Chapter 24 #2
“You know,” I continue, heart pounding but voice steady, “I spent years being told what was best for me-that I needed to be more serious, more focused, less me.” I lean forward, matching her intensity. “But I won’t do that anymore. I won’t let anyone decide my future for me.”
Mrs. Spencer’s eyes flicker—surprise, maybe respect.
“I appreciate your offer,” I say, each word deliberate, final. “but I don’t need your connections or your influence. I’m capable of building my own path.”
A beat of silence.
“Very well,” she says, smoothing an imaginary crease in her dress. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
She turns to leave, but I stop her with one last declaration.
“And for the record, Alfie deserves more than to be another pawn in someone’s game. He deserves family who sees him for who he is, which is a pretty fucking amazing guy.”
She hesitates, then nods once, a grudging acknowledgment of a battle lost.
When she walks away, the weight lifts from my chest—years of being managed, sheltered, and lied to.
For the first time, I truly feel like I’m making choices for myself.
No strings. No lies.
Just me.
And it feels damn good.
It’s nearly closing when James corners me by the stock room. I’m exhausted, my guard down after hours of navigating Spencer family politics.
“You handled that well,” he says, standing too close. “Let me make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow?”
“James—”
His hand grips my arm, hard enough to hurt. “Come on, T. Stop playing hard to get.”
“Let go.” I try to pull away but hit the wall. “You’re hurting me.”
“Always so busy.” His fingers dig in deeper. “Always running off with that rich boy who’s clearly using you. We both know how this ends.”
I see Alfie over James’ shoulder before James does. See the exact moment something in Alfie’s expression goes cold.
The next thing I know, Alfie has James pinned against the wall, forearm across his throat. “If you ever touch her again—”
“Alfie, don’t—”
“What are you going to do?” James chokes out, but there’s fear in his eyes now. “Daddy’s lawyers—”
Alfie presses harder. “I don’t need lawyers to deal with men who don’t understand the word ‘no.’”
“I can handle this,” I say sharply, but neither of them seem to hear me.
“You’ve been warned about harassment,” Alfie continues, voice deadly quiet. “Multiple complaints. Multiple women. Did you think nobody would find out? I found out, James Kelley, and I swear to fucking God if you touch her again, I will end you.”
James struggles but can’t break Alfie’s hold. “You have no right—”
“Every right when you’re hurting her. When you’re creating a hostile work environment. When you’re—”
“You’re fired,” James spits at me. “Both of you get out before I call the police.”
“Call them,” Alfie says coldly. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about all those complaints you’ve buried.”
“Alfie, stop!” My voice breaks. “Please.”
Something in my tone finally reaches him. He releases James, who slumps against the wall gasping.
“Tara–” Alfie starts.
“Don’t.” I’m shaking now, with anger or hurt or both. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t get involved.”
“He was hurting you.”
“And I was handling it! I had a plan.” The tears are back but now they're angry. Though even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true. James had been getting bolder, scarier, and maybe I had been naive thinking I could manage him forever. But that's not the point.
“I didn't need you to swoop in and save me. I needed you to trust me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“I don't need your protection!” It comes out like a sob. “I needed my job. I needed you to at least talk to me before deciding what was best. But you just couldn't help playing the hero, could you?”
The worst part is knowing we were both wrong - me for pretending I had it under control, and Alfie for not even giving me a chance to handle it myself.
“Get out,” James wheezes, straightening his collar. “Both of you. And don't think about coming back.”
“Tara, please—”
“Just go.” I turn away. It's raining and dark and I don't have a way of getting home but I don't care. I can't wait in here until an Uber comes, I sure as hell can't ask James or Alfie for a ride. I grab my backpack and start the 3 mile walk home.
The rain starts about two minutes into my walk home. Of course, it does. Because this night couldn’t get any worse.
I hear his car before I see it, crawling along beside me at walking pace. My fluffy pink backpack is already soaked.
“Go away, Alfie.”
“Get in the car, Tink. It’s pouring.”
“Don’t call me that.” I walk faster. “And don’t follow me. Nobody’s around. You don’t need to pretend to be my boyfriend, remember?”
“Tara.” Just my name, soft and worried.
“I said go away!”
The car keeps pace. Water drips down my neck, and my stupid backpack is probably ruined, and I can’t deal with him right now. Can’t deal with feeling this humiliated, this angry, this…visible.
“It’s a forty-minute walk.”
“Then I’ll walk for forty minutes.”
“In the rain?”
“Better than being in a car with you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then, “At least let me drive you home. No talking required.”
I want to refuse. Want to be stubborn and angry and walk the whole way in this stupid rain. But my backpack is soaked and my mascara is probably running and I just... I’m tired.
“Fine.” I yank open the passenger door. “But I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
I shiver a little against the cold that has seeped into me.
He turns up the heat, and the silence stretches between us. Part of me wants him to try again, to push, to give me an excuse to yell at him properly. To match the storm inside my chest with the one outside.
But he just drives, careful and controlled like always. Respecting my wishes exactly like I asked. Because, of course, he does - he’s Alfie Spencer, and even when he’s messing everything up, he still somehow manages to be annoyingly perfect about it.
His profile is dark, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tap against the wheel at red lights. He’s right there, close enough to touch, but it feels like we’re miles apart.
He pulls up outside my building, engine idling. Neither of us moves. Rain drums against the roof, creating this bubble where time feels suspended. Where I can pretend we’re not broken.
I should get out. Should be angry, should stay angry. But the heat from the vents is making me drowsy, and he smells like lab chemicals and expensive cologne, and it would be so easy to just...
“Thanks for the ride.” My fingers curl around the door handle, but I don’t pull.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. I remember those hands. Splayed across my spine, gripping my hips, tangled in my hair.
“Of course.” His voice is low in that way that makes heat pool in my stomach.
I know if I look at him, I’ll cave. Will forget why I’m mad, why this is wrong. Will just see him—Alfie, who kisses like he’s running out of time, who touches me like he’s trying to commit me to memory, who made me fall apart in his arms just hours ago.
“Do you...” Want to come up? Want to press me against my door? Want to make me forget my own name?
“Tara.” The way he says my name is dangerous.
It would be so easy to lean across the console. To grab my fingers in his hair and kiss him until we both forget why we’re supposed to be apart. Until the hurt and anger dissolve into something simpler, something that feels like his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine.
I make the mistake of turning toward him. He’s already watching me, his dark eyes heavy with everything we’re not saying.
One kiss. That’s all it would take. Just one, and I’d be gone. I’d let him touch me, ruin me, rewrite the ending to a story that’s already over.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Run, my brain whispers. Stay, my body begs.
I wrench my fingers around the door handle and push it open before I can second-guess myself.
I don’t look back when I say, “Goodnight, Alfie.”
But I hear his exhale when I step into the rain.
And that’s somehow worse.