Chapter 17
Willow
I hadn't slept worth a damn last night.
After my shower, I'd just lain there with my eyes open until morning.
That dress lay on the floor where I'd tossed it. The skirt, stained with booze, had dried stiff—like some faded old rag. I stared at the wrinkled mess for a long time, then finally bent down, grabbed it, and shoved it to the very bottom of the hamper, like I could bury last night along with it.
The person in the mirror looked washed out. Dark bruises sat under my eyes.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over my face, trying to wake up. It ran down my cheeks and did absolutely nothing to rinse away the restless, pissed-off knot in my chest.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
The screen lit up. A work message.
I gave myself a dry, ugly little smile. Not sure what the hell I'd been hoping for.
I pulled on my office suit and patted on another layer of foundation to cover the exhaustion.
The marketing department was the same as always—dead, gray, and suffocating.
I stared at my monitor for fifteen minutes. The cursor blinked. I didn't type a single word.
"Morning."
Jessica's voice floated in from behind me.
I'd thought we were long past pretending we were cool, but apparently she still felt like saying hi.
I didn't feel like answering.
Some relationships cracked and never came back. Like a plate that shattered—glue it all you wanted, the lines still showed. A permanent reminder of how stupid you'd been.
Jessica didn't seem to give a shit about my silence. She dragged out the chair beside me and sat. "I heard about the gala."
My fingers paused on the mouse.
"The gala?" I said.
"Uh-huh." Her voice sounded like half-melted candy—sweet and sticky. "The president danced the opening number with his fiancée. Video went everywhere. You didn't see it?"
I didn't respond.
I'd seen it. I'd also fled like a wreck.
Jessica kept going. "They were each other's first love, you know. When they got engaged back then, everybody envied them. If all that crap hadn't happened later, they would've been married ages ago."
Her eyes stayed on me, rolling like she was watching a show. "Willow, I'd tuck away whatever little fantasies you've got. Otherwise you're gonna make yourself look like a clown."
I tugged my mouth into something that could've passed as a response to her "concern."
A clown.
If running off in humiliation made me a clown, then I'd already been one last night—standing under those damn spotlights.
Jessica gave a soft scoff, like my reaction disappointed her.
She straightened, looking down at me. "You don't know your place. First you tried to climb into the director's bed, now you want the president's. Don't say I didn't warn you—forcing your way up there just means you'll fall harder."
I dragged in a breath and forced my eyes off the screen, up to her smug, gloating face.
"Jessica, are you bored?" I said. "If you need something to do, you can help the director organize last quarter's reports. Pretty sure that pile still hasn't been entered into the system."
Her smile froze. Then it snapped into irritation.
She clearly hadn't expected me to throw work in her face—and sure as hell hadn't expected me to call out how little she actually did.
"You—"
She pointed at me, her chest rising and falling hard.
I didn't wait for her to start yelling. I lifted my chin and met her eyes. "Or do you want me to personally update the director on your current progress?"
Her finger trembled. She shot me a look that could've cut glass, then spun around and stomped back to her desk.
I turned back to my screen.
Couldn't focus. Not even a little.
The cursor kept blinking.
I watched it for a long time, then picked up my water and took a sip.
Cold. It'd been sitting out since last night.
Then the email alert popped up.
From Tom Carson. One sentence in the body: Take this file to the top floor. A PDF was attached.
I stood, resigned, and headed to the printer.
It hummed and spit out a stack. I grabbed it, flattened the top-left corner with a stapler, and walked to the elevator.
Top floor. Artyom's floor.
Was I going to run into him? What was I even supposed to say about how I'd acted yesterday?
While I hesitated, the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.
Up here, the hallway stayed quieter. The carpet ran thicker—my steps barely made a sound.
At the end, the president's office door sat cracked open. A strip of light spilled out. I reached it, lifted my hand to knock—
And I heard voices inside.
I knew that voice.
Lily. Artyom's fiancée.
My hand froze in midair. Through the gap, I saw Lily standing at the window with her back to me. Light poured in behind her, turning her pale blonde hair into a soft gold halo.
She adjusted her collar. Artyom stood in front of her.
They stood close. Too close to be talking business.
That distance stabbed through the last thin layer of hope I'd been clinging to.
So it was real. They were a couple. The intimacy, the easy comfort between them—no words needed. It made one thing painfully clear.
