Page 107 of Ten Day Affair
The cursor blinks. I delete every letter.
I try again.
I hope you're doing okay?
Delete that too. Am I questioning that I hope she's doing okay, or am I asking her if she's doing okay?
Fuck it. I don't need to text her anything. She made it clear where we stand. I chose the money. She chose her principles. Clean break.
I just need to get her out of my head.
My chest squeezes like someone's wrapped a fist around my lungs. I lower the phone and set it on the marble railing, next to my empty glass.
“Fucked this one up."
The words float out into the night air, swallowed by the hum of traffic forty floors below. A helicopter passes overhead, its spotlight sweeping across neighboring buildings before disappearing toward the Hudson.
I could call Elliott back tomorrow and push harder for the hybrid model. Perhaps there is another way to salvage this, even if no one else thinks it’s the way to go.
But what's the use? Even if I could somehow save the Taylor Wing, Sam would never trust me again. I chose my board over her. I voted to destroy her mother's legacy. There's no coming back from that.
The Macallan burns my throat as I finish what's left in the glass. Behind me, my penthouse glows with warm light, imported marble, custom furniture, and art that cost more than most people make in a year.
It has everything I thought I wanted.
In front of me, Manhattan stretches endlessly into the darkness. Millions of people are living their lives, making their choices, and building their futures.
And somewhere in Palm Beach, Sam's probably asleep in her bed beside my empty house. The one where I held her just a few days ago.
Tomorrow I'll wake up and keep being Cole Houston, the billionaire. I'll find another deal, another acquisition, another way to prove I'm still the king of my little empire.
I'll pretend like the last ten days didn’t shake something loose.
But they did.
And for the life of me, I can’t seem to put it back.
TWENTY-FIVE
Sam
I open the kitchen door before he can knock.
"You're late for rounds," he says while pulling off his helmet and shaking out his sandy hair.
"Neufeld's covering for me."
"Nice. I was driving by, getting all sentimental about this town, and saw your car. Figured I'd stop by before I head out."
Head out. The words slam me, even though he told me last week, and I knew it would be a quick move.
"Indiana, right?"
"Yep, Indianapolis." He leans against the doorframe, those wire-rimmed glasses catching the morning light.
"That's crazy."
"Trauma surgery fellowship. Pretty good program, actually. It all fell into my lap when I put feelers out."
