Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Scarlett
Over the next few days, my phone becomes a constant source of stress. Miles calls. Texts. Leaves voicemails that I delete without listening to.
I'm at my desk trying to wrap up a client report when another call comes through. Miles. Again.
I silence it and go back to work.
Ten minutes later, a text:
Miles: Please, Scarlett. Just one dinner. That's all I'm asking.
I stare at the message. Jane's voice echoes in my head—take the job, let the cards fall where they may—but I haven't told Miles about New York yet. Haven't figured out how to explain that I'm leaving Chicago for six months.
Maybe dinner would be the right time. A final conversation before everything changes.
I type back:
Scarlett: Fine. Dinner. Tomorrow night.
His response is immediate:
Miles: Thank you. I'll pick you up at seven.
I set my phone down and return to the report, trying not to think about what I've just agreed to.
***
Miles arrives at my apartment at seven sharp, holding a bouquet of red roses.
"For you," he says, extending them with a hopeful smile.
I take them, the thorns pricking my fingers through the cellophane.
"Thank you."
"You look beautiful."
I'm wearing a simple black dress, nothing special. But Miles is looking at me like I'm the most important thing in the world, and something in my chest twists uncomfortably.
The restaurant he chose is upscale, the kind of place with white tablecloths and prix fixe menus. We're seated at a corner table, candlelight flickering between us.
Miles orders wine. I order water.
"I'm really glad you agreed to this," he says once the waiter leaves.
"I know I don't deserve it, but I'm grateful you're giving me a chance to explain."
"I'm listening," I tell him.
And I do listen. For the next twenty minutes, Miles talks. About how he panicked. About how the wedding felt too fast, too permanent. About how he's always struggled with commitment, with knowing what he really wants.
"I think we rushed into it," he says, reaching across the table like he wants to take my hand but doesn't quite dare.
"The engagement, the wedding planning. We went from dating then all of the sudden engaged and planning a wedding in less than a year. I should have said something sooner. I should have told you I was having doubts."
"Yes," I agree quietly. "You should have."
"But now I've had time to think. To really understand what I lost." His eyes are earnest, pleading.
"I wasn't sure then, Scarlett. But I'm sure now. I love you. I want to make this work."
The words should mean something. They would have meant everything three weeks ago.
Now they just sound hollow.
"I don't hate you, Miles," I say, because it's true. I don't hate him. I'm just... empty when I look at him.
Relief floods his face. He does reach for my hand then, and I let him take it. His fingers are warm, familiar.
"That's a start," he says.
"We can build from there. Take it slow this time. No pressure, no rushing. Just... us."
I look at our joined hands and think about Dax. About the way he touches me—possessive, demanding, consuming. Nothing like this gentle, tentative connection.
"Miles, there's something I need to tell you."
His grip tightens slightly.
"What is it?"
"I'm leaving Chicago. I accepted a new assignment."
His face falls. "What? Where?"
"New York. It's a six-month contract. Crisis management for a major client."
"Six months?" He pulls his hand back.
"Scarlett, that's—why didn't you tell me?"
"I just found out. My boss presented it to me, and I had to make a decision quickly."
"So you just decided to leave? Without talking to me first?"
The irritation in his voice sparks my own.
"We're not together, Miles. You don't get a say in my career decisions."
"But we're trying to work things out," he argues.
"We just agreed to take it slow, to rebuild—"
"You agreed to that. I haven't agreed to anything."
He leans back, frustration evident.
"I don't understand why you have to go. Can't someone else take the assignment? Don't they have people in New York who can handle it?"
And there it is. The familiar pattern. Miles wanting me to shape my life around his needs, his comfort, his timeline.
"This is a huge opportunity," I say carefully.
"The client is paying triple my normal rate. It's going to be incredible for my career and for the firm's reputation. My boss is counting on me."
"What about us? What about giving our relationship another chance?"
"Miles." I set down my fork.
"I have to do this. It's not about you. It's about my career."
