you haven't been calling us."

"No. I haven't been calling because I've been busy."

"Mhm." He doesn't believe me. He never does when I use that excuse. "If you need me to make a call or talk to the board, I still know people there."

"No. I'm going through the hearing because my actions were justified, and the complaints are baseless. Both of them. I don't need anyone pulling strings."

"Logan—"

"Dad, I appreciate the concern, but I've got this."

He sighs. The long, heavy sigh of a father who knows his son has made a decision and isn't going to change it. "Be careful."

He's not asking me to be careful for myself. He's asking me to be careful with the name. So I answer.

"I will." And I mean it.

"Your mother says to call more often."

"I will." This time, I don't entirely mean it.

He hangs up. I sit there and stare at the wall.

He's not wrong. He's never wrong about the practical stuff. The Maxwell name does hold power, and getting pulled into a hearing is a risk. The Maxwells before me spent their entire careers building something, and here I am putting it on the line.

But if I'd walked away when Miguel grabbed her, if I'd let it happen, if I'd protected the name instead of protecting her, what would that name even be worth?

My mother would understand. She'd never say it in front of my father, but she would. She became a surgeon in an era when women in operating rooms were treated like temporary visitors. She knows what it means to have someone stand up for you when the system is designed to look the other way.

My father sees the risk. My mother would see the person.

I put my glasses back on. I need coffee. And I need to stop thinking about my parents' approval like I'm still a twenty-year-old trying to make the honors list.

I head to the break room. I'm stirring my coffee and staring at nothing when the door opens and Kristen walks in.

She sees me and freezes, one foot in, one foot out, calculating whether she can back out without it being obvious.

I don't move. I don't chase. I just look at her and smile. Small and easy, like her being here is the most normal thing in the world. Because it is, and she's the one who's been acting like us in a room together would cause the world to explode.

She stands there for a second, weighing it. Then she steps in and lets the door close behind her. She grabs a mug from the shelf, fills it with coffee from the pot, and leans against the counter across from me. She won't look at me directly. Her eyes are fixed on her coffee like it contains the answers to every question she's ever had.

"I thought you were going to run again," I say.

"I considered it."

"What stopped you?"

"The coffee here is better than the one on the third floor."

I almost smile.