Page 15 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
“Not a chance.” I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Seven o’clock.” He stands now, buttoning his suit jacket in one smooth motion. “If you want answers.”
“I’ll find my own answers.” I move toward the door. “I always do.”
“I have no doubt.” Something like respect flickers in his eyes. “But this time, you might want to hear mine first.”
I don’t respond. Just walk out, past curious eyes and whispered speculations, straight to the elevator and down to the parking garage, where I can finally breathe again.
The call comes at 6:17 p.m., exactly twelve hours after the first email.
“They canceled the partners’ meeting.” Marina’s voice is tight with confusion. “Phillip says they addressed the security concerns.”
“What does that mean?” I pace my kitchen, phone pressed to my ear.
“He wouldn’t say. Just that we’re proceeding as planned, under your leadership.”
Something doesn’t fit. The partners don’t reverse course without reason. Security concerns don’t just disappear.
“Did he mention who resolved the issues?”
A pause. “Not specifically. But whispers said he had a meeting with Mr. Giannetti.”
The floor tilts beneath me again, this time for a different reason. “I see.”
“Chanel.” Marina’s voice drops lower. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I keep my tone professional. Distant. “We’re back on track. That’s what matters.”
“If you say so.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “See you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early.” I hang up before she can ask more questions I don’t want to answer.
I set the phone down carefully, like it might detonate. Jakob met with Phillip. After our conversation. After I walked away, after I told him I didn’t need his help.
And now the partners’ meeting is canceled. The security concerns are addressed. My leadership position is secure.
Jakob defended me. Behind closed doors, in conversations I wasn’t part of, he defended me.
I should be relieved. Grateful, even. Instead, I feel something dangerous uncoiling in my chest—hot and tight and impossible to ignore.
Not because he thought I needed defending.
But because he never doubted me.
I pick up my phone again, open a new message to a number I only use to communicate about our son. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a long moment before I type:I never needed your protection. Just your truth.
I stare at the words—black against white, stark and honest in a way we never were with each other. My thumb hovers over the send button.
One press to begin a conversation four years overdue.
Or the reopening of a wound finally beginning to heal.
I delete the message.
Some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud. Some silences are safer than words.
I set the phone down and walk to the window, looking out at the Brooklyn streets below. Somewhere across the river, in ahigh-rise, Jakob is probably doing the same thing—looking out at the same city. Breathing the same air.
