Chapter 33
TORI
After all these weeks away, I wake up in my own bed. My own apartment.
Milky-gray light filters through the windows, settling over the prewar buildings of Park Avenue. Cool stone, rigid symmetry, perfect alignment. Below, impatient taxi drivers lay on their horns despite the early hour, the bleating sound drifting up. A muted, familiar city symphony.
I should feel relieved to be home.
Instead, I’m empty. More alone than ever.
Last night was a disaster of epic proportions. Eleanor. Miles the whale.
Bennett.
The pain etched on his face when Eleanor mentioned his probation.
And how I didn’t do anything about it.
An ache stabs me in the chest, thinking about how I let him walk away. Hurt and betrayed.
Damn it.
That spot behind my right eye throbs, insistent, thudding with each beat of my heart. Pain radiates through my head and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to ease the ache.
But it’s still there.
I sit up and reach for my phone. Not daring to hope for a text from Bennett.
But hoping anyway.
Nothing.
No text, no missed call.
And the silence is deafening.
I stare at his contact info, the weeks’-long text chain. Evidence of what we’d become.
The GIFs.
Flirty messages between us.
Late-night admissions of feelings we didn’t dare say in daylight.
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink fast and don’t let them fall. I bite at my lip, debating.
I could text him, pretend I’m checking in. But we’re so far past our old roles now. Anything I say will come off wrong.
After another long minute, I set my phone down and crawl out of bed.
Go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wash my face.
Staying in my pjs, I make a quick espresso before grabbing my laptop and sitting at the marble bistro table in the kitchen.
The sun’s finally rising, orange rays of light slicing through the buildings.
I open my laptop and click into my email, ready to triage like I do every morning. I delete a few junk messages, then a message from a newer investor — one I courted for weeks — grabs my attention.
Subject: Urgent: Reputational Risk / LP Concerns
My stomach sinks as I click into the email, heat prickling at the back of my neck.
Tori –
I’ve been made aware of some chatter coming out of The Carrington Club last night involving you and a Coastal Crushers player.
I don’t need the details and I’m not asking for them.
What I will say is that in this business, perception is the only reality that matters.
And right now the perception from my end isn’t good.
You know we backed you because you run a disciplined book and because your judgment is a differentiator in the space. But if your name shows up in a society column or gets wrapped into a hockey headline, it creates noise we can’t underwrite. This is how reputational risk starts.
Because of this, I’m pausing my commitment to the fund for the foreseeable future. I have great respect for your work and wish you continued success.
Best,
Graham Rockport
I skim the email, then re-read the damning words again.
And again.
Four times through and the nausea rolls through me.
Hearing chatter.
Fucking Eleanor.
Bennett’s hand at the small of my back, his breath warm against my cheek.
Reputational risk.
My entire livelihood is built on judgment, discipline. Being the safest pair of hands in the room. If investors start questioning that, I don’t just lose money.
I lose trust.
And trust is the only currency that matters in this business.
My fund doesn’t implode overnight. It bleeds out, low and slow. One LP at a time.
I hemorrhage everything I’ve worked for my entire career.
Dammit.
All because of one night. One stupid event I never wanted to attend in the first place.
Fingers hovering over the keyboard, I type a rebuttal.
Re: Subj: Urgent: Reputational Risk / LP Concerns
Graham –
Thank you for reaching out about the society gossip you’ve heard. While I appreciate your reasoning, I assure you nothing is distracting me from my fiduciary duties at the fund.
I’m fully invested in the success of the Prince Fund and remain as committed as ever to making the most sound investments on the Street.
Best,
Tori Prince
I sit back, arms folded over my chest and read the response.
Society gossip.
True statement, but that’s probably not going to land well with a man like Graham Rockport. The man doesn’t do gossip.
Plus, I sound guilty as hell.
Delete.
I stare out the window, ignoring the blinking cursor. Birds fly by in a V-pattern, swooping high, then low. The hum of the city rises as the morning traffic turns to the lunch hour rush.
Reaching for my espresso, I take a sip. Cold and bitter, I set it back down on the table. Fold my legs under me and sigh before positioning my fingers above the keyboard again.
Re: Subj: Urgent: Reputational Risk / LP Concerns
Graham –
I appreciate you coming to me directly. The situation you referenced was professional in nature and has since concluded. It won’t be a factor going forward.
My track record speaks for itself. I’d welcome a call this week if you’d like to discuss the fund’s current positioning.
Best,
Tori
The words are right.
Mostly.
It won’t be a factor going forward.
My stomach knots so tight I can barely breathe.
Won’t be a factor.
Maybe true.
I glance at my silent phone sitting next to the abandoned espresso cup.
Probably true.
My fund’s in the worst position it’s ever been in and still I can’t bring myself to send this email.
Delete.
The clouds build outside my window, the sun slowly fading as the afternoon drifts toward evening. My phone buzzes with work notifications, but I ignore them. The cursor keeps flashing, tormenting me.
Re: Subj: Urgent: Reputational Risk / LP Concerns
Graham –
My personal relationships are none of your business. I put the fund first in everything I do. Always have.
And I will continue to safeguard the fund’s assets. Obviously.
But not at the expense of Bennett.
While I appreciate your candor, kindly fuck off.
All the best,
Tori Prince
I read this version of the email. Once. Twice. Three times.
Not at the expense of Bennett.
Because he’s not dispensable.
He’s reckless. Infuriating. Impossible to manage.
Also, funny as hell. Charming. Loyal in ways that sneak up on you.
Someone worth loving.
I stare at the email for thirty minutes, wishing I could press ‘Send’ on the damn thing.
Then I delete the message, one letter at a time.
Some things are better left unsaid.
My phone chimes with a reminder notification: Away game, 7 PM
I shouldn’t go.
The last thing Bennett needs is me in that arena, reminding him of last night.
The dark blue Crushers lanyard dangles from my bag.
Tempting me.
Closing the laptop, I stand and stretch. The sky’s fully dark now and the walls around me suddenly feel more like a gilded cage than a safe haven.
I’ll go and check on him one last time. To make sure he’s okay.
I hurry to my bedroom to change out of my pjs, suddenly more alive than I felt all day.