Quit Me If You Can

21. Cade

21

CADE

“ G oddamn it,” I mutter, setting the file folders on a nearby surface. This is taking it too far. Shit. I wince at hearing the sobbing noises emanating from Kennedy as she stands there with her back to me. My arms instinctively reach out to hold her, but I stop myself. It’s strange how even after all this time, one moment can tear down the years and make me want to pull her into my arms.

“Kennedy, don’t cry,” I murmur, then extend my hand toward her.

“I’m not crying!” she hisses. Refusing to turn around, she sniffles some tears. “Especially not in front of you .”

“Well, to be fair, I can’t exactly see your face,” I offer. “So technically it’s not in front of me.”

Not funny, I guess. She tenses and reaches into her purse, pulling out a hair clip and throwing it in my direction. It must have been the first thing she put her hands on, and I’m grateful it wasn’t something heavier. Like a car key. Or a hairbrush. Or a brick.

“I was just trying to make you feel better,” I say.

She hurls another object at me: a small can of hairspray this time, which I dodge just in time to keep it from hitting me in the face.

My lips part to speak again, but I stop myself. I’m afraid anything else I say will send her heels flying toward my head.

She composes herself. Stepping to the side, she mumbles something that sounds like, “You can go.”

There’s a certain irony—and something oddly charming—in her dismissing me from my own office.

Suddenly, the phone buzzes, and it’s Shanice’s voice on the intercom. “Mr. Gladwell, just a reminder that you have a 6:30 p.m. court meeting.”

“Thank you, Shanice,” I reply, glancing at my watch.

It’s late, just a few minutes shy of 5:00 p.m. The court rescheduled my preliminary Ecclestone v. Humphries hearing for this evening, a rare but necessary adjustment due to an unforeseen backlog of cases this week. The New York City dockets are as overburdened as any others, and that’s what happens sometimes.

This litigation is crucial.

With the preliminary hearing postponed—one key partner fell ill all of a sudden, and Soren is out of town celebrating his thirtieth anniversary—I’m left to attend alone. I’ll be fine. It’s a preliminary hearing, and my team will be right there when the real fireworks start.

Ecclestone and Humphries are both giants in the construction industry, but unlike Humphries, Ecclestone is known for his dubious practices, to put it lightly. His reputation for “alleged” deceit and theft precedes him. This trial isn’t just about the financial aspect, though that’s certainly important. The goal here is to decisively address and finally put an end to Ecclestone’s tactics once and for all. Several distinguished attorneys have tried to bring him to justice before, only to be outmaneuvered by his high-powered legal team and dirty tactics. It’s a brutal world we live in.

But enough is enough.

It’s high time someone takes him down. And that someone is going to be me.

Tonight’s developments will significantly influence the course of future proceedings, and they’ll be scrutinized closely by the media.

Failure is not an option. The stakes are too high.

And now is definitely not the time to let up or bail out.

Seeing Kennedy hurt feels like a knife twisting inside me. It catches me off guard, tearing me apart all over again. It would be inaccurate to say I don’t care every bit as much right now as I did back then.

I’ve never stopped loving her.

But what’s the point of bringing it up now? It’ll just lead us down a path of “what-ifs.”

We both know that chapter is closed.

“You don’t have to stay,” she sniffs. “I know you’re just dying to get away from me. Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s not true. You have no idea what’s going through my head.”

She snort-laughs through her tears. “As if you don’t make it painfully obvious.”

Every word and every tear stings. I wish I could find a way to make her forgive me. If I could only tell her the truth. But I swore I never would.

Closing my eyes, I imagine the words spilling from my lips.

I love you.

I still want you. All of you.

I want a future with you—the one we always dreamed about.

I want to create memories that will last a lifetime. With you. You’ve always been the one.

