Chapter 32 Terms & Conditions #2
Sloane passes the glass wall outside the conference room, phone in hand, posture perfect, eyes briefly flicking up.
For half a second, our eyes lock.
Not nostalgia. Not tenderness.
A reckoning.
The door opens.
Sloane steps in. She doesn’t speak at first. She just exists, somehow louder than silence.
Kelley stands fast, suddenly allergic to tension. “I’ll grab coffee. Maybe two.”
He disappears. The door clicks shut.
And suddenly it’s just us.
And the war we never finished.
I lean back against the table, arms crossed, cold on purpose. “All right,” I say. “What do you want?”
Sloane’s eyes flicker, searching in a way I’ve never seen from her. Sloane Kincaid always has the perfect line. Always leads the room. But right now, she looks… unsure.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay with this,” she says, voice softer than usual. “Us working together.”
I let a small, humorless smile tug at my mouth. “Since when do you care what I’m okay with?”
Her jaw tenses. A crack in the veneer. “It wasn’t my call to be here, August.”
“Sure.” My tone stays even. “Crane doesn’t do coincidence.”
She exhales. “No. He doesn’t.”
A beat. The air between us hums with history I refuse to touch.
“I never got to say it,” she says, quieter. “I never apologized.”
I hold her gaze, not giving her anything for free. “Why now?”
“Because seeing you again brought it back,” she admits. “And I hate how I handled it. I lost you. I never tried to fix it.”
The anger stirs, low and sharp, but it doesn’t get to drive.
“You’re right,” I say. Too cold. Too true.
She winces.
“I’m not asking for anything,” she adds quickly, like she’s bracing for impact. “Not forgiveness. Not a do-over. I just wanted you to know I regret it.”
Silence settles. Heavy. Honest.
Finally, I nod once. “I appreciate you saying that. But it doesn’t change anything.”
Her throat works like she’s swallowing something bitter. “I know.”
I push off the table, take one step forward, and stop. Distance stays where it belongs.
“We can work together,” I say. “That’s it. Business.”
“Business,” she repeats, barely audible.
Something loosens in the room. Just a thread. Enough.
She turns to leave, then pauses. Armor sliding back into place.
“Crane’s difficult,” she says, voice steadier. “But you'll manage. You always do.”
I nod, matching her professionalism. “If he turns, tell Emmett. He’ll handle the paper cuts, and I’ll handle the fire.”
A flicker of a smirk. Respect, maybe. Then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the tension doesn’t vanish. It just… settles, like dust after a storm.
Later that night, Harlee and I are sprawled on the Love Sac in my living room. The Panthers game hums in the background, mostly ignored. My head is in her lap. Her fingers flip flashcards while she mutters terms under her breath.
She’s laser-focused.
I’m not.
“You sure you don’t want me to help you study?” I tilt my head, grinning up at her.
She laughs softly without looking down. “You’ve already helped plenty.”
I lower my voice. “I’ve got some pretty effective retention methods.”
That gets her attention. Brow arch. Lips curving. “?Así? Enlighten me, professor.”
“Easy,” I say, brushing slow circles along her thigh. “We make this lesson a little more… practical. Muy motivacional.”
Her smirk deepens. “What, like putting your dick in me again?”
“Exactamente.” I flash my most innocent smile. “Purely educational.”
“You’re an idiot,” she says, but her hand slides into my hair. “I’m studying risk management.”
“Same thing.” My fingers creep higher. “You’re managing my risk of blue balls.”
Her laugh bubbles up, rich and breathy, and I watch the tension melt out of her shoulders. That spark flickers in her eyes, the one that says she’s pretending to study but I’ve already won.
She flips a flashcard like it’s a shield. “A break, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“For your mental health,” I murmur, kissing her thigh. “Doctor’s orders.”
She drops the cards into her lap, still smiling. “You’re so full of shit.”
“True,” I admit. “But first… there’s something I need to tell you.”
Her expression shifts, amused but alert. “Another distraction tactic?”
I hold her gaze. “I ran into my ex today.”
That stops her cold. Flashcard frozen mid-flip.
“You what?”
“Sloane,” I say. “She showed up at the office. Business.”
The fire flickers behind Harlee’s eyes, slow but sure. I don’t let go of her thigh. I don’t flinch. I just stay steady.
She exhales through her nose. “And you thought you’d casually drop that after blowing my back out not three hours ago?”
“You said you wanted transparency.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So here it is.”
Her smirk is tight. “Okay. What did she want?”
“She’s Crane’s lawyer.” My thumb brushes her cheek, grounding myself as much as her. “She didn’t come for me.”
“And did she try anything?” Harlee asks, too calm.
I laugh low. “Does it look like she got anywhere? I’m here, trying to get back into your pants.”
“Good,” she says, leaning down close, breath warm against my skin. “Because if she did…”
I let my fingers graze higher. “She didn’t.”
Harlee’s hand slides down my chest, confident, claiming. “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine.”
She stills, sensing the shift under the teasing. “What is it?”
I sit up a little. “After the meeting, she pulled me aside. She apologized.”
Harlee’s grip loosens, one flashcard fluttering to the floor. “Apologized. After all this time?”
I nod. “Said it was overdue. I told her it was too late.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.” I hold her gaze. “I didn’t give her closure. I gave her finality.”
Harlee studies me, razor-sharp and quiet. Then, softer: “You didn’t have to tell me.”
“I know,” I say. “But I wanted to.”
A beat. Her mouth curves again, warmth returning. “You’re right. I do deserve to know.”
I exhale, feeling something unclench in my chest. “I needed the door shut,” I admit. “For good.”
Her brow lifts. “Did it work?”
“Completely.” I cup her face. “She’s not who I think about. She’s not who I’m with.”
The words build, unplanned but undeniable.
“I love you,” I say.
Harlee’s breath catches. Her fingers go still in my hair like she’s afraid movement might break the moment.
“I’m in love with you,” I add, the truth landing heavy and clean. “You ground me. You see me. When I’m with you, shit makes sense.”
Her eyes shine. She looks like she’s trying to hold herself together and failing in the best way.
“I love you,” I repeat, closer. “You’re it for me.”
I kiss her slow, intentional, like I’m making a promise without paperwork.
When we pull apart, I rest my forehead to hers.
“I love your freckles,” I whisper. “The way they show up like they have opinions.”
A breathy laugh escapes her, watery at the edges.
“I love your brain,” I continue, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “The way you carry puzzles like oxygen. The way numbers calm you down and hype you up at the same time.”
Her hand presses to my chest like she’s checking if I’m real.
“And I love your heart,” I say. “The part of you that keeps choosing your future even when it hurts. Even when I’m… standing right here.”
Her lips tremble. “August…”
“I know,” I murmur, wiping at the tear she tries to pretend isn’t there. “I’ve known. I just didn’t know how to say it without scaring you.”
She laughs through it, breath shaking. “You just said all of it.”
“Because you deserve to hear it.”
Harlee pulls in closer, like she’s finally letting herself believe the floor won’t drop out. “I love you too,” she whispers. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long.”
My chest tightens, the good kind of pain. The kind that means you’re alive.
I kiss her again, softer this time, and when I pull back, I keep my mouth close to hers.
“Eres mi paz,” I whisper.
You are my peace.
And damn if I haven’t been searching for that my whole life.