Chapter Nineteen
Eliza
The morning gift on my desk, fourth this week, was a cube of Belgian chocolate nestled in a box that cost more than my shoes.
Next to it stood the impossible white orchid: petals so pure I checked for hidden plastic.
I swiveled it so the best bloom faced me, ignoring the cluster of emails that I was supposed to be tackling.
I liked it. I liked it too much.
I took the box and slid it into my drawer, refusing to acknowledge how it made my chest ache in a sweet, strangling way.
By ten, I’d fended off the day’s first fire when my office door banged open. Calvin, currently unshaven and sunburned, charged in, holding a coffee.
“You still don’t lock your door? In this city?” he demanded, appraising the office with a look that suggested I’d decorated it in biohazard chic. “I’d stage an intervention, but you’d probably convert the therapist in three sessions.”
“Cal, you hate therapy,” I reminded him, mostly to keep control of the conversation.
He ignored that, settling his ass on my guest chair, shoes already on the arms. “Wow. New flowers. Any chance this guy’s a real human or are you just catfishing yourself for the attention?”
I swiveled away from the computer, elbows on the desk, chin on knuckles. “Jealous?”
“Always.” He grinned, and I saw the wolf underneath the play. “He got a name yet? Or are we doing the anonymous sugar-daddy thing?”
I shrugged. “Some men like to keep a sense of mystery. Maybe you could try it, next time.”
Calvin squinted at the card, then flipped the chocolate box over, hunting for clues. I could’ve told him he’d find nothing. “You know, if you’re fucking someone you can tell me. Unless it’s someone Mom set you up with. Then I need to stage the actual intervention.”
“It’s not Mom,” I said, voice flat. Then, because I was bored of deflecting, “Are you here to talk about my imaginary sex life, or do you need a loan?”
His eyes went big and tragic, but there was a pulse of real feeling behind the act. “I’m here for my little sister. You seemed… off, last call.”
I’d been off. He didn’t need to say it.
I softened, just for a second. “I’m good. Just the usual mergers, acquisitions, and attempts at character assassination.”
He scoffed, but it was a gentler sound. “Just remember, if you need me to burn someone’s house down, I still have friends in low places.” He leaned over, voice dropping. “You don’t want to piss off a guy who once set fire to a frat house with four packs of sparklers and a bottle of Smirnoff.”
I snorted, and for a moment we were twelve and fourteen again, covering for each other with forged notes and fake field trips.
He glanced at the orchid, fingers brushing a leaf. “But really, Eliza, you sure this isn’t some corporate creep? I’ve seen too many bad movies. Maybe put a nanny-cam in here or something.”
I bristled, weirdly defensive. “It’s just flowers, Cal.”
“Hey, I’m happy if you’re happy.” He said it like a challenge, eyes searching for something I wasn’t ready to name.
“I am,” I lied, because I was, and I wasn’t, and either way it wasn’t his job to fix.
Calvin got up, stretched, and wandered to the mini-fridge, stealing one of my expense-account San Pellegrinos. He popped the tab but didn’t leave.
“So when’s this mystery man taking you out? Or does he just want to keep you as a-” he glanced at the card again “-plant mistress?”
I turned away, flipping open the file I’d been pretending to read. “I have a lunch meeting today. With someone important.”
“Ooo, lunch date. Progress.” He raised the can in a toast. “Don’t let him buy you salad. That’s beta male shit.”
“I’ll order the steak. Bloody.”
He laughed but then stopped. “Hey. Seriously. You’re good?”
I nodded, meeting his gaze squarely. “Always.”
He must’ve believed it, because he gave a short nod and left without looking back.
The silence felt too loud after he left.
I checked my phone for the third time in five minutes, waiting for a message that probably wouldn’t come.
I felt him before I saw him; Gabriel was standing in my doorway.
He looked at the flowers, then at me, and for once I couldn’t read what was in his eyes. I should have been angry. I should have thrown something, or at least the chocolate box. Instead, I felt relief so sharp it bordered on pleasure.
“Lunch?” he said.
“Is that an order?”
He shook his head. “It’s a request. You don’t have to.”
I was on my feet before he finished, heels snapping against the floor, my body already ahead of my brain.
We rode down in silence, close but not touching. The elevator hummed and I stared at the panel, willing myself not to reach for him.
Outside, the day was too bright. He guided me into a restaurant that only existed for people with private jets.
We sat. The waitress arrived instantly, pouring water without asking. I ordered the steak, bloody. He smiled. I pretended not to notice.
“Are you going to tell me what that was really about?” I asked, voice low.
He didn’t dodge. “Whitfield had leverage. Now he doesn’t. You’re safe.”
“That easy?”
“Nothing is easy, Eliza.” He folded his hands, and for a moment I saw the tension in his wrists, the way he wanted to touch me and wouldn’t. “But you’re the only one in this company worth protecting.”
I felt heat rush up my neck. “That’s… an overstatement.”
He leaned in, eyes black in the shadows. “You still don’t see it. That’s what I like about you.”
My pulse hammered. I tried to summon sarcasm and found nothing.
“I think I love you.”
He didn’t move, not even a twitch. “You think?”
“I know.” It was almost a dare. “But you don’t have to say it back.”
He stared, and then he laughed, a short, rough sound. “Eliza, I fell for you the second you beat me in the hackathon. You just didn’t notice.”
I reached for his hand, under the table where no one could see. His fingers were cool, steady. He squeezed once and then let go.
His phone buzzed. He checked it, the faintest smile tugging his mouth. I wanted to kiss that smile.
“What?” I pressed.
He shook his head. “Just a mess that cleaned itself up. It’s over.”
I accepted it. I didn’t need to know everything. I just wanted this.
We walked out together, sunlight forcing me to squint. On the curb, he stopped. Looked at me like I was the only person who’d ever existed.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft, or gentle, or secret. It was the kind of kiss that wrote headlines, the kind that told every bystander exactly what was going on.
I tasted him, bitter coffee and a hint of blood.
People stared. I didn’t care.
Until Calvin’s voice boomed behind me: “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I froze. Gabriel’s hand stayed on my back, anchoring me.
Calvin’s face was red, lips peeled back in a snarl I’d only seen once, the time a guy tried to mug us at the Jersey City station.
He stalked up, and for a split second I thought he’d hit me. He didn’t.
He punched Gabriel. Hard. Right in the jaw.
Gabriel staggered but didn’t hit back. Just straightened his jacket and stared at Calvin.
“Calvin!” I shrieked, grabbing his arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He jerked his arm free, eyes wild. “He’s my friend. You’re my sister. There are rules.”
I wanted to laugh. Instead, I shoved him in the chest. “There are no rules. Not for me. You want to be pissed, fine, but don’t pretend you ever get to decide who I-” I broke off, breath ragged. “Don’t you ever pull that patriarchal shit on me again.”
He stood there, fists shaking, then turned and walked away without a word.
Gabriel touched his jaw, blood bright on his thumb. “I had that coming.”
I stared at him. “You really did.”
He smiled, slow and painful, like someone learning how to use his face again.
I took his hand, and this time, I didn’t let go.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was honest. And it was ours.