In that imagined future, we’d spend endless nights together, the two of us, naked in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything we ever want to do together. All the places we’ll travel, sipping sake under the neon lights of Tokyo and strolling through Vienna under a moonlit sky. We’ll dream up plans for our cozy, inviting colonial-style home located in a quaint suburban area, surrounded by lush greenery and our four dogs: Heidi, a Cavalier girl to keep Hansi company, and rounding out the pack, two big glossy black guard dogs, Fidel and Trude (her idea, not mine, but hey, I’m all in). We’ll even picture our home filled with the pitter-patter of little feet once our careers are on track.

Yet, here we are with the careers—but without each other.

There’s no chance of any of that now. Why dwell in fantasies of something that can never happen? Why torture myself longing for the one person I can’t have?

I want to tell her how it destroyed me to walk away. How much it kills me to see her hurting. How much I hate everything that’s happened.

She’s always been in my thoughts. I’ve spent endless nights replaying that night, wishing I could change things, turn back time.

Now it’s all buried under years of regret.

“Come on, Kennedy,” I say, trying again. “I don’t want to leave you all alone like this. I also don’t want you to throw anything else at me. And you know I can’t stand to see a woman cry.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to seeing that by now,” she says. “It’s probably just another part of your day. You know… go to work, win a case, ride your bike, break a woman’s heart—for no reason, with no explanation. Then pretend you feel bad that she’s crying. Then go on with your life, like nothing happened.”

“It’s really not?—”

“No. It is.” She spins around, wiping the tears from her cheeks. One of her eyes is black and completely smudged from the mascara. “I get sick of hearing men say they hate to see women cry. You don’t. What you hate is how you feel when you see us cry. It’s guilt, and well-deserved guilt, Cade. If you don’t want to see me like this, then don’t be an asshole. It’s really pretty simple.”

“Okay. Fair enough.” I put my hands in my pockets, holding back everything I can’t say. “Sorry for being an asshole. But I can’t do anything about the past, Kennedy. And neither can you. What more do you want from me?”

She fumes. “I want a damn explanation. We were happier than ever. Then out of the blue, you ended it. No warning. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “And when I asked you why, all you said was ‘It’s for the best.’ Now you’re acting like I’m the crazy one for wanting answers. Like there’s no unfinished business here.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I say. “I need you to trust me that it was for the best.”

“Trust you?” She snorts. “How could it have been for the best? It’s like the film reel that burns up in the middle of a good movie, or the most important pages ripped out at the end of a book. Nothing feels right or natural about ending everything we had so abruptly—or ending it at all.”

What she doesn’t know: I didn’t have a choice.

“The funny thing about being a boss,” I begin, “is that you often have to make decisions, make a call on things that not everyone agrees with. Or even understands.”

“Oh, so now you’re suddenly my boss again? I thought we agreed this was an off-the-clock conversation.”

“I’m never off the clock, Kennedy. That’s what my life is like, both in and out of the office. I’m just trying to make a point.”

“Oh, I get your point,” she shoots back. “It’s your fault for not even bothering with a decent excuse. Really, you could have told any old lie. That you didn’t give a damn anymore. That you cheated…” She pauses. “Is that it, did you cheat on me?”

“I did not.”

“Was there another woman?”

I shake my head, it’s so ridiculous. She thinks I was with someone else? The idea is almost laughable. “There wasn’t. Of course there wasn’t.”

She relaxes visibly. “Well, then you could have said you teamed up with NASA and that you were traveling all over the world and to space, even! In your own rocket ship! To Venus!”

I try not to laugh. “You mean, rocket ship to Mars?”

She points her finger straight at me. “Don’t you dare laugh. I’m just saying you could have fed me any bullshit, and it would have been better than what you did do—saying nothing at all.”

She’s right. I could have. But I didn’t, and my verdict is still the same. It’s better to let her hate me than for me to disclose the truth. Lying to her was never an option.

Silence was my only choice.

“Keeping quiet beats telling lies any day,” I argue. “That’s all I can tell you, Kennedy. I couldn’t tell you the truth, and I didn’t want to feed you a load of crap.”