I didn't belong there.
I drew in a breath and forced myself to step back from the half-open door.
The papers in my hands felt heavy. The sharp edges pressed into my fingers, a reminder of why I was there.
I hadn't come to snoop. I'd come to deliver a file.
I lowered my eyes, shoved the swell of emotion down, and tapped the door twice.
Not loud, but in that silent hallway it landed like a gunshot.
The murmuring inside cut off.
I heard a chair scrape. Then Artyom's voice—cool, hard. "Come in."
When I pushed the door open, that charged, intimate air still hadn't fully faded. Lily had stepped back to the desk, looking down as she smoothed a skirt that wasn't even wrinkled.
I walked in and set the file on the desk. "Mr. President, the director asked me to bring this up."
Artyom's gaze held on my face for two seconds. His dark gray eyes showed nothing, but shame still crawled up my neck like heat.
He had to be pissed I'd interrupted whatever they'd been doing.
I bit my lip and spoke on autopilot. "If there's nothing else, I'll head back down."
I turned to leave.
"Wait."
Artyom's voice came from behind me, but I didn't stop.
Not until the elevator doors closed did I lean back against the wall and breathe.
I didn't want to stop. I didn't know how to face him.
No matter how long we'd been... whatever we'd been... he'd never once given me a name for it.
Maybe I'd just been his long-term bed buddy. Nothing more.
Back at my desk, my monitor still glowed.
My phone buzzed.
A friend request from Lily—her profile picture was a side shot, pale blonde hair lifted by the wind.
I accepted.
A few seconds later, a message popped up.
—Are you at the office? Could you help me and Artyom grab two coffees? He likes an Americano—hot—with an extra shot.
A smiley face followed.
I stared at the screen, then typed back.
—Sure. What do you want?
—Mocha. Extra whipped cream. Thank youuu.
I stood and headed downstairs.
I'd done stuff like this a million times. It didn't even hurt. Not at first.
The coffee shop on the corner sat close to the building. No real line.
While I waited, I got stuck watching my reflection in the glass. Lily's profile photo—hair flying, bright and alive—kept flashing through my mind. She looked effortless. Loose in her own skin in a way I wasn't.
"Two coffees for you."
The barista's voice pulled me back.
I took the bag, thanked her, and went back to the office.
In the elevator, the small space filled with the smell of coffee.
On the top floor, the office door was shut now.
I knocked twice.
Lily opened it. She'd thrown on a coat. When she saw the coffees, she smiled. "That was fast. Thank you."
As she reached for them, her fingers slipped off the sleeve. The cup was already hot—I felt the little flinch in her hand.
"Shit—"
She didn't catch it. The cup slid right out between our hands.
Coffee splashed out, striking the back of her hand. Her pale skin flushed red almost instantly.
"Ah—"
Lily gasped.
The door shoved open behind her, and Artyom stepped out.
He saw the swelling redness and frowned immediately, pulling her to the sink.
Water roared.
I watched their bodies overlap in the cramped space, and something sour surged up my throat.
I stood at the doorway, still holding the one coffee that hadn't spilled. The cup burned my palm, but I didn't let go.
The air reeked of bitter coffee and faint disinfectant. It felt hard to breathe.
After what felt like ten minutes, Artyom shut off the faucet.
"I'll get the first-aid kit."
Lily nodded, voice small. "Okay."
I set the unspilled coffee on the desk and murmured, "I'm sorry."
Artyom turned his head. His lips moved—
He didn't say a damn thing. He just walked into the side lounge to grab the kit.
Lily tilted her head toward me. "It's okay. Don't take it to heart."
She blew softly on the back of her hand.
I opened my mouth to say something else, but my throat felt clogged. Nothing came out.
I took a step back, turned, and walked into the hall.
When the elevator doors closed, I didn't even hit a button. I watched my own reflection in the metal and tried to smile. I couldn't.
Jessica had been right. They were each other's first love. The kind of couple people envied.
And me?
I was just the ugly duckling.
?????
I went back down to marketing and walked straight to Tom's office.
It was one of the rare times I sought him out without being forced.
Tom's voice came through the door. "Come in."
I pushed it open.
Tom sat behind his desk, scrolling on his phone. He looked up, saw it was me, and didn't change his expression. He just flipped his phone facedown and waited for me to speak.
"I want to take the rest of the morning off," I said.
