10. Josie
It was the kind of kiss that ruins you for anyone else.
He groaned low in his throat, a sound that was pure hunger, and for a second, the world on the other side of that rooftop didn't exist. Just the way he tasted and the way he held me like he was never, ever going to let go.
I finally understood what he meant about the danger. And as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, I realized I didn't care.
We finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air like we’d just run a marathon. My heart was thumping so hard against my ribs I was sure he could feel it. Tristan closed his eyes tight, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot on my skin, "You're so..."
I blinked, trying to get my brain to function again. My head was spinning, "I'm so what? Annoying? Great? A life-changer?"
He slowly pulled back, the warmth of him disappearing instantly. He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, licking his lips before a dry, empty smile touched his face. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind of smile you make before you deliver bad news.
"I want to give you a chance," he said.
I let out a little scoff, trying to keep the mood light because the way he was looking at me was starting to freak me out, "Wow, okay. I’m so honored, Your Majesty. Truly. I’m so lucky to be given this life-changing opportunity to—"
"To walk away," he cut me off.
My smile faltered, my heart doing a slow, painful sink into my stomach, "What?"
That was definitely not on the list of things I expected him to say.
"I want you to think this through, Josephine," he said. I watched the muscles in his jaw ripple, they were tight and aggressive. He looked like he was fighting the urge to grab me and the urge to run a hundred miles away at the same time.
"Think what through? This... whatever this is between us?
" I asked, my voice getting higher the more I talked, "I mean, I know it's a lot, and things have been crazy, and you're all silent most of the time and I talk enough for both of us, but I thought we were past the 'thinking' stage and into the 'doing' stage, right? "
"Josephine," he sneered, he took a step back, creating a gap between us that felt like a canyon, "I’m serious. Looking at the last few days, knowing you. I’m not... I’m not a guy you just 'date.
' I’m a lot to handle. I have parts of me that don't play well with others.
I don't want to be the reason your life gets ruined. "
He wouldn't look me in the eye anymore. And why would he give me these weird warnings without actually telling me what he was so afraid of.
"So, go," he muttered, "Take some time. Think about if you actually want me in your life. Because once you're in, I don't think I'll be able to let you go again."
I stood there, my mouth hanging open slightly, watching him shut down right in front of me. It was as if he was building the wall back up, brick by brick, and I had no idea how to stop him.
"I’ve already made up my mind, Tristan," I said, my voice finally finding its strength, "I like you.
Just the way you are. The quiet parts, the scary parts, all of it.
" I hesitated, my heart doing a nervous flutter, "Maybe we could actually try this, explore whatever this is before you decide I'm not strong enough to handle you. "
Tristan’s eyes locked onto mine, and the rest of the world just blinked out of existence. There was no party downstairs, it was just us on that roof, breathing the same cold air.
But then the wall came back up. He stepped back again, shaking his head like he was physically trying to throw off the spell we’d just cast on each other.
"I’m giving you a few days," he said, "I’ve been told... I’ve seen it happen.
.. that people I touch end up regretting they ever looked my way.
I'm trying to be decent here, Josephine. I’m trying to give you a head start," he murmured, his tone turning flat like he was talking about a business deal instead of my heart, "Go home. Sleep on it. Because if you come back after this, I’m not going to be decent ever again. "
I just nodded. I felt this sharp pang of disappointment in my chest, but I knew better than to push him. He was retreating into that cold, lonely shell of his.
The ride home was brutal because neither of us said a word. The city lights streaked past the window, each one a reminder of how close we’d been on that roof and how far apart we were now.
When the car finally pulled up to the curb outside my building, I turned to him.
"Tristan," I said softly, "You can give me as many days as you want. You can give me a year. My answer is going to be exactly the same... I like you. All of you."
I opened the car door and stepped out, pausing for a moment to look back at him. There was a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of something in his gaze.
I shut the door and started walking toward the entrance of my building, my heels clicking on the pavement. I couldn't help it, I glanced back one last time.
Tristan didn't just drive away, he vanished. He didn't even wait for me to get inside tonight. His tires screeched as he floored it. He sped down the road like the devil himself was chasing him or like he was trying to outrun whatever he was feeling.
I stood there on the sidewalk, watching his taillights disappear into the darkness until there was nothing left but the quiet of the street.
The days that followed were a complete blur. I was a total mess, and it was embarrassing.
I’d catch myself tracing my bottom lip, the ghost of Tristan’s kiss still there, making my skin crawl with that weird, electric heat.
I felt hollow.
One minute I was hiding under my covers like a hermit, and the next, I was forcing myself to go to rooftop brunches and champagne parties, laughing at gossip I didn't care about just to feel human. I tried to work. I tried to stay busy. But every five seconds, my eyes would dart to my phone.
I was pining. Me. Josephine Van Alen. I didn’t do this.
Getting over my ex, Harrison, had taken time because we were together forever, but Tristan?
It had been weeks. I barely knew the guy, yet I was spiraling like my best friend Chrisie, who once literally caught a restraining order for stalking an ex.
I was becoming that girl.
