Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
AUDRA
I don’t turn the TV on for the sound.
I turn it on because silence feels accusatory.
The game flickers across the wall of the man cave, some late-season matchup I couldn’t summarize if my life depended on it. I slept down here. Didn’t bother changing clothes. There’s a half-empty coffee cup on the table that’s gone cold enough to taste bitter just looking at it.
My phone hasn’t stopped lighting up.
PR.
Legal.
The board chair.
Numbers I don’t recognize but know better than to ignore.
I haven’t answered any of them.
Headlines crawl across the muted screen anyway.
CEO CAUGHT IN LATE-NIGHT CLUB SCANDAL
QUESTIONS OF JUDGMENT AFTER CHARITY GALA INCIDENT
I don’t read past that.
What I’m looking for—what my eyes keep scanning for without permission—is her name.
It isn’t there.
Yet.
The knock comes hard and unapologetic.
I don’t answer it the first time.
The second knock rattles the door.
When I open it, Alex walks in first. His eyes sweep the room in a way that feels less like concern and more like assessment. Mark follows, carrying a six-pack out of muscle memory, not kindness.
Neither of them asks how I’m doing.
Neither of them says sorry.
Alex drops onto the couch and nods at the TV. “Who’s winning.”
“No idea,” I say.
“Figures.”
Mark sets the beer on the counter but doesn’t sit. His gaze goes from the TV to my phone vibrating on the table and back again.
“They coming for blood yet?” he asks.
“Already here,” I say.
“And they’re not just circling,” Alex adds. “They’re lining up.”
The phone lights again. I silence it.
Mark nods toward it. “Board?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Monday,” I say. “Emergency session.”
Alex lets out a low whistle. “That’s not optics. That’s consequences.”
“They want assurances,” I say. “Process. Judgment. Damage containment.”
“And whether you’re still an asset,” Mark finishes.
That lands harder than anything else so far.
We sit there for a minute. The game plays. Someone scores. None of us reacts.
Then Alex looks around the room again, slower this time.
“Your door was locked,” he says.
I blink.
Mark’s jaw tightens. “Your door is never locked.”
Silence stretches.
“We knocked,” Alex adds. “Twice.”
I look away.
“That’s when we knew something was actually wrong,” Mark says quietly.
Alex exhales. “You disappear, we assume you’re thinking. You lock yourself in?” He shakes his head. “That’s new.”
I don’t defend it.
I don’t explain.
They’re right.
I don’t lock doors.
Not unless I don’t trust myself not to spiral.
Finally, I ask, “So what’s going on.”
Alex lets out a humorless laugh. “You don’t get to say that like you’re confused.”
“I mean with you two,” I say. “You didn’t come here to watch football.”
“No,” Mark says evenly. “We came because you’re acting like this happened to you.”
That lands.
I lean back and scrub a hand over my face. “I know I fucked up.”
Alex shakes his head. “You didn’t fuck up. You made a decision. Then you made another one to avoid dealing with the first.”
“And you hurt someone we like,” Mark adds.
That sharpens everything.
“You all like her,” Alex continues. “Jamie especially. Which should’ve been your first clue.”
I stare at the floor.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Mark doesn’t let that breathe. “Intent isn’t the issue.”
Alex leans forward. “You slept with someone Sunday night.”
My jaw tightens.
“And then,” Alex continues, “you took Audra to dinner Tuesday like Sunday didn’t exist.”
“I didn’t lie to her.”
Mark exhales slowly. “You didn’t disclose.”
The word cuts cleaner than accusation.
“You let her believe she was stepping into something uncontaminated,” Mark says. “You let her decide without all the information.”
Alex doesn’t soften it. “That’s chicken shit.”
I close my eyes.
“I was going to tell her.”
“When,” Alex fires back immediately.
Silence.
“Before or after you slept with her,” Mark presses.
I don’t answer.
Alex sits back. “You didn’t want to risk losing her.”
“And instead,” Mark says quietly, “you guaranteed it.”
My phone vibrates again. I glance down this time.
PR:
We need confirmation on whether the woman referenced last night was an employee or guest. Media is digging.
My stomach drops.
“No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Alex watches me carefully. “What.”
“They’re fishing,” I say. “Trying to attach a name.”
Mark’s jaw tightens. “Audra.”
“Yes,” I say. “And it’s not happening.”
I stand and start pacing, adrenaline finally cutting through the shame.
“She is not part of this,” I say. “She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t ask for any of it.”
“And the board?” Mark asks. “They push?”
“They can push all they want,” I say. “She’s off-limits.”
Alex arches a brow. “Congratulations. You’ve identified the bare minimum.”
I ignore him and start typing.
Me:
She is not to be named, referenced, speculated about, or approached. She is not an employee involved in misconduct. Shut it down.
Another message comes in.
Legal:
We can try, but—
“I don’t care,” I snap, already typing. “You make it airtight. If this turns into collateral damage, I’m done.”
Mark studies me. “This doesn’t fix what you did.”
“I know,” I say. My voice breaks slightly on the word. “But I’m not letting her get dragged into this. Not after—”
Not after I already made her feel small.
Alex stands. “Good. Because if her name shows up anywhere, this conversation gets a lot uglier.”
I nod once. I deserve that.
They don’t leave.
Instead, Alex disappears down the hall and comes back with a clean T-shirt and sweatpants.
“You smell like regret and cheap champagne,” he says, tossing them at me. “Change.”
Mark retrieves a pill bottle from the kitchen drawer—one he’s seen before.
“Doctor-approved,” he says. “One. Not two.”
I don’t argue.
By the time I’m changed, exhaustion has finally caught up with me. Mark pulls a blanket over me without comment. Alex switches off the TV.
“You don’t get to disappear like that again,” Mark says quietly.
“I know.”
“And you don’t get to decide when this hurts less,” Alex adds. “That’s not up to you.”
I nod.
The pill pulls me under slowly.
The last thing I register before sleep takes me is the weight of the truth settling where excuses used to live:
I didn’t lose her because of optics.
I didn’t lose her because of Chuck.
I lost her because I thought silence was safer than honesty.
And somewhere across the city, a woman who trusted me is waking up to a Saturday I don’t get to touch.