Chapter 12 Nick
NICK
My phone sits dark on the corner of my desk. I've lost track of how many times I checked it in the last hour alone. Nothing from Avery. She usually texts me some little greeting or message every day before she starts her morning. But not today.
I can’t blame her. I was an asshole last night. She is the most important thing in my life, yet I frightened her with my harsh words and raised voice, then let her go to bed alone. I should’ve opened that damned bedroom door and made sure we talked things through.
Instead, I walked away like a fucking coward and now it feels like a wall has been constructed between us. A wall of my own making.
"Nick." Beck taps his pen against the contract. He’s been talking about earn-out clauses on a pending acquisition deal we’ve been working on for weeks, and I’ve barely heard a word.
"The timeline they're proposing is aggressive, but workable.
If we counter with a twenty-four-month window and adjust the performance thresholds, we can close by end of quarter. What do you think?"
"Sounds fine."
He glances up, studying me a long moment. Finally he leans forward, pointing to draw my attention to another clause. "They want board representation. Two seats, non-voting."
"Fine."
I don’t bother to read the terms he’s indicating. I don’t really give a shit about this deal right now. My real world—the one that revolves around Avery—feels as if it’s on the verge of imploding while I’m sitting here pretending I care about adding another acquisition to my portfolio.
“They also want a change-of-control kicker for senior management. Not unreasonable.”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”
"And they'd like you to sign over the penthouse, all of your cars, and your firstborn child."
My head snaps up. Beck's watching me with a look that says he’s just proven his point. The bastard.
"You haven't heard a single thing I've said." He sets down his pen. "So let's skip the part where you pretend to review forty million dollars’ worth of acquisition terms while you're somewhere else entirely. You look like hell, by the way."
“I didn’t sleep much.”
I lean back in my chair, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. The stubble rasps against my palm. I should have shaved. I should have had more coffee before this meeting. I should’ve done a hundred things differently, starting with the moment I made Avery feel like her feelings don’t matter.
This is my world. I know how it works. You don’t.
Jesus, I deserve to feel like shit today.
Beck is still watching me, his eyes steady with the true concern of a friend. “You want to tell me what happened between you and Avery last night?”
Normally, I’d brush it off and change the subject. I’m not accustomed to baring my soul to anyone. Other than Avery, that is. But next to her, Beck is my closest friend. Even if I try to dodge the question, he already knows I’ve fucked up with her.
"I made things worse." The admission scrapes out of me. "After you left last night, Avery and I argued again."
“About the Rennick thing?”
I nod, then shrug. "Not just about the article. About me, about the way I like to control things.”
“Ah.” Beck lifts his chin in understanding.
“I raised my voice at her." Even now, hours later, the memory turns my stomach. "I shouted at her and she flinched, Beck. She stepped back from me like—"
Like I was someone to fear. Like the safety she's always found in my arms had cracked, just for a moment, and she glimpsed something underneath that frightened her.
I don't have to finish the sentence. Beck has already followed my train of thought and can guess how things went from where I left off.
"I slept in the guest room."
His expression shifts, goes solemn now. He understands the weight of what I've just said. He’s aware of how my relationship with Avery evolved, and how it eventually imploded in Paris. He knows the hell for me that followed, a year of separation from her that nearly destroyed me.
He knows how hard I fought to win her back. How I vowed I’d never let anything come between us ever again.
I see all of that knowledge in the sympathetic look he’s giving me. "Then fix it, Nick. It’s not too late. We can call off the dogs on Rennick. Do what she asked."
"And invite every bottom-feeder in the city to take their shot?" I shake my head. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
I’ve been considering that same solution since last night, but I keep coming to the same conclusion.
"If I back down now, it signals weakness.
Every competitor with a grudge will know that Dominic Baine can be pressured through the people he loves. "
“All right, say that happens. We’ve got the resources and the influence to take anyone on who tries to come at you or Avery again.”
Ugly memories surface as I imagine the headlines that could eviscerate me. This is one area Andrew Beckham is not privy to about my life. No, those scars are too hard to show to anyone except Avery.
“I’m doing what I need to do,” I mutter. “Don’t take your foot off the gas with Rennick.”
Beck’s mouth purses as he considers my order, but he doesn’t say anything.
I pull the agreement toward me and flip through the pages. “Where’d we leave off with this?”
He goes back to reviewing the terms, and I go back to acting like any of it matters. A few minutes later, my assistant knocks on the door. At my response, Lily peeks her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt. Nick, the St. Regis needs your final authorization on a few things for the fundraiser gala. They’re holding everything open, of course, but they say they were expecting your sign-off yesterday.”
Ah, shit. With everything that happened yesterday with the article and the fallout afterward, the last thing on my mind was the Chelsea recreation center event. Avery and I have been personally involved in the planning of the gala for months. Now it’s a week out.
Even this feels inconvenient and hollow today.
“Sorry, Lily. Will you send me that electronic signature link again?”
“Already did.” She gives me a soft smile. “It should be waiting in your in-box.”
“Great. Tell them it’ll be on the way in a few minutes.”
She ducks back out, closing the door once more. Beck gathers the contracts I just signed for him, stacking them neatly to the side before passing another set to me.
“The rec center expansion’s going to be a big hit with the community, Nick. It’s really good, what you and Avery are doing.”
“Thanks.” I built the youth recreation center during the year Avery and I were broken up, but she’s become the true heart of it since the facility opened.
She was instrumental in making the Elizabeth Xavier Center a success, planning all the art programs, hiring the instructors, pouring herself into every part of it, right down to the supplies we provide the kids.
Good, but struggling kids who remind us both of who we used to be.
I scribble my signature where Beck indicates, then I slide the documents back to him. “Does that cover everything for now?”
“That’s all I have.” He collects all the paperwork then gets up to leave. His shrewd gaze bores into me. “How long have we known each other, Nick?”
“Ten years and then some.”
“Right. I’ve been around for a lot of deals, a lot of fires we’ve put out together—professional and personal. Through all of that, I've never seen you as settled as you are with Avery. I don’t think I ever saw you truly happy until she entered your life.”
I nod, totally in agreement with him. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. No offense.”
He chuckles, but his expression remains solemn. “Can I give you some unsolicited advice?”
“I’ve got a feeling you’re going to, no matter how I answer.”
“Yeah, I am. Don’t be an idiot, Nick. Don't let pride—or whatever else is troubling you about this Rennick problem—cost you what you’ve got with Avery. Nothing’s worth that. Trust me, I’ve been there, and I made the wrong choice."
He doesn’t elaborate, just stares at me while I absorb what he’s saying. Then he walks out, closing my office door behind him.
I glance at my phone again, still lying at the edge of my desk. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with the idea of easing up on the people who came after Avery, but I do know one thing for certain. I need to make things right with her.
I open my contacts and find her name. It’s still early morning, and lately she’s been waking up later than usual. I open our latest text conversation from a couple days ago, which is full of wedding details, “just thinking about you” messages, and a lot of heart and smile emojis from her.
My cursor blinks against white as I consider how to break the ice. I start typing.
I'm sorry. Can we talk?
The words sit there, inadequate. Everything I need to say to her is too large for a text message, too important to reduce to characters on a screen.
I delete the message, letter by letter, until there's nothing left but empty space.
Whatever I broke last night, I'm not going to fix it with texts that can't carry the weight of what I need to say. We need to talk this out together, in person.
She deserves to see my face when I apologize for hurting her and ask her to forgive me.
I want her to know that I'm willing to fight for us, even when the thing I'm fighting is myself.