Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
Maci
Sometimes the hardest level isn't losing. It's not knowing whether you were ever really playing.
For several seconds after Witt walks away, I forget how to move.
I walk just near the edge of the ballroom with the music still playing, champagne still bubbling in glasses around me, and my heart still lodged somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
The spot where his mouth touched mine feels impossibly awake, like every nerve there refuses to believe the rest of the world continued spinning after he left.
I shouldn't have done that.
That's what he said.
Not I didn't want to.
Not that was a mistake.
But close enough that my brain has already started filling in the missing pieces, arranging them into the ugliest possible pattern because apparently that's what insecure hearts do best. One minute, Witt O'Ryan was looking at me like I was the only thing in a room full of donors and executives and flashing cameras.
The next, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like he could outrun whatever happened between us.
Maybe he can.
Maybe that's the difference between us.
I know how to chase a problem until I solve it.
Witt knows how to walk away and analyze it until it no longer feels dangerous.
"Maci?"
Chase's voice pulls me back.
I turn and find him standing a few feet away with two glasses of water in his hands and concern tucked behind his easy smile.
Tyler is behind him, still talking animatedly to two guys in suits, one of whom looks like he might be an assistant coach, or maybe just rich enough to appear employed by football.
My brother has been in heaven all night, soaking up every conversation like this gala is a networking event designed specifically for twenty-one-year-old baseball players with too much confidence.
"Hey," I say, taking the water Chase offers.
His gaze moves over my face, slower than usual. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just overwhelmed."
It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth.
Chase nods like he knows the difference but isn't going to call me on it in the middle of a ballroom. That's one of the things I like most about him. He notices without trapping people inside the noticing. He gives you room when the truth isn't ready to come out.
"Your brother is sweet on the brunette," he says, angling his head toward Tyler.
I follow his gaze.
Tyler is now standing beside a girl in a sleek black dress with dark hair falling over one shoulder. She's smiling softly while he talks, not in the polite way women smile when they're waiting for a man to stop. A real smile. One that makes her whole face brighten.
"I think her name is Paulina," I say. "And I'm pretty sure she's Greyson O'Ryan's daughter."
Chase whistles under his breath. "Your brother doesn't aim low."
"No. He thinks he's the main character in all of our lives."
"Honestly, after tonight, I'm starting to believe him." Chase lets out a slow rolling chuckle.
I laugh, and the sound comes easier than I expect.
Tyler catches me looking and gives me a dramatic thumbs-up like he's doing me a favor by charming one of the most connected girls in the building.
I roll my eyes and silently pray he doesn't say anything ridiculous enough to end my employment before I make it through my third week.
"She seems nice," Chase says.
"I haven’t met her, but Witt seems to be the protective uncle.”
"Sad.”
That makes me look at him.
Chase shrugs, his attention still on Paulina. "I meant, your brother is going to be the rebound guy."
Sometimes Chase says things that remind me why he got under my guard so quickly. He acts easygoing, almost careless, but he sees people. Not the way Witt sees patterns, but the way a good friend sees when someone's smile doesn't quite reach where it should.
"Her boyfriend recently broke up with her," he whispers in my ear. "That’s what she told Tyler.”
"Ah." No wonder Witt was worried. Chase and I watch Tyler make Paulina laugh again. "Well, maybe Tyler is a good distraction."
He says, "Or a walking HR violation."
"He's not employed here."
“But you are."
"Then tell him not to do anything weird to get me fired." I look back at Tyler, who is now gesturing with his hands like he's explaining either baseball strategy or the plot of his own life. "But we both know that ship sailed sometime around birth."
Chase chuckles, but when the laughter fades, his attention returns to me. "You've been somewhere else since the speech."
My fingers tighten around the water glass.
"No, I haven't."
His brows lift.
I sigh. "Fine. Maybe a little."
"Witt?"
The sound of his name is a direct hit. I don't answer fast enough.
Chase's expression doesn't change much, but something in his eyes sharpens. Not jealousy. Not accusation. More like he just found the missing piece in a puzzle he didn't realize he was solving.
"Nothing happened," I say quickly.
Another lie.
Or not.
What counts as something?
A kiss counts.
A kiss followed by the man saying he shouldn't have done it and leaving definitely counts as something.
