Page 101 of The Boss I Can't Stand
I tucked my purse under my arm. “Standing in the living room.”
Ro made a sound like a duck being strangled. “Sierra, God! If you’re not already halfway to Finn’s place?—”
“That really happened, right?” I couldn’t help asking. “Please tell me I didn’t hallucinate him pouring his heart out live on TV.”
“Yes, it happened—which is why you need to get to his place,stat,” Ro practically screamed. “And I want to hear every dirty detail tomorrow!”
Yep, I was going. Running. Flying out the door so fast I almost forgot to lock it behind me as I hung up on Ro and raced down the stairwell to my car. It wasn’t until I was actually sitting behind the wheel that I took a moment to really think about what I was doing.
I rubbed my hand against my forehead, feeling the heavy makeup still on my skin along with the loads of product in my hair, holding that beautiful but complicated updo in place. I’d immediately changed out of my dress upon walking in the door, swapping it out for sweats, but I’d wanted to catch the end of the ceremony, so I hadn’t yet bothered to wash off the makeup or hair product.
I probably looked a little crazy as I’d raced out of the building, but so what? Finn had just hijacked the highest-profile night in cinema to throw his heart down on the ground where everyone could see it. The mask had come off. There’d been no Mr. Bigshot standing on that stage.
Just Finn.
The man I loved, in spite of everything. I didn’t know if I was makingthe right decision by giving him another chance, but I knew that if I didn’t make this trip, I was going to regret it for the rest of my life.
Decided, I turned the key in the ignition and the car sputtered to life. The next thing I knew, I was fighting the congested post-awards traffic as I cut across the city to Silver Lake. By the time I reached the condo building, it felt like years had passed. I raced toward the lobby doors, wondering if I could plead with the concierge to let me in, but before I could work up my best pout, Brenna appeared to let me into the building.
“Hey,” I said, catching my breath.
“Is that Academy Award winner Sierra Banks?” she said, giving me a warm smile as she pulled me into a hug. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s been a weird night,” I said as she gave a sharp laugh. “I guess I’m still sort of processing everything.”
She pulled away and handed me a key fob. “I’m really glad you came. Just…follow the candles when you get up there, okay?”
“Candles?” I repeated, making sure I’d heard her right.
Her lips twisted in amusement. “Some of my best work, even if it freaked out Lord Meowington.” She squeezed my hand once, promising we’d celebrate later, then gave me a little shove in the direction of the elevator. I didn’t know what to think as I rode it up to the top floor.
Stepping into the hall, I opened the door to the penthouse slowly. My heart sped up as the nerves coiled inside me, twisting tighter than when I’d waited for that host to announce the Best Costume winner.
I wasn’t prepared for the rush I experienced walking through the front door. It felt like coming home, and emotion clogged my throat, threatening to choke me as the wave of memories I’d locked away cameflooding back. For a time, I’d been so happy here with Finn, and I didn’t know how to feel about it now.
“Hello?” I called. “Finn? Brenna said it was okay to come up.”
The lights were off, but just as Brenna had said, a trail of candles had been lit, the soft, flickering glow beckoning me across the living room and down the hall. I followed them all the way to the entrance to Finn’s sculpture studio. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment as shock drowned out everything else. More candles flickered all around the studio, which was packed with sculptures.
Miraculously intact sculptures.
They were crowded on shelves and on tables, some so tiny they’d fit in the palm of my hand and others large enough to meet me eye to eye. I stepped closer, inspecting the clay, and frowned at what I saw. The imperfect pieces had been painstakingly put back together.
As I wandered among them, I realized that the cracks in the clay hadn’t just been glued back together. He’d used the practice of kintsugi—where resin is mixed with powdered gold so that the cracks and flaws aren’t disguised or smoothed over but highlighted, gilded.
The warm candlelight glowed against them, highlighting the metallic sheen all around me. It was…Well, beautiful was an understatement.
Footsteps echoed, and I knew it was him. My pulse skipped at the base of my throat as I sucked in my next breath.
“You came,” he said softly.
“You said you had something to show me,” I replied, slowly turning around to face him. He looked exactly the same as he had up on that stage when he’d told the world he loved me.
He’d shed his tux jacket, unbuttoned his shirt at the collar, and rolled his shirt sleeves up. He looked…relaxed. He looked likemyFinn, andmy stomach twisted uncertainly at the thought. “This must have taken you ages.”
“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands,” he admitted, giving me a smile that made butterflies stir inside me. “More than long enough to realize what an idiot I was. And while I was doing that, I taught myself kintsugi.” He stepped closer to a vase, brushing his fingers gently over cracked golden lines. I couldn’t help smiling at the care he used.
“You’re embracing the imperfections?” I said, a little impressed.
