Chapter Nine - James
CHAPTER NINE
James
James was brushing snow from his expensive shoes in the lobby when the voices drifted from the common room.
"Two hours," Mrs. Chen was saying. "Poor girl sat there the whole time, just waiting."
James barely listened, more focused on protecting his Italian leather from salt stains. These residents were always gossiping about something.
"And he just... left her there?" Mr. Thompson's voice carried clear indignation. "Didn't even call?"
"Didn't even text." Mrs. Chen's tone could have frozen water. "Just walked out and never came back."
James's lip curled slightly as he inspected his shoes. Some people really had no class. He'd never—
"She kept making excuses for him," Mrs. Peterson joined in. "Told the waiter there must have been an emergency."
Something nagged at the edge of James's consciousness. A faint echo of recognition that he tried to brush away.
"The bill was almost nine hundred dollars." Mrs. Chen's words fell into a heavy silence. "She put it on her credit card. Didn't even hesitate."
James's hands stilled on his shoes.
"At least she held it together until she got home," Ray the superintendent added. "Though the snow in her hair, the way she was shaking... never seen her look so small."
The sick feeling started in James's stomach. Snow. Last night. An expensive restaurant.
No. They couldn't be talking about—
"You know what kills me?" Mrs. Peterson again. "She was so excited. Spent all that time getting ready. And for what? To sit there while everyone stared and whispered?"
James's collar felt suddenly tight.
"What kind of man," Mr. Thompson's voice dripped with contempt, "uses a sweet girl like that for some revenge plot against his ex?"
Revenge plot. The words echoed in his head, bouncing off memories of Instagram posts and carefully chosen table placements.
"She's too good for him anyway," Ray declared. "All those mornings helping residents, organizing community events. Meanwhile, he can't even look up from his phone long enough to say good morning."
Oh god.
They were talking about him.
He was the jerk in their story.
"You know what breaks my heart?" Mrs. Peterson sighed. "She'll make excuses for him, just like she did at that fancy restaurant. She'll probably even smile at him in the lobby tomorrow."
"She might," Mrs. Chen's voice carried clear across the marble floor. "But we won't."
James straightened abruptly, his movement echoing in the lobby. The voices in the common room went quiet, then deliberately louder.
"Did you hear something?" Mrs. Peterson asked pointedly.
"Just the sound of someone realizing he's not as perfect as he thinks he is," Mrs. Chen replied.
James turned toward the elevators, needing to escape. But his reflection caught him in the polished brass doors. He saw the man who left a woman sitting alone for two hours at Nero's on Valentine's Day.
The man who skipped out on the bill.
The man who—his stomach lurched—had already posted the photos on Instagram.
"Running away again?"
He turned to find Mrs. Chen watching him, her small frame somehow filling the lobby.
"I have a call scheduled with investors," he lied, hating how weak it sounded.
"Of course you do." She studied him. "My grandmother used to say: A man's character isn't in his wallet, James. It's in the wounds he leaves on others."
As the doors closed, James caught one final glimpse of his reflection. His tie sat perfectly straight, his suit perfectly pressed. Everything about him was perfect.
Except for the uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
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James's corner office felt smaller than usual. The city sprawled out beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows, but all he could see was an empty chair at Nero's.
"Your 11:30 is ready," Angela's voice came through the intercom.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, standing abruptly. He was James Park. He didn't waste time feeling guilty about strategic decisions. The plan had worked—Vanessa had seen exactly what he wanted her to see.
But the image wouldn't leave: Hannah, watching the door. The champagne getting warm. Her smile getting more strained with each passing minute.
Had she ordered anything? Or had she just sat there, not wanting to start without him? The thought made his stomach turn.
Why does this bother me?
He'd done worse things in business. Had to, to get where he was. This was no different. Hannah was just... collateral damage in a larger strategy.
Except.
Eight hundred and forty-seven dollars. How much did teachers get paid?
"Stop it," he commanded himself, but his reflection in the window looked uncertain. Un-James-like.
His phone buzzed: another message from Mike congratulating him on a perfectly executed plan. The photos had hit exactly the tone they wanted.
James opened Instagram, scrolling to his latest post. There was Hannah, caught in profile against the city lights, looking overwhelmed by Nero's elegance. Her silver apple necklace was the kind you'd find in a department store jewelry counter.
The caption he'd written— Sometimes the best things in life are right in front of you —had seemed perfect that night.
This morning they made him feel physically ill.
Because she had been right in front of him, hadn't she? Every morning in the lobby. Helping elderly residents with their groceries. Smiling at him even when he never smiled back.
The delete button for the post seemed to mock him. But deleting it now wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't give her back the time she'd spent anticipating their date. Wouldn't erase the memory of her sitting there, alone, making excuses for a man who'd used her kindness against her.
"Mr. Park?" Angela's voice again. "Your mother is on line one. Something about dinner?"
James stared at his phone, at his perfectly curated social media presence. At all the evidence of a life where he'd never had to think about the people he stepped on to maintain his image.
"Mr. Park?"
"Tell her I'm in a meeting."
But even his standard excuse felt hollow now. Because somewhere in this city, a third-grade teacher was probably standing in front of her class, pretending that night hadn't happened. Pretending she hadn't expected decency from a man who had instead stepped all over her.