Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
DEREK
Later—too much later—I’m still staring at a document without reading it when the feeling surfaces.
Not panic.
Not regret.
Disquiet.
I replay the moment again, slower this time.
The way she answered too quickly.
The way she added I already have plans like an afterthought.
The way she didn’t explain.
I’d taken that as confidence. Independence.
Relief, even.
Good, I’d thought. She doesn’t need reassurance.
Now, the thought doesn’t sit as comfortably.
I rub a hand over my jaw and lean back in my chair.
I hadn’t asked because I didn’t want to intrude.
Or because I didn’t want to hear something I’d have to react to.
The distinction matters more than I like.
My phone buzzes.
Alex:
You alive or did Jamie finally murder you with subtext?
I exhale and type back.
Me: Asked Audra to the gala. She said no.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Alex: And?
Me: That’s it.
The dots disappear. Reappear.
Alex: That’s… not it.
I frown.
Me: She had plans.
Alex: What plans?
I don’t respond.
A few seconds pass.
Then:
Alex: You didn’t ask, did you.
I set the phone face-down on my desk.
The quiet in my office feels heavier now. Less orderly.
I think of the night before—the car, the stillness, the way she’d almost leaned into me before deciding to stay where she was.
Deliberate, she’d been.
So had I.
The problem, I realize slowly, is that deliberateness can look a lot like distance if you don’t explain it.
And for the first time since the elevator ride, uncertainty creeps in.
Not about the gala.
About whether I just gave her a reason to step back.
The uncertainty doesn’t have time to settle.
Footsteps.
Fast. Uneven.
The sound hits me before the door swings open hard enough to thud against the wall.
Alex comes in first, breathing a little off, jacket half shrugged off his shoulders like he didn’t bother slowing down. Mark is right behind him, calmer but moving just as fast, eyes already locked on me.
“I won,” Alex says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
Mark shuts the door. “By a step.”
I straighten instinctively. “What the hell—”
They don’t sit.
They don’t hover politely at the threshold.
They come in far enough that the room feels smaller.
Alex plants himself against the corner of my desk, leaning back just enough to invade the space without touching anything. Mark stops a few feet away, arms crossed, silent. Staring.
I shift in my chair. Then still, irritated that I noticed.
“You look,” Alex says, tilting his head, “like a guy who followed all his rules and somehow still feels like he missed something.”
My jaw tightens. “Get out.”
“Nope,” Alex says lightly. “We ran here. You don’t get to waste that.”
Mark doesn’t smile. “Let’s go over this again.”
“Let’s not.”
Alex scoffs.
Mark glares at me. “Did you ask her?”
“Yes,” I say. “Just a little while ago.”
Alex’s eyebrows lift. “Okay. Good start.”
“How did it go,” Mark asks.
“Fine,” I say. I hear the word even as I say it—too neat. Too contained. “She said she couldn’t go.”
“And you’re standing there,” Alex says, gesturing vaguely at me, “like that settled something.”
“It did,” I snap. “She has plans.”
Mark’s gaze sharpens. “And?”
“That’s it.”
Alex squints. “That’s… not it.”
I stand. I can’t sit anymore—not with them staring at me like this, like they’re waiting for me to say something I’ve already decided not to.
“I didn’t push,” I say.
“—you didn’t want to know,” Mark finishes quietly.
I stop.
Alex straightens slightly. “Did you ask why she couldn’t go?”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t my place.”
Alex lets out a short laugh. Not amused. “Man, you love that sentence.”
“It’s called respect.”
“It’s called insulation,” Alex fires back.
Mark steps closer now. Not aggressive. Just inevitable. “So who are you asking?”
I frown. “What.”
“The gala,” Mark says. “You’re not skipping it. So who are you taking.”
The question lands hard. Sudden.
I don’t answer immediately.
Alex’s mouth curves. “You could ask the girl from the other night.”
My spine stiffens. “Don’t.”
Alex tilts his head, taps his chin with a forefinger, eyes sharp now. “Oh—wait. You can’t.”
Silence snaps tight.
“Because,” Alex continues, almost conversational, “you never got her name.”
The words hang there.
Ugly. Exposed.
I feel it then—the discomfort, sharp and physical, like my skin doesn’t fit right. Like the walls of my office have shifted inward by an inch.
Something I've never felt before: Shame.
Mark doesn’t look away. “That true.”
I don’t answer.
Alex exhales slowly. “Jesus.”
“That’s not relevant,” I say finally.
“It’s the only thing that’s relevant,” Alex shoots back. “Because Audra knows her name mattered.”
Mark nods once. “And now she knows whose didn’t.”
My chest tightens. “You’re reaching.”
“No,” Mark says. “We’re observing.”
Alex pushes off the desk and paces once, agitated. “You slept with someone whose name you didn’t bother to learn, then took Audra to dinner like the night before didn’t exist.”
“I didn’t lie to her.”
“No,” Alex agrees. “You just let her believe she was different without proving it.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want to rush her.”
“You didn’t rush her,” Mark says evenly. “You cooled her.”
The room goes silent.
Alex glances at the door, then back at me. “You know what she’s doing right now, don’t you.”
I don’t respond.
“She’s recalibrating,” Mark says. “Because she felt the difference.”
Alex grabs the door handle. “You’ve got a window. It’s closing.”
They leave as abruptly as they came.
The door clicks shut.
I stand there alone, heart pounding—not with panic, but with something worse.
Recognition.
Not the sex.
Not the gala.
The omission.
And the way it keeps coming back to the same thing—I thought control would protect me.
Instead, it’s the thing that finally made me visible.