He glanced at me once. Didn't ask why.
"Fine. Go."
I knew it was Artyom's name that bought me that permission.
I also knew I couldn't cash in that kind of favor many times.
I didn't explain. I turned and went back to my desk.
I grabbed my bag and shoved everything inside without thinking.
By the time I stepped out of the building, the sun had climbed above the towers. Light spilled through the gaps between them in sharp, cut-up squares, striping the sidewalk in bright and dark.
Standing there, I couldn't figure out where to go.
Home? That empty apartment didn't feel like home.
So I just drifted with the crowd, stopping and starting.
At the first intersection, the light flipped to red. I stopped.
The countdown hit sixty seconds. I stood there and counted all the way down.
When it hit zero, the crowd surged like a tide and pushed me forward.
My legs moved on their own. I blended into strangers until I reached the entrance of a park and stopped.
The iron gate sat half open. Most of the benches hid under shade. A few torn leaves lay scattered on the ground.
I went in and sat on the bench closest to the gate.
No reason. I just couldn't keep walking.
I sat there and watched people pass.
A stroller. A dog on a leash.
The wind lifted a few loose strands off my forehead.
I didn't know how long I'd been there.
Then someone stopped in front of me. I didn't look up—just saw shoes. White sneakers, clean tops, no dirt on the soles.
He didn't move on. He stayed there.
Maybe he wanted to sit too.
I looked up.
A stranger's smile.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves and broke across him in shifting patches, making him look almost unreal. But his eyes—those eyes—were impossible to ignore.
"Are you trying to sit and rest?" I asked.
He shook his head, silent.
Then he sat down beside me.
He held a piece of candy in his hand, the wrapper bright and colorful under the light.
He offered it to me. I saw his fingers—long, clean, nails trimmed neat.
"When you feel like crap, candy helps," he said.
The light behind him warmed his light brown hair. A little wavy, falling loose over his forehead.
His eyes were a warm brown, and he looked at me like he meant it.
I sat there, stiff. "Thanks, I don't nee—"
He cut me off. "Willow."
He knew my name?
I frowned at him. He smiled. "You don't remember me?"
I studied his face, trying to pull an old shadow out of those unfamiliar lines.
Nothing. My memory felt like wet fog—heavy, blurred, impossible to shape into a picture.
"I'm Ethan Hall."
He nudged the candy closer into my hand. "Eat. Now."
Ethan Hall?
I stared at him with my mouth open, and then it all came crashing back.
Years ago, I'd stepped in for the neighbor kid. I'd been little too, but I'd seen a bunch of kids crowding him, shoving him around.
Back then he'd been chubby. Round cheeks.
Those little assholes loved picking on fat kids. They'd given him nasty nicknames, shut him out, made him eat it.
I remembered the sun that day—bright enough to hurt. I'd run over and planted myself in front of him. I'd been shaking, terrified, but I'd still yelled at them to back off.
I'd told him, "When you feel bad, candy helps."
After that, we'd been close. We'd met up to sneak snacks together. Around him, I didn't have to pretend I wasn't addicted to food. I didn't have to worry about being called greedy.
He'd always smiled and handed me something to eat, then dug candy from his pocket like it was dessert just for me.
Until he moved away.
It was so long ago I'd forgotten what the boy's face looked like. But I remembered his eyes when he looked up at me—warm brown, like honey lit through by sunlight.
"Ethan?" I said.
He smiled. "Yeah. It's me."
I felt an actual burst of happiness—then shock, because he'd slimmed down.
That round little kid everyone teased was gone. In his place sat a tall, lean teenage boy with sharp features.
If not for those warm brown eyes, I might not have recognized him at all.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought your family moved to Russia."
He lifted his hand and tucked the stray hair by my temple behind my ear, like we'd never been apart. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I was passing through. Then I saw you."
A lousy excuse. I chose to believe it anyway.
"How did you recognize me?"
"Your hair hasn't changed much." He grinned as he fixed it again. "It still stands out."
Stands out?
I froze, my cheeks heating.
No one had ever called me that.
The wind stirred again, the leaf-shadows scattering messily over us.
He smiled at me. "So. Can you eat the candy now?"
I unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth.
Orange.
My favorite.
"Good?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Honestly, what made me happiest wasn't the candy.
It was the fact that, somehow, I'd had a friend again.