Fifty-One
It’s been six weeks since I last saw Nathan Calloway.
Six weeks since I stood in that hotel suite and watched him walk away without looking back. Since I whispered the word Blackjack and ended whatever we were before it could completely break me.
I tell myself I’m fine. That I’m moving on. That I barely think about him.
Most of the time, I even believe it.
But there are nights when the city hums low and quiet, and I’ll catch myself glancing at my phone like I’m waiting for something. A message. A sign. A single fucking breadcrumb that proves I didn’t just imagine the whole thing.
He’s still there.
In the stretch of my sheets when I wake up alone.
In the scent of expensive cologne lingering in an elevator. In the strangers wearing perfectly tailored suits, the sharp sound of dress shoes against pavement.
In every damn dream that leaves me reaching for something that isn’t there.
Six weeks, and he still hasn’t let me go.
Not really.
And maybe I haven’t let him go either.
Harper stumbles into our living room, juggling an armload of folders and looking like she’s one coffee away from a complete breakdown. I brace for her usual attempt to drag me out somewhere, but for once, I beat her to it.
“I’m coming with you to the event tonight,”
I say, snapping my laptop shut.
She freezes, blinking. “Wait. I thought you were staying in. You said you wanted quiet.”
“I changed my mind.”
I stand, rolling my shoulders back like that’ll shake the weight of the last six weeks off me. “Didn’t you say you could use an extra set of hands? Someone to radio the bartenders, track the catering? I’ll do it.”
She sets her files on the table, chewing her lip. “Sienna, you don’t have to. Really, I can handle it, and you can get some rest.”
She’s searching my face, concern etched in her features. Six weeks have passed, but I guess the heartbreak’s still too obvious.
I force a half-smile. “I’m good. Promise. I’ll go stir-crazy if I stay cooped up again tonight.”
“All right. If you’re sure?”
“I am,”
I say before I head to my room to get dressed.
∞∞∞
The venue is sleek and modern, towering over downtown with its floor-to-ceiling windows and bright chandeliers. Harper works for the same marketing company I do, but she handles events, and sometimes I help out. Usually, that means holding a walkie-talkie and making sure she doesn’t stab someone when they ask for the tenth time if the hors d’oeuvres are gluten-free.
Tonight, I need the distraction more than ever.
Harper, however, stays oddly distant. She mutters a quick, “Stay near the bar, keep an eye on the caterers,”
then hurries off. Weird.
An hour in, the room settles into a pleasant hum—glasses clinking, murmured conversations, the occasional burst of laughter. I lean against a side table, checking the walkie when it happens.
There’s a prickle at the back of my neck.
Like someone’s watching me.
Like I already know who it is before I even glance up.
My breath snags in my throat.
Nathan.
He’s standing across the room, deep in conversation with a group of executives. Sharp suit, easy confidence, and the kind of presence that commands attention without even trying.
My stomach flips. The air is sucked from my lungs.
Because he’s here.
Harper sidles up beside me, mid-sentence about the seating chart before following my line of sight. She curses under her breath.
“Oh, shit.”
My fingers tighten around my walkie-talkie.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to come tonight,”
she mutters. “He was on the guest list.”
“You knew?”
She winces. “I wasn’t sure if he’d show. Figured if he did… I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to see him.”
She presses a hand to my arm, her voice softer now. “Do you want to leave? I can handle—”
I shake my head, my voice faint when I say, “I’m fine.”
But I’m not. My hands tremble. My breath comes too fast, too uneven.
“I just… need a second.”
Harper squeezes my arm and nods before I turn and slip away.
The hallway is quiet, the faint bass from the party still humming through the walls. I should be able to breathe.
Except I can’t.
Because he’s here. In this building. In this city.
A place he wasn’t supposed to be.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my hands to the cool marble counter. My stomach is a tangled mess of nerves.
It’s fine.
I just need a moment.
A few deep breaths.
In and out.
Footsteps approach.
I freeze.
“Sienna?”
God, that voice.
Low. Rough. A little hesitant.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to turn.
Nathan steps into view, looking devastatingly perfect under the soft overhead light. The cut of his suit. The tension in his jaw. The war flickering behind his eyes like he doesn’t know whether to pull me in or turn away.
“Hi,”
I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
We’re just standing here, staring, so much dancing between us.
Six weeks’ worth of unspoken words pressing in from every angle.
Say something. Say anything.
Before either of us can, someone calls out behind him.
“Mr. Calloway! Good to see you again!”
His jaw clenches, and frustration flickers across his face.
He’s here for work. Not for me.
The thought lances through my chest like a cruel joke.
I muster a shaky smile and step back.
His gaze snaps back to mine, something desperate in his expression, and I try not to crumble.
Instead, I dip my chin in quiet acknowledgment, stepping past him.
As I do, I catch the familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body so close to mine. My hand twitches.
If I reach out just an inch, I could touch him. Just for a second. Just to feel… something.
The moment passes.
I keep walking.
Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see his hand reach for me too.