Chapter 20
The box wasn’t even heavy.
She sat in the back of the taxi with everything she’d taken from Oath Capital in a small cardboard container resting on her knees.
Though she’d been his employee for six months, the past week had felt like a lifetime. That’s how deeply she was invested—pouring herself into a role that now felt like ruins…
God, Ronan.
She’d never seen him look so blindsided.
The cab slowed.
“That’ll be twenty-two fifty,” the driver said as they pulled up outside of Flour & Honey.
She handed over her credit card. As she did, anxiety rolled through her. After today, she’d need to start watching every dollar. No more taxis. Back to the MetroCard.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, the weight of the box digging into her arms. The bakery’s lights glowed warmly against the late afternoon sky. Her phone read 5:42 p.m. Through the window, she spotted Lucy behind the counter, wiping down surfaces.
The bell above the bakery door chimed as she stepped inside.
Lucy looked up.
“Dev? What’s—” She stopped mid-sentence, taking in her expression—and the box in her arms. Realization set in. “Oh, honey,” she said, coming around the counter. She glanced at the young woman boxing pastries. “Emma, can you hold things down for a bit? I need a few minutes with my friend.”
Emma nodded.
Lucy guided her to a small table tucked into a corner, away from the last lingering customers. “Sit. I’ll get us some tea.”
Devney sank into the chair, every ounce of strength gone from her.
Lucy returned with two mismatched mugs. She set one down in front of Devney.
“I ruined everything,” she said. “The deal. My job. Everything we worked for, gone.”
Lucy slid a napkin across the table, then moved her chair closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as the sobs came—deep and wracking, held back for too long.
“They were talking about me,” she said, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “The office. Whispering. Speculating. I kept catching people staring, then looking away when I noticed.”
An expression shifted on Lucy’s face. “And?”
“And I couldn’t stand it,” she said, her voice breaking.
“After what we’d shared—the way he’d held me, made love to me, the things he’d whispered, hearing them reduce it to cheap office gossip…
” She shook her head. “I snapped.” She closed her eyes, the memory sharp as broken glass.
“I stood in the middle of the office during the celebration and announced that we weren’t engaged.
That it was all a business strategy to secure the Beauchamp deal. ”
Lucy winced. “In front of everyone?”
“The entire room,” she confirmed. “Including Andrew Beauchamp, who chose that exact moment to return for his phone.”
“Oh, Dev.” Lucy reached for her hand.
“You should have seen Ronan’s face,” she said through tears. “I’ve never seen him look like that.” She wiped at her cheeks. “He trusted me.”
Her voice broke again, fresh tears falling. “Why did I do that? What was I thinking?” The questions weren’t for Lucy, but for herself. Questions she’d been asking since the moment she’d seen Andrew Beauchamp standing in the doorway.
“You couldn’t have known Beauchamp would walk in at that exact moment.”
“She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She reached into the box and pulled out her bedazzled sunflower pen. “The most unprofessional thing on my desk. He used to look at it with this expression like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused.”
Lucy took a sip of her tea. “You left? No confrontation? No explanation?” .
“I left the ring on my desk,” she said. “It seemed like the right thing to do. When you walk away from someone you’ve…” She trailed off, unable to finish. “You leave the ring behind.”
“But you paid for that ring,” Lucy said clearly confused.
“I know. Stupid, right?” She twisted the pen between her fingers. “But it didn’t feel like mine anymore.”
“Because the feelings behind it became real?” Lucy asked.
She couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. “Maybe. Not that it matters now. The worst part is that I meant what I told you yesterday. About my feelings for him.”
“Why not tell him?” Lucy asked.
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “He’ll never believe me.”
“It was a mistake, Dev. An impulsive mistake.”
“A mistake that might cost so many people their jobs.” She closed her eyes, remembering the expansion plans, the new hires in process. “If Andrew withdraws, Oath Capital might not survive.”
She looked toward the front window. “Those sunflowers he bought me. I threw them in the trash can by my desk.”
A sympathetic look touched Lucy’s eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“Because they felt like…” She searched for the words.
“Like holding onto them would mean believing this could be fixed. And after what I did to him, to his company?” She shook her head.
