Page 45 of The Valentine Agenda

She was walking toward something better.

Herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

James

James hadn’t slept well.

Now he was waiting for her in the lobby, pretending to check his emails while actually watching the elevator numbers tick down. Each time the doors opened, his heart did a pathetic little jump.

When Hannah finally emerged, the entire lobby seemed to shift around her. She wore her lovely green sweater—how did he ever dismiss it as plain? Her neat ponytail revealed the slope of her neck. She carried a stack of children's artwork like it was more precious than any merger proposal.

"Hannah." His voice came out rougher than intended. She didn't even break stride. Just adjusted her grip on the artwork and kept walking.

"Hannah, please." He moved to intercept her path, careful to leave enough space that she wouldn't feel trapped. "I need to explain—"

"No." The word was quiet but absolute. She still hadn't looked at him directly, her eyes focused somewhere past his left shoulder. "You don't."

"The investors, they—" He stopped himself. Excuses wouldn't help. "I should have come back."

Now she did look at him, and James almost wished she hadn't. Her expression wasn't angry or hurt. It was worse. It was politely distant, like he was a stranger asking for directions.

"Mr. Park." The formality hit him like a physical blow. "I have a class waiting."

"I know. I just—" He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to grab it with his fists and pull. "I'm sorry."

Hannah's smile was bitter. "For what, exactly? For leaving me alone at another formal event? Or for making me hope, just for a minute, that you wouldn’t?”

The question felt like a knife. He wanted to tell her that he'd changed, that he was different now. But hadn't he said that before?

"I'm sorry," he repeated, knowing how inadequate it was. "For all of it. For not being who you needed me to be."

"I knew perfectly well who you were." Something flickered in her expression—the first crack in her perfect composure. "I just forgot for a while."

She stepped around him, and James let her walk away.

When he'd kissed her in this lobby, it had felt like a beginning.

He'd ruined that.

The lobby's marble floors reflected his image back at him—successful, polished, perfectly put together. Everything he'd always wanted to be.

Everything that wasn't enough anymore.

------------------

James found her a few days later in the community room, surrounded by children's artwork and half-finished craft supplies. She was writing something in her neat teacher's hand. He caught a hint of her shampoo, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

"I want to explain." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Please."

Hannah's pen paused mid-word, but she didn't look up. "There's nothing to explain, Mr. Park."

That "Mr. Park" again. Each time she said it, he felt another piece of himself crack away.

"Please." He took a step closer, then stopped when she tensed. "Just let me—"

"What?" Now she did look up, and her carefully blank expression was worse than anger would have been. "Let you explain how important those investors were? How you didn't mean to get caught up in networking? How you're different now?" She smiled, and it was like watching frost spread across glass. "I've heard it before. After Nero's, remember?"

---