Page 50 of In Another Time

“He’s engaged. Loving me doesn’t mean he can just walk away from everything he built with her.”

Lawrence scoffed. “Sis, look. I don’t know dude, but I know men. He walked away because he wasn’t ready to deal with what you laid at his feet. Not because he doesn’t feel it. But that ain’t your fault, Lennox. You showed up. Finally. You did what you were supposed to do.”

I looked down at my hands. “I just. . . I waited too long.”

“Maybe. But maybe the timing had to break for y’all to realize what it is.”

I didn’t say anything. Because part of me was still pissed I hadn’t gotten the perfect ending. The clean resolution. The dramatic kiss in the rain moment. Instead, I got silence. And regret. And now I had to go back to Chicago and pretend none of it happened.

Lawrence stood and walked over to me. “You leaving because it’s what you want, or because you’re scared to see what happens if you stay?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, figure that out. But don’t run ’cause your feelings got hurt. That ain’t the woman you are.”

That was a week ago. Now, I was back in Chicago. Back in my element. Or at least, that was what I told myself. My calendar was jammed, inbox overflowing, and every second of every day was filled with deadlines, calls, and presentations.

It was easier to throw myself into my work than deal with the echo of his name in my head.

I sat at the head of the long glass table in the boardroom, finishing up a campaign presentation for a new client—a tech startup with a slick AI concept and zero branding. The CEO, a young black woman with a sharp bob and sharper ideas, nodded as I walked her through my strategy.

“This is exactly the energy we’re going for,” she said, clearly impressed. “I feel like your team gets us.”

“That’s what we do,” I said, smiling, even though I felt emotionally numb inside. “We help visionaries look like what they are.”

We wrapped up, shook hands, and I saw her out just as Bethany, my assistant, hovered by the door.

“Ms. Anderson?”

I looked up. “Yeah?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

I frowned. “Do they have an appointment?”

“No.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He wouldn’t give a name. Just said it’s important.”

I blinked. “Okay. . . Send him back in five.”

“Sure thing.”

I straightened the papers on the table, tidied up, ran my fingers through my hair, and figured it was probably a walk-in trying to pitch something or complain about something. I had a million of those. But when I turned around and saw who was standing in the doorway, I forgot how to breathe.

Omir.

Tall. Clean. Heartbreakingly fine in a charcoal suit, his tie loose, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind me how dangerous he was. He was holding a bouquet of deep red roses. Big. Bold. Dramatic. Just like this moment. His eyes found mine, and I swear the room disappeared.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. Almost unsure.

I blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

I cleared my throat. “Come this way.” He followed me into my office. I closed the door behind him, trying to pull myself together. “What’s going on?” I asked, arms crossed. “You show up in my office out of nowhere? After everything?”

He stepped forward and held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

I hesitated, then took them. “Thanks.” I set them down and looked up at him, not trying to hide my confusion. “Why are you here?”

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