Page 41 of I Do, You Don't
The leather journal Lara gave me lies open on the desk. Its pages, the color of old bone, feel cool against my palm. Each page is a new entry, a new debt. I pick up my pen, a sleek black instrument that once charted financial futures. Now, it charts the wreckage of my own.
My last entry feels a lifetime away. Today is more personal, more painful. I grab my pen and write, the scratch of the tip against the paper the only sound in the room.
Debit: The Dream.
I never truly listened. I’d nod and smile when she talked about her idea for a financial consulting business, but my mind was a thousand miles away. I never heard the passion in her voice. I treated it like a hobby, not the purpose she was trying to build for herself. I should have been her first and biggest supporter, and I wasn't.
I stare at the black ink of my words. It’s true. It’s a debt I can never repay, but I can at least start to settle the interest.
I look up, my gaze landing on my phone. Two clients are getting married next month,a couple with a small tech startup. They need a financial advisor. Lara is exactly the person for this. I know her skill set, her meticulous attention to detail, and her unwavering empathy. Luckily, I have a small opportunity to offer her the support I should have offered all along.
The next day, my finger hovers over David’s name, the client I plan to refer, and a knot of dread tightens in my gut. I’m an accountant—a man of logic and numbers—and here I am, asking a client to trust the woman I left at the altar. My hands shake slightly as I dial.
He answers. “I know a great financial advisor,” I say, my voice steady but my heart pounding. “Her name is Lara. She specializes in working with women and couples who are just starting out. She’s exceptional.” I explain that there’s no obligation, no pressure, only my professional conviction. When I hang up, a strange sense of relief washes over me. It’s a small act, a silent one she might never know about, but it’s the first step. I’m not asking for forgiveness; I’m just trying to pay a debt.
The next day, David leaves a voicemail while I’m in the shower. Steam still billows from the bathroom as I pick up my phone. I select his name on my list of contacts.
He answers on the first ring. “Gideon,” he says, with no preamble. “I need to ask you about this referral.”
“Lara? You spoke with her?” I ask, the words a little too eager.
“I did,” he says slowly. “She’s sharp. Impressive. But when I mentioned you, she was a little guarded. She asked me how I knew her. I was honest. I told her you recommended her.”
My hands clench. This is it, the moment my secret act of atonement turns into a potential disaster.
“She didn’t tell me what happened, but I’ve been on social media,” David continues, his voice flat. “Our wedding planner follows Delilah. Your… friend. I saw the posts. A lot of whispers. ‘Almost married.’ ‘Gideon’s bachelor party with his real friends.’ The kind of stuff that makes people talk.”
I close my eyes, a wave of shame washing over me. Delilah. Her ability to twist a story into a weapon is something I know all too well now. “That’s not what it was.”
“Gideon, I hired you because I trust you,” he says, the words a hammer blow. “We need a team we can rely on. And what you did makes me questionyour judgment.” The words land like a physical strike. It’s not just my personal life on the line anymore, it’s my professional reputation. He’s right. If I was so blind in my own life, how could I be trusted with his? I can’t blame him. I can’t even argue.
“I understand,” I say, the words heavy. “If you’re willing to meet me for lunch next week, I’d like to discuss our business relationship. Please—let me prove that my past personal judgment will no longer cloud my behavior moving forward.”
A long pause. The ticking of a clock in my apartment grows deafening. “I’ll think about it,” he says finally. “But to be honest, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to mix business with this much personal drama. It makes me nervous.” He hangs up, leaving me in a chilling silence, and with the fear that my groveling just cost me a client. The debt is growing.
My phone rings again. A blocked number. My gut tells me I know who it is. I’ve seen the look in his eyes, Lara’s older brother, Calvin. And I’ve given him every reason to hate me. I answer.
“Green,” a low, gravelly voice says. No pleasantries. Just my last name, a threat hanging in the air.
“Calvin,” I reply, my voice a little too steady.
“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “You’re not family. Not anymore. Stay away from my sister. You broke her. Humiliated her. You don’t get to just waltz back into her life when it’s convenient.”
Drama travels fast, even in the city. Calvin must have already heard about my referral to Lara’s services.
“I’m not trying to waltz back in,” I say, my defense more desperate than I’d like. “I’m trying to make things right.”
“Right?” he scoffs, the sound dry and full of contempt. “Right is what you should have done months ago. Right is believing her when she told youwhat was happening. Right is not leaving her to clean up your mess.”
His words are a verbal assault, each one striking a target of my guilt. But his tone carries something more dangerous than anger. He’s a man with a quiet, simmering rage, the kind of rage that can ruin a person. I know this. Lara told me enough about his world. I know he’s not just talking.
He means it.
“I know I screwed up,” I say, the apology feeling small and inadequate against the force of his anger. “I’m trying to atone. I’m doing everything I can to show her I’ve changed.”
“I don’t care what you’re doing,” he says. “I’m only concerned with what you’re going to do. And what you’re going to do is stay away from her. You so much as text her, or show up at her apartment, and I’ll make sure you regret it.” Based on the bodyguards I’ve seen trailing him, I know all too well that Calvin has the resources to make good on his promise.
He hangs up. The line goes dead, but the threat lingers, a shadow in the room. I can’t just send flowers. I can’t just write in a journal. Now I have to contend with a force I can’t out-logic or out-account. Calvin is an obstacle I’ll have to either get past or get around.
