Chapter 16
“Call Liam and Cassandra in my office,” I told Rohan the second I stepped out of the elevator. “And you’re coming in too.”
I walked into my office, the confrontation with my mother—no, with Camilla—still echoing in my mind. The second I’d walked out of that house, something inside me had loosened, as if a weight I’d carried for a lifetime had finally lifted.
The door opened, and Liam, Cassandra, and Rohan filed in.
My jaw tightened instantly. The conversation with Camilla had been difficult because, despite everything, a part of me had once ached for her love. I had wanted it, stupidly and stubbornly, even when I knew better.
No part of me felt anything like that for Cassandra.
Connection.
I internally scoffed.
What fucking connection?
Liam’s eyes found mine, and he frowned immediately. “You okay?”
No, I’m not.
My gaze locked on Cassandra, and the memory of that catastrophic night flooded back in a dizzying flash.
The bar was a swirling blur of noise and celebration. My team was drinking with the desperate fervor of people who had narrowly escaped a sinking ship.
My eyes were gritty with exhaustion, my body a hollow shell.
I was making a half-hearted attempt to keep track of everyone, but it was a futile effort.
Bodies swayed on the dance floor, voices rose over the music at the bar, while a few members remained anchored beside me, slurring their profound relief that Velaré was saved.
For the first few hours, it had been manageable. Contained. Then Cassandra, with a bright, triumphant smile, announced to the entire table that it was my birthday.
That was the moment it spiraled. The dam broke. A relentless tide of shots and cocktails began to flow, a wave of obligation and celebration I was too bone-tired to fight against.
I looked at my watch. It was well past midnight.
It wasn’t even my birthday anymore.
My chest constricted. I’d had the same fear, a constant, gnawing dread that I was a failure leading all these people to ruin. It was an ugly thought, made worse by how easily it had begun to feel like fact.
I let out a slow breath, the relief a tangible thing in my lungs. The disaster had been averted. For tonight, at least, we had made it through.
Mr. Johnson beamed at me, his eyes already gone pleasantly glassy. “You should let loose too! It’s your birthday. Drink.” He shoved a glass into my hand.
I sighed inwardly. It was the third time I’d told him I didn’t drink. I set the glass on a nearby table and rubbed my temples, where the first warning throb of a headache had begun to pulse.
The sleeplessness of the last few days sat behind my eyes like a lead weight. Once the deal was signed, all I’d wanted was to go home—to quiet, to Alessia, to the blessed possibility of collapsing into bed and not speaking to another human being for several hours.
Instead, Cassandra had suggested a celebration, and the team, carried along by the collective euphoria of having narrowly survived the deal, had agreed before I could object.
So I gave them another hour.
Then I got to work.
I moved through the bar, finding my team members one by one, arranging rideshares and confirming the drivers they’d booked in advance.
I’d never seen them this drunk. Usually, Liam and I handled the aftermath together, dividing the responsibility between us, but with him absent tonight, rounding everyone up and making sure they actually got home safely became a slow, solitary task.
Finally, Rina’s driver arrived. She was halfway into the car when she leaned back out, her expression suddenly concerned.
“I saw Cassandra in the bathroom,” she said. “She was… really sick. Puking pretty badly.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as a fresh wave of exhaustion hit me. “I’ll take care of it.”
She gave a grateful nod and left.
Mr. Johnson was the last one, slumped against the wall. I went over and hooked his arm over my shoulder, taking his weight.
“I told you not to drink so much. You can’t handle it like you used to, old man,” I chided, shaking my head.
He looked genuinely offended. “Watch who you’re calling old. I don’t have a single white hair on my head!” He tried to stand tall to prove his point, but his legs buckled, and I had to catch him.
That’s because you don’t have hair.
“Right, my mistake. You’re in your prime.”
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening, his gaze unusually soft and clear. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with more than just alcohol. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
My chest tightened. “That’s my line.”
He gave me a wobbly, sincere smile. “I’m proud of you, kid. For building this. For fighting for it.”
I had to look away, blinking hard against a sudden, unexpected sting in my eyes.
The old man really had too much to drink.
Mr. Johnson had been fired from his previous job. Not for incompetence, laziness, or being a liability, but for his age. The company had engineered his dismissal perfectly, leaving him with no legal recourse, just the bitter knowledge that his decades of experience were deemed disposable.
