Page 44 of The Valentine Agenda

Five minutes passed.

She looked up, finding James deep in conversation. His hands moved as he spoke—that passionate gesture she'd noticed when he talked about things that mattered. The men around him were leaning in, caught in his gravity.

He'll be back soon.

Another group of executives passed her table. One woman's designer heel clicked against Hannah's sensible shoe, but she didn't even glance down to apologize.

James was laughing now. He looked... perfect. Polished. Completely in his element.

Just a little longer, Hannah thought, but she wasn't sure if she was telling herself or remembering what she'd thought that night at Nero's.

She drank the champagne.

Somewhere in the room, a clock was ticking.

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The clock on the wall marked fifteen minutes. Hannah had positioned herself so she could see James without being obvious about watching him. He'd moved to another group now, he kept looking over at her before being drawn back in to whatever deal or merger they were discussing.

Her fingertip traced the rim of her champagne glass.

A waiter paused at her table. "Would you like a fresh glass?"

"No, thank you." Her voice came out steady. Professional. The same voice she used when parents asked difficult questions about their children's progress.

To her left, a woman in red silk was describing her recent trip to Milan. She watched the woman's perfectly manicured hands move as she spoke, remembering how she'd scrubbed finger paint off her own hands before coming here.

Another glance at James. Another conversation. Another group of people who mattered in his world.

She tried to distract herself by people-watching, falling back on her teacher's habit of observation. The way that man by the bar kept checking his phone under the table. How the woman in green touched her earring when she was nervous. The careful dance of power and influence happening all around her.

Hannah looked down at her hands, folded carefully in her lap. They were good hands, she thought distantly. Hands that helped children learn, that steadied elderly residents, that fixed crooked paintings in lobbies.

Hands that didn't belong here.

Just like the rest of her.

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The winter air hit Hannah like clarity.

She stepped out of the building's revolving doors and took her first real breath in what felt like hours. The city stretchedbefore her, alive with possibility and completely indifferent to corporate parties or social hierarchies or the quiet endings of things that were never meant to be.

"Can I call you a car, miss?" The doorman's concern was genuine, unlike the practiced politeness inside.

"No, thank you." Hannah smiled, and was surprised to find she meant it. "I'd like to walk."

She should feel something more dramatic, she thought. Anger at James. Sadness at losing what could have been. The bitter sting of yet another disappointment.

Instead, all she felt was tired. Tired of making excuses. Tired of hoping. Tired of trying to fold herself small enough to fit into spaces that weren't built for her.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch. Probably Sophie, checking in. Or maybe James, finally noticing her absence.

She didn't check.

The city lights reflected off windows, creating little galaxies above her. She'd forgotten how beautiful this city could be when you weren't trying to be something you're not.

She wasn't running away.

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