Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
~DONOVAN~
Wednesday afternoon—two days after Emma hung up on me—I'm sitting in a private dining room at The Modern, trying to focus on business while my entire life feels like it's unraveling.
The product launch reviews are stellar. Tech publications are calling the AI platform "revolutionary" and "game-changing." Early adoption numbers exceed projections by thirty percent.
The IPO is scheduled for mid-September, just six weeks away.
Everything I've worked for is finally coming together.
And all I can think about is Emma.
Emma, who won't return my calls.
Emma, who's been avoiding me at the office like the plague.
Emma, who's carrying my child and treating me like the colleague who steals the coffee pods.
"Donovan?" Michael Cho's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You with us?"
I refocus on the table. In town for the week sans one asshole Josh Hanlin, Michael and his business partner—a woman named Patricia Lin—are discussing international expansion opportunities. Smart strategy. Solid projections.
I should be paying attention.
"Sorry," I say. "Late night. What were you saying about the Singapore market?"
Patricia launches into an analysis of Asian tech adoption rates, and I force myself to engage, to nod at the right moments, to ask intelligent questions.
But my mind keeps circling back to Emma.
To the way she looked at me in that conference room. Like I was a problem to be managed instead of the father of her child.
To the fear in her voice when she talked about people thinking she was sleeping her way to the top.
To the fact that she's right—people are talking, and there's nothing I can do to stop it without making things worse.
"Donovan."
I look up. Michael's watching me.
"You sure you're alright? You seem distracted."
"I'm fine. Just a lot on my plate with the IPO."
"Understandable." Patricia closes her tablet. "We won't take up more of your time. But think about what we discussed—our Singapore connections could accelerate your expansion timeline significantly."
"I will. Thank you."
We're standing, shaking hands, when the private dining room door opens.
And Vanessa Carter walks in.
My ex-fiancée. The woman I once thought I’d spend forever with.
Eight years.
It's been eight fucking years since I've seen her in person, and she looks the same as ever.
Blonde, polished, wearing a power suit probably paid for by the blood of fifty subordinates.
"Donovan." Her smile is practiced, professional. "What a surprise."
"Vanessa." My voice comes out flat. "What are you doing here?"
"Same thing you are. Business lunch." She turns to Michael and Patricia. "I hope I'm not interrupting. Michael mentioned you'd be here, and I thought I'd stop by to discuss a potential partnership."
Michael looks uncomfortable. "Vanessa's firm has been following Titan's progress. They're interested in international expansion opportunities."
Of course they are.
Vanessa's venture capital firm specializes in tech companies going global. It's actually a smart partnership.
It's also completely calculated.
"Why don't we all sit back down?" Patricia suggests, ever the diplomat. "Vanessa, you can present your proposal."
I want to say no. Want to walk out. Want to be anywhere except in a room with my ex-fiancée while my current... whatever Emma is... won't speak to me.
But this is goddamned business. And I don't let personal feelings interfere with business.
Even when those personal feelings include the woman who told me I was incapable of being present for anything except work.
"Fine," I say, sitting back down. "You have fifteen minutes."
Vanessa's smile sharpens. "That's all I need."
Her presentation is good. Annoyingly good.
Her firm has connections throughout Asia and Europe. They've successfully guided three tech companies through international expansion in the past two years. The financial projections are solid.
It's exactly the kind of partnership Titan needs for global growth.
"Impressive," Patricia says when Vanessa finishes. "Donovan, what do you think?"
What I think is that Vanessa showing up now—right when my life is imploding—is too convenient to be coincidence.
What I say is: "I'll need to review the terms with my team. We can schedule a follow-up next week."
"Of course." Vanessa closes her laptop. "Michael, Patricia, thank you for the introduction. Donovan, walk me out?"
It's not really a question.
Michael and Patricia exchange glances but don't object as Vanessa stands, clearly expecting me to follow.
I do, because refusing would be childish and unprofessional.
We walk through The Modern's main dining room in silence. The restaurant is bustling with the lunch crowd—business people discussing deals, tourists admiring the MoMA sculpture garden visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Vanessa doesn't speak until we're in the entrance vestibule, away from curious ears.
"You look good," she says, turning to face me, her soft jasmine perfume wrapping around me. "Success suits you."
I barely blink at her. “What do you want, Vanessa?"
"I told you. A partnership—"
"Bullshit. You could have sent that proposal through official channels. Why are you really here?"
Her smile fades slightly. "I heard a rumor."
"About?"
"About you being involved with an employee. A young employee." Her eyes search my face. "That's not like you, Donovan. You've always been so careful about mixing business and pleasure."
My jaw tightens. "My personal life is none of your concern."
"It is if it affects our potential partnership. Titan's going public in six weeks. Any hint of scandal could tank the IPO." She steps closer, voice dropping. "Is it true? Are you sleeping with someone who works for you?"
"Again—none of your concern."
"So it is true." She laughs, but it sounds brittle. "My God. Are you having a midlife crisis? Is that what this is? Because Donovan, sleeping with an employee half your age is not going to fill whatever void you're trying to fill."
"She's not half my age. And this conversation is over." I turn toward the exit.
"I'm just trying to help," Vanessa calls after me. "I remember what it's like when you get fixated on something. You dive in completely, consequences be damned. But this? This is going to blow up in your face."
I stop, turning back. "Like our relationship blew up? How are Andrew and Danielle, by the way?
She flinches. "That was different."
"How?"
Her voice softens, becomes almost sympathetic. "I'm not saying it was right. But I'm also not wrong about you. You're married to your work. You always have been. And this girl—this employee—she's going to figure that out eventually. Just like I did."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" She tilts her head. "How many late nights at the office? How many moments where she needed you and you weren't there because Titan came first?"
Vanessa sees the answer on my face.
"That's what I thought." She picks up her handbag from where she set it on the console.
"I hope the partnership works out. Your team can reach me through Michael.
And Donovan?" She pauses at the door. "Be careful. Girls that young? They want attention, commitment, time. All the things you're incapable of giving. I’d tell you ‘good luck’,” her blue eyes thin, “but we both know it's going to end badly. "
“We’ll just find out then, won’t we?”
I open the door for her to exit, and instead of leaving, she reaches up and fixes my collar, her red nails lightly skimming across my neck.
I grab her wrist—tightly, and she smiles.
The pulse of her skin beats against my palm, as stand outside the restaurant's front door on 53rd Street—
And see her.
Emma.
Standing on the sidewalk fifty feet away with Carmen, both of them holding to-go salads, clearly on a lunch break.
Emma looks up, and I instantly see what she sees.
The beautiful blonde beside me. Me holding the wrist of a woman as she smirks up at me as we slink out of the restaurant.
Vanessa—standing too close, looking every inch like a woman who just had a private conversation with a man she knows intimately.
Emma's expression goes painfully blank.
"Emma—" I start walking toward her.
She turns and walks in the opposite direction.
"Emma—" I bark again.
But she's already gone, disappearing into the lunch crowd with Carmen hurrying to keep up.
"Fuck," I hiss under my breath.
Vanessa’s chuckle is warm, raspy, as she pats a hand against my suit’s lapel.
“As I said,” she breathes out low, “good luck with that, Donovan. My team will be in touch.”
And I'm standing on a Manhattan sidewalk, with the woman I care about too far to reach, and the woman from my past too fucking close for comfort, knowing that I just made everything worse.
Again.