12. Duncan
DUNCAN
I woke before dawn, restless and unable to settle back into sleep. My mind churned with thoughts I couldn't organize, fragments of worry and anticipation that kept me staring at the ceiling until I gave up entirely.
By the time I reached the office, the sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon.
The building was empty, security lights casting long shadows across the executive floor.
I switched on my desk lamp and pulled out the documents for today's board meeting, spreading them across the mahogany surface in neat rows.
The numbers should have commanded my attention.
Revenue projections, market analyses, acquisition proposals—all of it critical to the discussions ahead.
But my focus fractured every time I tried to concentrate.
I read paragraphs without absorbing their meaning, my pen hovering motionless over pages that demanded review.
At eight-thirty, the elevator chimed. Voices filtered through the floor as staff began arriving. I forced myself back to the files, determined to salvage what remained of my preparation time.
At ten-fifteen, Ivy walked in. She moved through the outer office toward her temporary desk.
She looked tired but determined, her posture carrying that quiet strength I'd begun to recognize.
She didn't look toward my office, but her presence was more of a distraction than the memory of her beneath me.
I kept checking that she was at her desk, watching her work.
The morning crawled by. I attended brief meetings before the main board session, but my attention kept drifting to the woman working quietly outside my office.
At eleven-thirty, the board members began arriving. Nick Martinez was first, his handshake firm as always. Richard Caldwell followed, then Patricia Kim, each settling into their usual seats around the polished conference table.
The meeting itself was standard corporate procedure. We discussed quarterly reviews, debated strategic initiatives, and worked through the agenda items. I participated when required, guided conversations, answered questions, but part of me remained elsewhere.
Through the glass walls of the conference room, I could see Ivy at her desk, completely absorbed in her work.
By twelve-forty-five, the formal agenda was complete. The board members lingered, engaging in casual conversation. I stood near the conference table, listening to observations about market trends, when Richard approached me.
"You should get back out there, Duncan," he said. "Dating, I mean. You've been buried in this office too long."
The comment triggered an unexpected wave of shame. Memories rushed back—the younger woman from my past, the scandal that had followed, the headlines and whispered conversations. The fallout had been swift and brutal, forcing me to keep my personal life tightly guarded ever since.
I managed what I hoped was a neutral expression. "I'm not sure that's a priority right now."
"It should be. A man needs more than quarterly reports and board meetings."
I nodded noncommittally, but his words had opened doors I'd been trying to keep closed.
The board members finally dispersed. When the conference room cleared, I found Ivy still at her desk.
"Could I speak to you for a moment?"
She followed me into my office, settling into the chair facing my desk.
"I wanted to thank you for the other night," I said, then caught myself before I said anything too personal while on the clock.
She looked puzzled but nodded.
"I was hoping you might let me take you to lunch today. There's a place downtown that?—"
"I can't." Her refusal was gentle but firm. "I have family obligations. I need to go home right after work."
Of course. Her mother's treatments, the responsibilities that governed her schedule. I tried to hide my disappointment.
"Another time, then."
"Maybe." Her smile was soft and warm, but the rejection stung. She left my office, and I watched her walk back to her desk and sit down. The office seemed quieter after she was gone but my heart was a raging mess anyway.
Alone again, I pulled out a different set of files—the ones related to my company exit plan. Each spreadsheet told the same story: fifteen years of building this firm, countless hours invested, partnerships formed and dissolved. But what did I have to show for it emotionally?
The documents spread before me represented my carefully planned escape from this world I'd created.
Early retirement, financial independence, freedom from the boardroom politics I'd grown to resent.
But now, sitting in the aftermath of Richard's comment, the exit plan felt less like salvation and more like surrender.
The shame from the old scandal still burned. The younger woman whose name I'd trained myself not to think, the public humiliation that had followed. I'd sworn never again to put myself in a position where my personal choices could be scrutinized and judged.
But my relationship with Ivy would never be simple. The age difference, the connection to her father—it would all invite exactly the kind of scrutiny I'd spent years avoiding. And I hated that I still cared what people would think.
More than that, I feared Bill's reaction when he found out. My friendship with him anchored so much of my business relationships. The trust we'd built over years would crumble the moment he learned the truth.
But even knowing the consequences, I couldn't bring myself to step back. Ivy was it for me. I'd found what I'd been searching for my whole life, and I wasn't about to let it go.
My phone buzzed against the desk and I picked it up to see a text message from Ivy.
Ivy 11:12 AM: Need to reschedule our meeting this afternoon. Can we push it to tomorrow?
I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing my response because after the morning I'd had, watching her I didn't think I could survive this evening without that meeting.
Duncan 11:14 AM: I'll stay as late as needed. You said we'd do something today.
I sent the message and let my eyes drift up to where I could see her through the windows separating our offices. A few minutes later, I saw her pick up her phone and swipe the screen. She leaned back in her chair and read my text.
Even with walls between us and the glare on the windows, I could see her smile.
That smile did something to me I couldn't name and didn't want to analyze. But I knew, watching her grinning as she put her phone down, that whatever happened next, I wasn't going to let her walk away again.