Chase takes a drink of water, giving me time I didn't ask for but desperately need. "Maci, I'm not asking because I think you owe me an explanation."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
He looks at me for a long second. "You thanked me four times tonight."
I frown. "I did?"
"Yes."
"For what?"
"For telling you about the job. For helping you pack. For introducing you to the idea of Austin. For being here." His mouth curves, soft and crooked. "You keep acting like I built the door when all I did was point at it."
Something tightens behind my ribs.
"Chase—"
"No." He shakes his head. "You got this because you're brilliant. You earned it before I ever said the word Synatrix. I just reminded you to look."
I blink too fast. Of course, he would say exactly the thing I didn't know I needed to hear.
I step forward and hug him before I can talk myself out of it. He wraps one arm around me, warm and solid and familiar in the way safe things are familiar. There's no lightning bolt. No dangerous pull. No sense that the world has gone quiet because one man is looking at me.
But there is comfort.
And right now, comfort is the only reason I don't fall apart in the middle of a black-tie gala.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He laughs against my hair. "That's five."
I pull back and wipe under one eye carefully, so I don't ruin whatever magic Noelle did to my makeup. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
From across the room, Tyler waves both hands like he's trying to land an aircraft.
"I think that's my cue," I say.
Chase glances over. "He's either ready to leave or about to ask Greyson O'Ryan if he can date his daughter."
I groan. "I need to tell Tyler goodbye before he does something to get me fired."
"Smart."
We make our way across the ballroom, weaving through donors and players and executives who all look like they belong in magazines.
Every few steps, someone stops Chase or Tyler, and every time, Chase is charming without trying.
Tyler is louder, brighter, and entirely too pleased with himself.
By the time we reach him, Paulina has been pulled away by Greyson, but Tyler is still smiling like the night personally handed him a trophy.
"Don't," I say before he can speak.
Tyler’s grin widens. "I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"She's nice."
"Tyler."
"What? I said nice."
"Don't do anything to get me fired."
He scoffs. "You think I don't know how to behave around important people?"
Chase and I both stare at him.
Tyler sighs. "Wow. No faith."
"I have faith," I say. "In your baseball skills."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
He pulls me into a hug, squeezing too tight like always. "I'm proud of you, Mace."
The words nearly break me.
Because Tyler doesn't say things like that often. He loves loudly, annoyingly, through teasing and headlocks and eating the last of whatever snack I wanted. But this is different. Softer. Real.
"Thanks," I say, my voice catching.
He pulls back and studies my face. "You okay?"
Good grief. Apparently every man in my life has decided tonight is the night to become emotionally observant.
"I'm fine."
"That's what girls say when they're not fine."
"Who taught you that?"
"Lauren." He kisses the top of my head. "Don't work too hard."
"Don't flirt with the owner's granddaughter too hard."
"No promises."
I point at him.
He grins.
Chase walks me toward the elevators, but pauses before he says, "Text me tomorrow?"
"I will."
"And Maci?"
"Yeah?"
He nods toward the ballroom, toward the foundation displays, toward the company I still can't believe I work for. "You fit here."
He doesn’t say I’m beautiful or impressive, or even lucky. Just you fit here.
For most people, maybe that wouldn't matter. For me, after a lifetime of sitting in bleachers with a handheld game console while everyone else belonged to fields and teams and scoreboards, it matters more than I know how to explain.
"I hope so," I say.
"You do."
Then he's gone.
I stand there for a moment, watching Chase and Tyler disappear into the crowd near the elevator bank, and try to hold on to the feeling those words gave me.
I want to believe him. I really do. But fitting at Synatrix and fitting inside Witt's penthouse are not the same thing.
By the time I make it back upstairs, the emerald dress feels heavier than it did an hour ago. The private elevator opens into the penthouse, and silence greets me so completely that I pause before stepping inside.
No laughter.
No music.
No Noelle.
No children building blanket forts.
No Witt waiting in the kitchen with a black mug and unreadable eyes.
Only quiet.
I peek around the corner of the living room, and no Witt.
I take my heels off and carry them in my hand as I pad down the hallway.
Witt’s hallway. It’s dark except for a lamp glowing at the end of the hallway, casting soft gold light across the marble floor.
His office door is closed, but there is a thin line of light beneath it.
He's here.
The question remains, is he hiding, avoiding or analyzing?