Chapter 35 Bree
Bree
The subway ride to Hudson Yards felt longer than usual. Or maybe that was just the anxiety making time stretch out.
Three days. I’ve had three whole days to process everything, including the letter that arrived yesterday afternoon via Cressida’s apologetic hand delivery.
I must have read it a hundred times. Analyzed every word.
Executive Director of the Rossi Foundation.
When I first saw those words, I laughed in disbelief. You know, the slightly unhinged sound you make when reality disconnects from what you thought was possible.
I’d been expecting... I don’t know. Special Advisor to Paloma, maybe. A fancy title bump. “Senior Communications Strategist” or some corporate nonsense that would look good on LinkedIn but wouldn’t actually change anything.
Not this.
A position of real power.
My first reaction was pure shock.
My second was suspicion.
Because here’s the thing about accepting less than you deserve for long enough, you start to distrust it when someone finally offers you more. You start looking for the catch.
He broke my trust, and now he’s offering me my dream job?
It feels too much like a bribe.
Like he thinks he can buy his way back into my good graces.
The elevator dings at the twenty-eighth floor, and I step out into the reception area braced for Piper’s particular brand of passive-aggressive pleasantry.
Except she’s not here.
Instead of Piper’s carefully curated beauty and designer wardrobe, there’s a pleasant-looking woman in her fifties wearing a navy cardigan and an actual genuine smile.
She glances up from her computer as I approach, and there’s zero recognition in her expression. No ulterior motives, no hidden commentary, just... warmth?
“Good morning!” she says brightly.
“Morning,” I manage, thrown completely off-balance. “Um. What happened to Piper?”
“The last receptionist? Mr. Rossi let her go yesterday.” She says it so casually, like she’s commenting on the weather. “I’m Margaret. From the temp agency.”
Let her go.
Corporate euphemism for fired.
Nico fired Piper.
“Oh.” I blink at her, my brain trying and failing to process this information. “That’s... I didn’t realize.”
He did it for me.
Of course he did it for me.
I badge through and Margaret waves me on with that warm smile, and I distinctly feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality.
Cressida catches my eye as I pass her desk. She gives me a subtle thumbs up. I manage something like a smile in return.
And then I’m standing outside his office.
Through the glass walls, I can see him at his desk. He’s wearing a navy suit today, no tie, collar open just enough to show the hollow of his throat. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, and he looks exhausted.
Good.
No, that’s mean. I don’t actually want him to suffer.
Okay, maybe a little.
As I approach, I have the distinct impression that he’s watching me, even though his head is held ostensibly down as if he’s concentrating on some document.
I knock once.
“Come in,” he calls.
I push open the door before I lose my nerve.
Those dark eyes find mine immediately. “Bree.”
I cross to the chair across from his desk and sit. “I read your offer.”
“And?” he presses.
“It’s generous.” I pull the folder from my bag. My hands are steady. I’m proud of that. “But I can’t accept it.”
His face goes carefully blank. That CEO mask sliding into place. But I catch a flicker of pain in his eyes.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because you can’t buy me, Nico,” I reply.
His jaw tightens. I watch the muscle flex beneath the scarred skin.
“Bree.” His voice is low and rough. “I’m not trying to buy you.”
I just look at him. “Oh yeah? But it kind of feels like you are.”
He leans forward, forearms on his desk, and the intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flutter.
“As I mentioned in the letter, the position isn’t a gesture or an apology.
It’s yours regardless of whether we’re together or not.
Regardless of whether you ever want to see my face again. It’s yours, Bree. No strings attached.”
Well. That’s... not what I expected.
“Oh.” My voice comes out smaller than I intend. I clear my throat. “Okay. Well.” I open my folder. My hands are less steady now. “In that case, here’s what I need to add.”
I start listing my conditions. I get separate office space.
I get my own assistant, someone who reports to me, not borrowed from his staff pool.
I report to the board, not him. I control all foundation messaging and communications.
I get a professional development budget for conferences, panels, and so forth.
He nods along to each one, no pushback, no negotiation.
Which is almost annoying, honestly. I prepared counterarguments.
I should feel triumphant. Instead I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something, looking down into a drop I can’t quite measure.
Because I’m not finished.
I hold his gaze. “Okay then. Well. Now. About Kendrick.” His whole body goes still.
“I understand why you did it. Part of me is grateful. But you took that decision from me. I need to know you won’t do that again.
That you won’t make decisions for me, even if you think you’re protecting me.
Even if you’re right.” My voice catches slightly. “I need to know you’ll ask me first.”
He’s quiet.
I hear only the hum of the ventilation system, and the distant murmur of the office beyond the glass walls.
When he finally speaks, his voice is careful. “I can’t promise I won’t want to. But I promise I’ll try. And I promise I’ll tell you the truth, even when it’s hard.”
“That’s not the same as...”
“I know.” He meets my eyes, and there’s no mask now. Just Nico, raw and honest and so frickin’ beautiful it makes my chest ache. “But it’s the best I can do. Because if someone threatens you, Bree, I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. I can’t.”
I exhale slowly. “I know. And that’s what scares me. Because part of me is thrilled that you’d burn the world down for me.” The admission costs me something. “And part of me is terrified of being with someone who would.”
His hands flex on the arms of his chair. “I don’t regret taking him down. Making sure he’ll never do that again to anyone.”
He’s not sorry.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure I want him to be.
That’s the terrifying part.
That’s the thing I’ve been wrestling with for three days.
The difference between Kendrick and Nico isn’t that Nico wouldn’t use his power.
It’s that he uses it for me instead of over me.
I look at him across that expensive desk, this scarred, stubborn, infuriating man who lied to me and broke my trust and also made sure the monster from my nightmares could never hurt me or anyone else again.
“That’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?” I ask.
“It is,” he agrees.
“Then I accept.” I swallow. “The job. Us. If you in turn can accept that I’m not going to make this easy.”
“I don’t want easy.” His voice crackles. “I want you.”
God.
Heat floods my cheeks. I look down at my folder because if I keep looking at him I’m going to do something stupid like climb across his desk.
“There’s one more thing,” I manage.
I pull out the second document. The letter I wrote at three AM on Sunday, when I couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stop thinking about the six other women who shared my nightmare.
“I want to send this to the other victims. Through your lawyers so it’s official.” I slide it across the desk. “I’m thanking them for their bravery. Apologizing that my silence enabled him to continue. Committing to using whatever platform I have now to support Title IX reform.”
He reads it. When he looks up, his eyes are wet with unshed tears.
“I’m taking back my narrative,” I manage. “Not hiding from it anymore.”
“I know.” His voice is soft. “I’m so proud of you.”
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
I blink rapidly and focus on gathering my papers. “So. Press release. Official announcement. My new position.”
He stands, comes around the desk, and stops just close enough that I can smell him. I just look up at him. At this man whose mouth I’ve kissed a hundred times. At this man who broke my trust and earned it back in the same breath.
His hand comes up to cup my jaw. “I love you, Briana Sutton Dawson.”
I lean into his palm. “I love you, too, Nicolò Dante Rossi.”
He kisses me. Doesn’t bother setting the smart glass to opaque.
And I don’t care anymore, either.