Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
BAILEY
Three thousand miles and three minutes—that’s all I need to change everything.
My hands tremble as I count the heartbeats left before I lose my nerve. A few days ago, I thought I’d never speak to Sebastian Lockhart again. Now here I stand, ready to beg.
I stare up at Lockhart Industries, sixty floors of glass and steel soaring into the Chicago sky.
The revolving door spins ahead. My distorted reflection fractured across its surface. One push and there’s no turning back. My stomach drops as I step inside.
Three receptionists perch behind a curved white desk, each plucked from the pages of Vogue. The woman in the center glances up, her perfect smile faltering as she catalogs my disastrous state.
I didn’t stop to change after the flight. Wrong decision. My jeans sport a coffee masterpiece from when turbulence hit somewhere over Iowa, and my hair has expanded to twice its normal size—my body’s natural stress response.
“Can I help you?” Her voice could chill champagne.
My throat constricts. What exactly was my brilliant plan here? Rush across the country unannounced, storm his fortress of glass and steel, and then... What? I didn’t think past the grand entrance. Classic Bailey move.
Excuse me, I’m the impulsive cargo pilot who shattered your boss’s heart on Tuesday, told him never to contact me again on Wednesday, and now I’ve depleted my savings on a red-eye Friday flight for the privilege of standing in your lobby looking like something the airport janitor swept up.
Could you pencil me in between his billion-dollar meetings for our tearful reconciliation?
“I need to see Sebastian Lockhart.” The words scrape out.
Her eyebrows climb. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but—”
“Mr. Lockhart’s schedule is fully booked.” Her gaze returns to her computer—conversation terminated.
My hands tremble as I drop my bag. Should’ve known this wouldn’t be simple. Nothing with Sebastian ever is.
“Please.” My voice cracks like thin ice. “It’s important. Just tell him Bailey Monroe is here.”
“I’m sorry, but even if I wanted to help you, Mr. Lockhart is out for lunch.” Her smile remains frozen.
“Out for lunch.” The words hang in the air. Of course he is. What possessed me to show up unannounced?
For a heartbeat, I contemplate camping in the lobby until his return. But the security guard’s stare broadcasts “don’t try it” in every language.
“Right. Thanks anyway.” I hoist my bag back up, its weight matching the brick in my chest.
The revolving door expels me onto the sidewalk. Chicago’s winter wind slaps my cheeks—a bracing reality check.
This was idiotic. What fantasy was I living in? That he’d be pacing his office, waiting for me to change my mind?
People rush past in both directions, each with a purpose and destination. Everyone except me, rooted to the concrete like an urban sculpture.
I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over his name. Two weeks ago, I told him to go back to his perfect world. Now here I stand, speechless.
Well, there’s no choice now. I’ll need to call him, say I’m here in Chicago. Put my heart on the chopping block one more time.
My finger hovers over the call button. Wait—
Across the street, a flash of movement catches my eye. A sleek restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows. Businesspeople in dark suits mingling over white tablecloths.
And there, in the corner—that tilt of the head, that straight-backed posture, that way of leaning forward when listening. The phone nearly slips from my grip.
Sebastian.
Relief washes through me. Maybe this disaster has a second act. I stuff my phone away, a smile cracking.
I zigzag between cars, collecting a symphony of honks as I dart across.
My hand reaches for the restaurant door when movement inside freezes me mid-step.
A blonde woman approaches his table, gliding with ballerina poise. Her cream-colored dress whispers money, delicate gold jewelry winking in the light.
Rebecca.
The restaurant window frames them like a portrait—Sebastian and Rebecca. He’s smiling. She’s leaning in. My heart flatlines.
My fingers press against the glass as she slides into the seat across from him. She laughs at something he says, her manicured hand reaching across to touch his arm.
They fit together. Polished. Perfect. They make sense in a way Sebastian and I never did.
My lungs forget their purpose. My limbs lock. Can’t tear my eyes away from the scene playing out before me like some cruel joke.
“Can I help you?”
I whirl around to find a server frowning from the restaurant doorway.
“No,” my voice splinters. “No one can.”
Inside, Sebastian laughs at something Rebecca says, his head tilting in that way reserved for genuine amusement.
My fingers locate the Chicago snow globe in my bag, suddenly heavy as a bowling ball. The miniature skyline, the suspended flakes, the impossible little world sealed away from reality’s mess.
I extract it, turning it over one last time. Sebastian gave me this just two weeks ago, his eyes brimming with promises I ran from.
“Ma’am, you can’t loiter here,” the server says, patience evaporating.
“Actually,” I say, my voice steadier than expected. “You can help me.”
The server’s expression shifts from irritation to surprise as I extend the snow globe.
“See that man over there?” I nod toward Sebastian’s table. “In the gray suit, by the window.”
The server follows my gaze, recognition dawning. “Mr. Lockhart?”
Of course, everyone knows him. Sebastian Lockhart, CEO, Chicago royalty.
“When he finishes his lunch,” I press the snow globe into the server’s palm, “give this to him.”
The weight transfers from my hand to his—a physical surrender of something never truly mine.
The server examines the globe, then looks up, puzzled. “Any message with this?”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “He’ll understand.”
My fingers curl into emptiness without the snow globe. I ball them into a fist, burying that emptiness deep in my jacket pocket.
With one final glance through the window at Sebastian—laughing, perfect, unreachable—I turn away. My legs move mechanically, carrying me forward, one step after another, away from the restaurant, away from him.