“I knew it,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “It was easy for you to walk away, because you didn’t give a shit about what you were walking away from. Are you so sure you knew who I was when I showed up for the interview? I’m starting to think you weren’t pretending. I think you really didn’t remember me at all. Maybe it took a few days to jog your memory. ‘Oh, yeah… I knew she looked familiar. Didn’t I screw her a few times back when I was in law school?’”

“Stop it, Kennedy.”

“Never mind that you said you loved me and wanted to share a life with me!”

For fuck’s sake. “Kennedy.”

She turns to the door and unlocks it. “I’ll be working from home! This conversation is over!”

“Kennedy, stop.” I step closer, wanting to calm her down. But she’s too far gone to hear me. She’s blind with anger and she can’t wait to get away from me.

Good.

That’s exactly how it has to be, if either of us is going to survive this.

She rushes to her desk and starts jamming things into her purse. “This is all your fault! First you act like you have no idea who I am, and then you avoid explaining anything like the plague. But you waltz around with that stupid cocky attitude and your stupid tall body and those stupid sexy lips and…”

She’s unraveling.

My heart pounds, because I am too.

She seems oblivious to my closeness as she rants and raves about my eyes, my cheekbones, and apparently, my Khal Drogo posture—what the fuck is that?

I reach up to loosen my tie. “Kennedy, just shut up and listen,” I interject.

“No! You listen to me !”

I can’t take it anymore.

Whatever good sense has been keeping us at a safe distance all this time evaporates into nothing. Before I can even fully register what I’m doing, my mouth crashes into hers.

She’s stiff at first, acting out of necessity rather than want.

Oh, she hates me. She hates that she wants me. Please hate me . I want her to hate me, to despise me with every fiber of her being.

My lips brush her mouth, taking her in, tasting, teasing, and I feel her melt into me.

Ah, her lips feel bewildering.

Soft, tender, inviting, sweeter than I remember.

A soft moan escapes her, and I can feel her knees buckling.

I embrace her, pull her to me.

She fits against me like she always did, like she was always meant to, like I never let her go. And for a beat, I can’t breathe. She’s real, she’s here, and I can’t help but tighten my grip. God, she is perplexing. Maddening. The years without her—without this—fall away, and my soul lights up for the first time in ages. The sensation is so overwhelming, I almost lose my senses.

I can feel a pull from the depths of her soul, compelling me.

Calling me.

I respond.

My tongue rolls over hers, savoring the taste of mint and vanilla, and that scent that’s uniquely hers.

Just as I’m losing myself in her lips completely, forgetting that anything but us exists, her hands fly against my chest.

She stares at me with hope and disbelief all at once.

“Come back,” I rasp, drawing her back, feeling drugged.

Now that I’ve tasted her lips again, resisting my hunger for her is a battle I’m doomed to lose.

God, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered. The years have only added depth to the softness in her gaze.

I cradle one hand against her neck and bring her close, urging her to look into my eyes.

Kennedy grips my shirt collar tightly. There’s a desperate strength in her gaze, a pleading stare that cuts through everything. My resolve, my deepest fears, my very essence. I swear it’s the most intense, compelling look the world has ever witnessed. I’m rooted to the spot, staring back mesmerized, undeserving of this moment, yet unable to look away.

My thumb traces over her slightly wet bottom lip, still slick from our kiss.

I lean in closer, wanting more, craving more of her.

She leans into me. I kiss her deep and long, and with everything I have. My head spins with the gratification I’ve been craving since we broke up.

Something in me softens. Other parts… harden.

My craving for her is intense and unsettling. It’s raw. Primal. Beastly.

She welcomes my kiss by slinging her arms around me, pressing hard against my erection, dragging me toward her against her desk.

My heartbeat thunders.

Fuck yes, baby , I think.

She slides onto the desk and pulls me between her legs, making it clear exactly what she wants.

This is it. This is happening. It’s clear what we need to do.

“I’ll never recover from this,” she murmurs, breathless.

“I know,” I murmur back. “Neither will I.”

I want to burn in her flame, in her raging fire, right this second, forever.