“Some things can’t be undone. Better to accept it’s over than torture myself with reminders of what might have been. ”
“Are you sure about that?” Lucy pressed. “Those sunflowers suggest otherwise.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“What will you do now?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t use Oath Capital as a reference now. I exposed our fake engagement and destroyed a multi-million-dollar investment deal.”
Despite everything, Lucy laughed. “Maybe leave that part off the resume.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Again. It had been vibrating since she left the office. She ignored it, as she’d ignored the previous calls.
“That’s the sixth time,” Lucy said, nodding toward the buzzing phone. “Aren’t you going to check who it is?”
“It’s him,” she said with certainty. “Or Gabriel or Knox. It doesn’t matter. What could I say to any of them?”
“Maybe ‘I’m sorry?’” Lucy suggested. “It might be a start.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this.” She pulled the phone from her pocket, staring at the screen. Six missed calls. Four voice-mails. Three text messages. All from him. “Sorry doesn’t save a company from financial collapse.”
Her finger hovered over the notification, tempted to hear his voice.
She turned the phone face down on the table.
“You can stay with me tonight,” Lucy offered, recognizing her friend’s exhaustion. “The guest room is ready.”
“Thanks,” she managed. “I don’t think I could face my apartment right now. Too quiet. Too much time to think.”
Lucy moved to the bakery kitchen, returning with a plate. “Emergency chocolate croissants,” she announced, setting it down. “These were headed for the donation bin, but I warmed them up. Figured you needed them more. Because a sugar coma is exactly what this scenario calls for.”
“Your solution to everything.”
“Has it ever failed?” Lucy asked, pushing the plate closer. “Eat. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.”
The worst part wasn’t the professional devastation. It was the realization that any chance of a real relationship with him was gone.
Lucy moved around the bakery with ease, boxing up the day’s remaining pastries for her nightly donation drop-off. The display case sat mostly empty.
Devney stared at her phone again. The notifications had climbed. Seven missed calls. Five voice-mails. Four texts.
She picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen.
“Are you going to listen to them?” Lucy asked, glancing up from behind the counter.
“I can’t.”
“He deserves to hear from you, Dev. Even if it’s to say goodbye.”
“What would I even say?” Her voice was small. “’I’m sorry I destroyed everything you built because I couldn’t handle office gossip?’”
“How about the truth?” Lucy said. “That you were hurt. That the subterfuge became too much. That somewhere along the way, fake started to feel a lot like the truth.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t do messy emotions. He does strategy. Planning. Control.”
“Are you sure? Because the man I heard about wouldn’t buy sunflowers for his assistant or make love to her like she was the most precious thing in the world.”
The memory of their night together—the way he’d touched her with such reverence, whispered her name against her skin—hit her hard.
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”
“Is it? Because someone who’s called eight times in three hours doesn’t sound like someone who thinks it’s over.”
Her resolve wavered. What if Lucy was right? What if there was still a chance to explain, to apologize?
Her phone buzzed again. His name lit the screen for the eighth time.
“I can’t talk to him,” she whispered, silencing the call. “Not until I figure out what to do.”
“And what exactly are you going to do?” Lucy asked, settling into the chair beside her.
Devney paused. He wasn’t who she needed to apologize to.
She looked up. “I need to go to Martha’s Vineyard.
I need to see the Beauchamps myself. To explain everything.
” She straightened in her chair, feeling as if there something she could do.
“If Andrew hasn’t pulled the deal yet, maybe there’s still time to do something.
This is my mess. I created it with my impulsive outburst, and now I need to fix it. I owe him that much.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Lucy asked.
“Then at least I’ll have tried,” she said.
“How will you even get there?” Lucy asked. “It’s not like you can grab a taxi to Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.”
Lucy gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Whatever happens, you’ll face it. Then you’ll move forward.”
“How?” Devney asked.
“One step at a time,” Lucy said. “The way we always do.”
She nodded.
As Lucy locked up Flour & Honey and led her upstairs to the apartment above, determination took root. This wasn’t about salvaging a job. It was about doing what was right.
Inside, Lucy turned to her. “We’ll figure out how to get you to the Vineyard in the morning.”
Yes, they would, because she knew she had to make it right.