Then, my phone screamed to life. My heart shot into my throat. I snatched it up, praying for his name, but it was just an unknown number. My thumb hovered, then I pressed it to my ear. "Hello?"
“Josie, please don't hang up.”
My stomach dropped. Not Tristan. Not even close.
"Harrison," I spat, the anger hitting me like a physical wave, "You’ve got a lot of nerve."
"I know I messed up, okay? I know," his voice was shaky, desperate. "But I wasn’t lying about how I felt. My feelings were real, even if the rest was a mess."
"Real?" I let out a bitter laugh, "You were on my mother’s payroll for three years, Harrison. You were a paid actor. How is any of that real?"
"Because I fell for you! It wasn't the plan, but it happened," he insisted. "Just... meet me. One dinner. One chance to explain everything to your face. If you want me dead to you after that, I'll disappear. I promise."
I bit my lip, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to scream at him to go to hell, but another part, the part that had been lied to for a thousand days wanted to look him in the eye and see him squirm. I needed to close this door so I could finally breathe.
"Fine," I said, "One dinner. Tomorrow at eight. Somewhere very public. And Harrison, this isn't a second chance. It’s a funeral for whatever we had. Don't push it."
"I won't. Thank you, Josie. I'll text you the place."
I hung up and threw the phone onto the sofa. I felt sick. What was I doing? Giving an audience to a guy who sold me out for a check? But I realized it wasn't about him anymore.
It was about clearing the wreckage of my past so I could actually face whatever dark, complicated future Tristan Kincaid was offering.
The conference room was glass, steel, and pure judgment. I stood at the head of the long table, feeling the weight of the COO title my mother had basically slapped onto my chest.
I knew what the room was thinking: Nepotism.
I didn’t care. I was my father’s daughter, and I had the receipts to prove it.
I tapped my tablet, and the "GreenCity Initiative" flashed on the massive screen behind me. "Morning, everyone," I said, "We’re skipping the small talk. We have a city to change and money to make."
I swiped through the slides. Solar integration. Smart grids. Real-time energy tech. I watched David, the head engineer, lean in, and Robert, the CFO, squint at the projected costs.
"We’re starting with pilots in Midtown and Brooklyn," I explained, pacing the front of the room. "We cut non-renewables by 20% in two years. It’s a massive win for the city’s image and a massive win for our bottom line."
"And the risk?" Robert asked, his pen tapping a frantic rhythm against the table. "This is millions, Josephine."
"The risk is staying stagnant while our competitors move," I shot back, "We aren't just selling panels, Robert. We’re selling the future. We become the global leaders in sustainability. The ROI isn't just a check; it's total market dominance."
The room started to buzz. I could feel the energy shift from doubt to genuine interest. But the real test was sitting at the very end of the table.
My mother sat there like a queen, her silence heavier than any question. Finally, she leaned forward.
"Timeline?" she asked, her voice calm.
"Three phases," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "Pilot starts in six months. Full city-wide integration in two and a half years. I’ve already built in the buffers for red tape and budget overruns."
She raised an eyebrow, "Fine," she finally said, standing up, "We finalize the budget next week. Everyone, get to work. Josephine, walk with me."
The room cleared out in a blur of whispers. I followed her into the hallway, matching her power-walk.
"You handled them well," she murmured, not looking at me. "They might start respecting you soon. This is what I’ve always wanted for you, you know."
I felt a surge of cold anger. I stopped in my tracks, making her pause, "Don't think this makes us even," I said, "You can give me a title, but you can't buy my forgiveness for what you did."
I didn't wait for her to come up with a comeback. I spun on my heels and marched back into the room to grab my things, leaving her standing in the hall alone.
I sat across from Harrison, my wine untouched. The restaurant was dimly lit, but it didn’t hide how pathetic he looked. The jawline was the same, the messy hair was the same, but the desperate, twitchy look in his eyes? That was new.
"So," I said, leaning back and letting my voice sound as bored as humanly possible, "You’ve got the floor. Explain."
Harrison swallowed hard, his fingers shredding a cloth napkin. "Josie, look... I never wanted it to be like this. I didn't have a choice. Your mother—"
I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt, "Stop. Just stop. Do not give me the 'I didn't have a choice' script. It’s been three years, Harrison. Three years of you pretending to love me while being on my mother’s payroll. Do you hear how insane that sounds?"
"It wasn't like that," he insisted.
I picked up my glass, swirled the wine, and stared at him, "Really? Then enlighten me. Because from where I’m sitting, you were just a very expensive babysitter."
He ran a hand through his hair, the move that used to make me melt, but now just made me want to scream. "At first, yeah, it was a job. She hired me to watch you, to keep you safe. I’m not lying about that. But it changed. I changed. I fell for you, Josie. For real."
I let out a dry laugh. "And I’m supposed to believe that? That somewhere between lying to my face and taking her checks, you found 'true love'? You’re insulting my intelligence."
"I know I messed up!" he snapped, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the table. "But the feelings weren't fake. I was trying to protect you. Your mother was worried, she wanted you safe, and I was the only one who could do it—"
"Safe from what?" I interrupted, "You and my mother ruined my life together. You were the person I trusted most, and you were just playing a part. A role."