"Everything is about careers with you," he mutters.
I stare at him. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" He leans forward.
"You've always been so focused on work, on climbing the ladder, on the next big client. Maybe that's part of why I panicked. I felt like I was competing with your job for your attention."
The accusation stings because it's so absurd. I spent three years making myself smaller for him. Attending his work events. Supporting his journalism. Putting his needs first.
"I'm taking the assignment," I say firmly.
"I leave in a few days."
Miles is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs, his shoulders sagging.
"Okay. I don't like it, but okay. Maybe... maybe I can visit you? We can talk on the phone regularly?"
"Maybe," I say, noncommittal.
The rest of dinner is strained. We make small talk about work, about mutual friends, about nothing that matters. When the check comes, Miles insists on paying.
Outside the restaurant, he tries to kiss me. I turn my head so his lips land on my cheek.
"I'll call you," he says.
"Okay."
I watch him walk away, and all I feel is relief.
***
The next two days pass in a blur of activity. I tie up loose ends at work, brief colleagues on my ongoing projects, prepare handoff documents.
At home, I pack. Jane and Sarah come over to help, both of them armed with wine and takeout.
"New York," Sarah says, folding one of my dresses into tissue paper.
"I still can't believe you're actually doing this."
"Neither can I," I admit.
Jane catches my eye from across the room. She knows the full story—Dax, the hotel suite, the bathroom at the lounge. Sarah knows too now. Jane couldn't keep that kind of secret.
"How was dinner with Miles?" Jane asks carefully.
"Exactly what I expected. He wants me to stay. Wants another chance."
"And what do you want?"
I zip up a suitcase.
"I want to take this job and see what happens."
Sarah grins.
"I love that energy. Fuck Miles. You deserve better."
"Language," I say, but I'm smiling.
Before they leave, I give them copies of my apartment key.
"Check my mail? Make sure the place doesn't fall apart?"
"Of course," Jane says, pulling me into a hug.
"We'll take care of everything. You just focus on conquering New York."
"And Dax Blackwell," Sarah adds with a wink. I throw a pillow at her.
After they're gone, I look around my apartment.
Boxes stacked by the door. Suitcases lined up in the hallway.
My whole life condensed into manageable pieces.
The apartment will be here when I get back.
Blackwell Media is covering my rent as part of the contract.
Everything is taken care of. I just have to go.
The morning I leave, I wake before my alarm.
The car service is coming at nine to take me to the airport.
I shower, dress, do one final check of my apartment.
Everything is locked, lights off, windows secured.
At the door, I pause. My hand on the knob.
Six months. I'm leaving Chicago for six months to work in New York. To work with Dax.
I take a deep breath and lock the door behind me. The driver is waiting downstairs, a professional man in a dark suit who loads my luggage efficiently and holds the door for me.
During the drive to the airport, I pull out the email I received from Emma, Dax's assistant. Apartment details. Address on Twenty-Third Street. Building amenities. Move-in instructions.
And at the bottom: information about a monthly allowance for incidentals and living expenses. The number makes my eyes widen. It's generous. More than generous.
I scroll to the apartment photos. Modern, clean, bright. And according to the map, it's a fifteen-minute walk from Blackwell Media headquarters.
Dax placed me close. Deliberately.
The flight to New York is smooth. I have a window seat, and I spend most of it staring at the clouds, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
This is a business opportunity. A chance to work on a high-profile crisis management case. To learn, to grow, to build my reputation.
That's what I tell myself.
But the truth is more complicated. Because waiting for me in New York is a man who orchestrated this entire arrangement just to get me there. A man whose touch I can't forget. A man who makes me feel things I've never felt before.
What am I walking into?
The plane descends through the clouds, and Manhattan comes into view. The skyline. The buildings. The city that's about to become my home.
I'm nervous. Excited. Terrified. But I don't regret saying yes. Whatever happens next, at least I'll know.
The wheels touch down with a gentle bump. New York.
I'm here.