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“You could’ve gotten a tissue.”
“You came here at one-thirty in the morning. I didn’t have time to restock the luxury crying supplies.”
A watery, broken sound escapes me. Once he’s sure I’m not going to break down again, he moves to the other side of the counter, eyes sliding over my laptop. The resignation letter is still open as he scans the screen, his eyebrows arching.
“You’re really going to quit?”
“I have to.” I wipe beneath my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’d have to see them every day. Answer Nate’s calls, sit in meetings with Elias… and watch Jace tear himself apart trying to fix things. I can’t do that to him. I can’t be the reason their relationship falls apart.”
My voice wavers again, but I force it steady.
“Plus, I can’t work for men who look at me and see a liability. And I refuse to give them the satisfaction of firing me.”
Trey’s gaze is searching, then he sighs. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“I get through the launch; I put too much of myself into it to not see it through. Plus, no one has taken me off of it. Apparently, I’m trustworthy enough to keep their biggest event from collapsing, just not trustworthy enough to be believed. Then I leave. Clean exit. No drama.”
Trey leans against the counter, arms folded. “And after the launch?”
“I don’t know yet.” The admission scrapes raw. “I'm getting out of San Francisco. Maybe go back to Louisiana for a while. Figure out what I want to do next without three men breathing down my neck. I just… I want to hear my parents laugh again. I want to be somewhere people already know me.”
Trey gives a deliberate nod, the way he does when he’s really thinking and not just filling silence. He starts to speak, then stops, worrying his lower lip for a moment before trying again.
“You know I’ll support whatever you decide, right? But I need you to hear me on one thing.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter, eyes level with mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The words are a warm, sharp impact.
“I trusted too easily,” I whisper.
“You trusted people who asked you to trust them. That’s not a flaw, Sloane. That’s courage.”
Honestly, I don’t know how I’d get through a single one of these days without him.
The elevator doors open on the fourteenth floor, and the familiar hum of efficient chaos I usually love rushes back in.
People notice me immediately, and I tell myself I’m being paranoid. But I’ve been around enough executive boardrooms to know the difference between professional courtesy and nosy-ass people.
No one knows exactly what happened, but they know that there’s tension between the bosses and me.
“Morning, Sloane,” one of the interns says, her voice a little too bright.
“Morning,” I answer without breaking stride, making my way to my desk.
My inbox is overflowing. Project updates. A dozen calendar pings. Nate’s name sits near the top of my task list like a dare. I open the launch files instead.
Across the floor, I catch a glimpse of Jace at the design table with Elias and the lead marketing team. His posture is stiff, but when he notices me, he manages a strained imitation of his usual smile.
Elias doesn’t glance over at all.
The ache in my chest is subtle but relentless. I push it down and keep working.
“Ms. Harper?” one of the engineers asks, leaning over my desk. “There’s a conflict with the schedule for the launch floor. Do you still want final walkthrough approval at eleven?”
“Yes,” I say automatically as I gather my things for a vendor meeting. “Tell them I’ll handle it myself.”
I make it three steps into the hallway before Nate’s voice cuts through the chatter behind me.
“Sloane. A word.”
