vik
CHAPTER FOUR
This negotiation is supposed to be a bloodbath, the kind of corporate execution I usually relish. Today, it couldn’t be anything further from that. I pace the length of the wide granite plaza outside of a sleek high-rise in the heart of the financial district.
“I don’t care if the seller thinks the zoning rights justify the premium,” I snap.
My phone is pressed to my ear, and my voice cuts through the ambient roar of the mid-afternoon city traffic.
I pull at the collar of my shirt, trapped in a tailored suit that suddenly feels like it’s a cage.
“The foundation on that building is seventy years old, and the market is turning. Tell him I’ll buy the property for ten percent less than his asking price or I’m walking away entirely.
He has until five o’clock to sign or the deal is dead. ”
The person on the other end of the line—my lead acquisitions broker—starts scrambling instantly, offering a flurry for counterarguments, financial projections, and panicked justifications.
I barely fucking listen. I don’t need to.
I have the upper hand, much like I always do in my business.
I can read a boardroom like a map, predict an adversary’s move three steps before they even think of it.
I can crush any opposition without breaking a sweat.
Except when it comes to my personal life.
My eyes scan the crowd of pedestrians automatically, a restless, maddening habit I haven’t been able to break since Romy left me.
Every vibrant red coat, every flash of honey-blonde hair, every soft laugh that carries on the wind, and my back goes ramrod straight, muscles tightening in a painful reflex.
I’m practically hunting for a ghost, tracking a shadow through Seattle’s misty skyline.
And then the universe stops spinning.
Across the crowded, chaotic intersection, stepping out from the back of a yellow taxi that pulled up to the curb, is a flash of loose linen pants and a messy bun.
Romy.
My breath catches violently in my chest, air turning to pure ice in my lungs. My heart gives a painful thud against my ribs, ears ringing so loudly it drowns out the city around me.
It’s her. It’s actually fucking her.
She looks a little paler than usual, and her shoulders are a bit more tense, but it’s undeniably my Romy. The absolute ache of the past few weeks rushes to the surface, blinding me with a fierce, possessive intensity.
“And if we pull back on the commercial lease terms, we might be able to bridge the gap at five percent. Vik, are you there? Do you want me to hold firm?” The voice in my ear is nothing but white noise.
I don’t comprehend a single syllable. My entire fucking universe is narrowing down to one single point across the asphalt.
My feet move before my brain can even process the command, taking a predatory step toward the curb.
The need to get to Romy, to push through the crowds, to throw my arms around her, wrap her in my warmth, and to look into her eyes, is driving me.
I also want to demand to know why she ripped out the stupid beating organ in my chest, has gone into hiding, and left me to rot in my own head.
Then a second figure exits the cab before shutting the door behind them.
I freeze on the lip of the sidewalk. Alexandria.
My hyper-efficient, usually unflappable executive assistant is standing on the sidewalk, adjusting the lapels of her blazer.
Except she isn’t acting like an assistant out on a corporate errand like she said she was doing.
Alex reaches out, resting her hand gently on Romy’s lower back, guiding her away from the curb with a protective, fierce familiarity that I’ve never seen her employ with anyone.
Romy leans into the touch slightly, looking at her best friend with a soft, exhausted but deeply grateful expression that makes my stomach twist in a knot.
My assistant and the woman who’s been actively ghosting me, the two people who are supposed to be in my corner.
“Vik, sir? Do you want me to draft the counteroffer at ten percent off, or should we look at the alternate site on 42nd?”
“No alternate site. Do the ten percent,” I interrupt harshly, my voice completely raw.
“I have to go. Don’t call me back until this is handled.
” I slam the end-call button without waiting for a reply, lowering my phone to my side.
I open my mouth, Romy’s name tearing at the back of my throat, more than ready to roar across the busy street.
I don’t give a shit about decorum, I don’t care about the strangers between us.
I only want to stop Romy. But before her name can leave my lips, a massive city bus blocks my frame, cutting off my line of sight with a loud, aggressive hiss of air brakes followed by a thick cloud of exhaust.
“Goddamn it,” I swear, stepping off the curb directly into the street, completely ignoring the bicyclist who veers to avoid hitting me and shouts an insult into the wind.
I don’t even glance his way. I push past a cluster of passersby, tearing around the back of the bus, eyes locked on the spot where they were standing only moments ago.
I sprint across the intersection, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal’s, then hit the opposite sidewalk, my eyes wild, chest heaving as I scan the storefronts, the entrances to the office towers, and the surrounding areas.
She’s gone.
The sidewalks is a swirling sea of anonymous faces, but none of them are the woman I crave to see.
She vanished into thin air, slipping through my fingers for a second time.
A dark, terrifying rage curls in my chest, hot and toxic, mingling with the heavy suffocating misery that’s been a constant companion.
Alexandria knows. I saw her talking to Romy, helping her.
All while I’ve been sitting in my office, drowning myself in vodka, tearing my empire apart piece by piece, making my friends and partners miserable, while my own staff is keeping secrets from me.
I pull my phone back out, my thumb striking the screen with enough force I’m surprised I don’t break the glass. I open the text thread with Alex, jaw clenching so tightly the muscles in my face ache.
Me: My office. Tomorrow morning. 8AM sharp. Don’t be late. I saw who you were with today.
I stare at my screen, attempting to control my ragged breathing, watching as the little gray typing bubbles appear almost instantly.
Alex doesn’t panic. She never does; she’s too damn good at her job, too composed, and apparently too comfortable keeping me completely in the dark.
A second later, her reply pops up on my screen, cool as a fucking cucumber.
Alex: Sir, yes, sir. Should I come with coffee or your preferred vodka as of late?
I stare at the text, eyes narrowing into slits. She knows I caught them, she’s not even going to try and deny it, isn’t even attempting to fake ignorance. It’s a blatant acknowledgement, and she’s holding all the cards, willing to face the firing squad tomorrow morning no matter what.
Me: Both.
I shove my phone deep into my pocket, turn on my heel, and head back toward Sterling Capital.
The city around me feels louder, heavier, and completely suffocating.
I still don’t have any answers, and now I’m feeling too restless to sit inside my office for the rest of the day.
I don’t know what’s going on with Romy or why Alex is shielding her, but come tomorrow morning, the silence is finally going to come to an end.
I’ll get my answers, even if I have to tear my own company to shreds to get them.