He joined us soon after, and it was a smooth, successful partnership. He was a bedrock of experience and stability. But when the company hit turbulent waters these past few months and people started jumping ship, Mr. Johnson stayed. He was the only senior staff member who did.
“Let me drop you home,” I said, adjusting my grip on him.
He shook his head, struggling to focus. “No need. My son is coming to pick me up.”
As if on cue, a car pulled up. A man got out, took one look at Mr. Johnson leaning heavily against me, and let out a long-suffering groan.
“What did he do this time?” his son asked, grabbing Mr. Johnson’s arm and pulling him from my support.
“He tried to get on a table to dance,” I said, wincing at the memory. “He didn’t even make it halfway up, but he kept trying. I had to hold him down before he broke a hip.”
The son leaned close to his father’s ear. “Seriously, Dad? Table dancing?”
Mr. Johnson jerked back, blinking in confusion. “Huh? What’s happening?”
The son just shook his head in exasperation. “Wait until Mom hears about this.” He started maneuvering the older man toward the car as Mr. Johnson began to whine, “What? Why?”
I stood there for a long moment, watching them struggle to get him into the passenger seat. I didn’t move until the car’s taillights had disappeared from view.
I shook my head, the motion feeling heavy and slow, and dragged in a deep breath that did nothing to clear the fog of exhaustion clouding my mind. Every muscle protested as I turned and trudged back into the bar.
I stood outside the women’s bathroom and knocked. “Cassandra?”
The only response was the sound of violent retching. I winced. “I’m waiting outside.” I moved to lean against the wall, letting my head thud back against the cool plaster. My eyes fell shut for a moment; the urge to just slide down to the floor and sleep right there was almost overwhelming.
The thought of going home, of just collapsing into bed and feeling Alessia’s warmth beside me, was the only thing keeping me upright.
The door finally creaked open. Cassandra stumbled out, immediately latching onto the doorframe for support.
“Cassandra?” I said, getting no response. Her head lolled on her shoulders. “Cassandra?” I repeated, louder.
She lifted her head, her eyes swimming in a drunken haze. “Should I call you a cab or a driver?” I asked.
She slumped harder against the doorframe. “Drove… myself,” she slurred, the words barely recognizable.
“Right. I’ll call you a driver, then.” I pulled out my phone, only to be met with a black, unresponsive screen.
Perfect. Just perfect.
“Where’s your phone?” I asked.
No response. She was fading fast.
“Cassandra, focus. I need your phone.” She started to slide down the doorframe. “Cassandra,” I said, louder. “Give me your phone.”
Her hands patted a dazed, circular pattern on her hips and the sides of her dress, a futile search given the pocketless design and the lack of a purse. The phone was either lost, left behind, or buried in some crevice she was too incoherent to find.
I sighed. It was clear I would have to drive her. “What’s your address?”
This only prompted a fit of slurred, mindless giggles.
My only other option was to call Liam for her address, but my phone was dead, and I had no idea if his flight had even landed. I was completely cut off.
I looked at Cassandra again—barely standing, still giggling, eyes half-shut—and then I felt the deep, physical ache in my own bones, the desperate pull to get home.
Having made my decision, I maneuvered her into the back seat of my car, my movements clumsy and slow. I shut the door and moved to the driver’s side, but before I could open it, the world swayed. I braced myself against the roof, my head spinning.
I rested my forehead on the cool glass, trying to recall the last time I’d eaten. The only thing that came to mind was Liam shoving an energy bar into my hand hours ago, before he’d left for the airport.
I shook off the dizziness and slid into the driver’s seat.
Just get through this one ride. Then you can sleep.
As I navigated the dark streets, my thoughts drifted to Alessia.
The longing hit hard, sudden and physical, an ache that settled beneath my ribs.
Fuck, I missed her. I’d barely seen her these past few months, always letting one crisis or another take precedence, but that ended now.
The crisis was over. There were no more fires to put out.
Tomorrow, I promised myself, the thought a beacon in the fog of my exhaustion.
Tomorrow, all my time would be hers. I would come clean about everything at work.
We’d book a vacation somewhere remote, somewhere our phones would be useless and nobody could find us.
Liam could handle things. The Aethelstan deal was sealed. The company was safe.
Starting tomorrow, everything would be different.
Little did I know, things were going to be different. Just not in the way I had hoped.