"It wasn't all a lie... You felt it too," He leaned over the table, his eyes pleading, "I just... I didn't know how to tell you the truth once it started getting deep."
I tilted my head, watching him like he was a bug under a microscope, "Tell me what? That every kiss was an assignment? Don't try to rewrite history, Harrison. It’s embarrassing."
He winced, his shoulders slumping. He looked like he was about to break, but I felt nothing. The girl who loved him had died the day the truth came out.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice small and broken. "I will never love anyone else—"
I barely noticed the door opening as Harrison kept droning on about his apology. I wasn’t even listening anymore, I was just tired. But then, a cold draft swept through the restaurant, making the hair on my arms stand up. My stomach flipped before I even looked up. I knew that feeling.
Tristan.
He walked in like he owned the building and everyone in it. His eyes scanned the room, until they locked onto mine. Nine days. Nine days of silence, and now he shows up like this?
Harrison was still talking, his voice a pathetic buzz in the background, but my world had narrowed down to the man walking toward us. Tristan moved with a scary kind of grace, hands tucked into his long coat, his face a mask of cool indifference.
“Josephine,” he said as he reached the table. His voice instantly made Harrison shut up. Tristan didn't even glance at him, he only had eyes for me, “It’s been a while.”
I glared at him, my jaw tight, “Yeah. Nine days.”
Without asking, he leaned down and kissed my cheek. His lips were warm, sending a shiver straight down my spine, but I pulled away and forced a scowl. He straightened up, a tiny glint in his eyes like he knew exactly how much he was messing with my head.
Harrison shifted, looking between us, his confusion turning into an attitude, “Who the hell is this?”
Tristan finally looked at him, giving him a cold, bored stare. His lips curved into a mean little smile, “I’m just the guy who doesn’t need a paycheck to be around her.”
I almost choked on a laugh. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling as Harrison’s face went dark.
Tristan didn't wait for an invite. He grabbed a chair from the next table, slid it right next to mine, and sat down. He draped an arm over the back of my chair, his scent wrapped around me.
“So,” Tristan said, sounding way too amused. “This is the guy your mother hired?” He still wasn't looking at Harrison. He was looking at me.
I gave a smug little nod. “Yep. That’s him.”
Harrison sat up straighter, trying to look tough, which just made him look more pathetic. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I was with her for three years. You don’t just get to walk in and—”
Tristan leaned forward, finally giving Harrison his full, terrifying attention. “And what? You’re gonna tell me how you 'protected' her? That you were just doing your job?” His eyes narrowed, “Let me give you some advice. If you’re going to talk tough, you should actually be tough.”
“Back off, man,” Harrison snapped, slamming his hands on the table. The glasses rattled, and a few people at other tables turned to look. “This isn’t your business.”
Tristan didn’t even blink. He just sat there, solid as a rock. “It is now. But you know what isn't your business anymore?” He paused, flicking his dark gaze toward me, “Her.”
Before I could even react, Harrison shot out of his chair, his fist flying across the table, landing squarely on Tristan’s jaw. The sound of the impact echoed through the restaurant, and I gasped, standing up in shock.
Tristan just sat there for a moment, his head slightly tilted from the punch, before slowly turning back to face Harrison, a dangerous smile spreading across his lips, a smile that had nothing to do with amusement and more with cruelty.
“Is that it?” Tristan asked, his voice deceptively calm, as though he hadn’t just been clocked in the face. He stood up slowly, towering over Harrison, who was breathing heavily now, his fists still clenched, “You done?”
Before Harrison could answer, Tristan’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar. He yanked Harrison forward and slammed his fist into his face. The sound was sickening, a dull crack and Harrison went down like a sack of bricks, hitting the floor hard.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched Harrison groan, dazed, on the floor, blood trickling from his nose.
“Tristan, what the hell—” I started, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and shock.
Tristan wiped his knuckles on a napkin, completely unfazed, like this was just another Tuesday. He tossed the napkin on the table, turning to me with that infuriatingly calm expression.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Before I could even argue, he grabbed my hand, and started pulling me toward the door. I stumbled behind him, still too shocked to form a coherent sentence.
“Tristan, wait—”
But he didn’t stop. He led me out of the restaurant, the eyes of the other diners burning into my back as we passed. Once outside, the cool night air hit my face, snapping me out of my daze.
“Tristan, stop!” I yanked my hand from his grip, finally finding my voice. “What the hell was that?”
He turned to face me, “He was asking for it.”
I glared at him, my breath coming in short bursts, “You didn’t have to knock him out!”
He shrugged, slipping his hands back into his pockets like nothing had happened, “He threw the first punch. I just finished it.”
I stared at him, my mind spinning. He reached for my hand again, this time more gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
This time, I didn’t resist. I let him lead me to his car. My mind was a total wreck, a blur of anger at him for vanishing, confusion over what he wanted, and something else I was almost embarrassed to admit.
Excitement.
After nine days of staring at my phone and wondering if I’d imagined that night on the roof, seeing him standing there, was a rush I couldn't ignore.
He was back, and by the way he was holding my hand, he wasn't planning on letting me go again.