Her breath hitches, and I can feel the subtle tremor that runs through her. The moment I reach for her panties, she freezes. She leaps off the edge off the desk.

What?

“Wait, please, don’t…” I growl softly, still in a haze. “Kennedy. Baby?—”

I want to beg.

I’m half-mad with unfulfilled desire for her.

In this moment, I would give up this law firm, my success, my wealth, my entire life if I could slide into her with just one smooth thrust.

“I can’t,” she tells me, her voice desperate, her lips swollen from our kiss. “This is a mistake. It can’t happen again. Please. Don’t ever kiss me again.”

“Kennedy, no,” I say, and take a breath. “I’m very sorry, please know I am.”

Our eyes lock.

Silence stretches between us.

“For everything,” I add.

A simple “sorry” is hardly enough, no matter how sincere it is. I’m aware.

She shakes her head. Resolved, she straightens her posture. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry for bringing up our past. But don’t worry. I’m done trying to make any sense of what happened all those years ago. You had your chance to be a man and own up to it, but you chose not to. That’s your problem. Not mine.”

Her words are a sudden, unexpected blow. The abruptness of her attitude shift makes my stomach drop.

I don’t say anything. Because really, what can I say?

I just stare at her.

“I’m over you,” she continues. “I’ve been over you. I just want to be left alone to do my job. We’re professionals. Boss and employee. That’s it.”

She extends her hand for a handshake. “Truce?”

I cast a glance at her outstretched hand.

Her words sting. I can feel the muscles in my jaw clench, but I know this isn’t the time or place for protest. It’s evident—at this point, she’s done with any further discussion.

Reluctantly, I nod. I look her in the eye and take her hand in mine.

“Truce.” I force a thin smile.

“It’s a deal.” She smiles and immediately pulls her hand away. “So, I’ll be working from home, and I’ll have everything you need by the morning.”

I straighten up. “All right, that’s fine,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Just call it a night. We can finish all this up tomorrow.”

She gathers her belongings and heads out. “Break a leg at the courthouse tonight.”

Then she’s gone.

“ Fuck ,” I murmur, the moment the door clicks shut.

Well done. She’s won.

I fucked up.

I guess I underestimated her resolve and I overplayed my hand. Damn it all. I thought I had the advantage, the upper hand, but she showed me otherwise. She made her argument, and she won this one.

My head is spinning from the whirlwind of it all. The irony, the wasted time, and the relentless frustration that always rears its ugly head.

A single second is all it takes to make a mistake.

And dealing with the consequences can take a lifetime.

Whether the mistake is minor or significant, there’s always a cost. Always a price to be paid.

Shaking my head, I know that tomorrow we’ll have to carry on as if nothing happened here tonight, but for now, we’ve got to take a temporary hiatus is necessary. Like letting a scab heal into a scar.

The onrush of so many memories evoked by that kiss leaves me feeling drained.

“May the bridges I burn light the way,” I mutter, rolling my sleeves down. I adjust my tie and head to grab the folders. Glancing down at the clip and hair spray on the floor, I feel like a monster.

Maybe I fooled myself a time or two into thinking it’s all dead and buried. But one kiss from her made it painfully clear just how much of a joke that is.

I thought the memories and the feelings would fade over time. That’s what was supposed to happen.

She never faded.

I stand alone in the room for an eternity, with so many thoughts whirling through my head. I try to ignore the lingering smell of her perfume. If there had ever been any doubt in my mind, I know for certain now that ending things hurt her just as much as it hurt me. I’d always been confident she’d move on quickly—she assured me as much. It hits me like a punch to the gut that she hasn’t.

When I finally come to my senses, I look at my watch.

Shit . Time to get out of here.

Gathering everything I need, I buzz Shanice and delegate a few final tasks to her.

“Of course, Mr. Gladwell. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“No, I think we’re all set.”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Gladwell.”

I fire off a quick reply to Soren’s message wishing me good luck in court, thenI turn off my phone and watch with satisfaction as the screen goes completely black for the first time in years. For the next several hours, I’ll be unreachable.