Chapter 9 Anna
Today was excruciating.
I'd spent twelve hours waiting for an answer I wasn't sure I wanted. Every time Daisy looked at me with those hopeful eyes, I felt the weight of my promise to ask. Every time I heard Jack's office door, my stomach clenched. But he never emerged. Just stayed locked in there, silent and unreachable.
As six o'clock approached, I began packing up Daisy's toys, the routine a comforting anchor. I was about to slip out the service entrance when I noticed a sliver of light under Jack's office door.
Curiosity pulled me toward it. The door was slightly ajar. I peeked in.
He was at his desk, but the sleek command center was gone. It was buried under a sea of paper. I could see spreadsheets, colorful flyers advertising story time sessions, and budget reports highlighted in yellow. Grant applications with 'URGENT - Due Friday' scrawled across the top.
He'd been researching. Trying to understand her world.
He had his head in his hands, fingers pushing through his dark hair, the silver at his temples stark under the lamplight. He looked utterly defeated.
I must have made a sound because his head snapped up. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the gray depths stormy. For a second, I saw something flicker across his face—embarrassment, maybe. Being caught like this, overwhelmed and human.
He straightened slightly, reaching to close one of the folders. Trying to regain his armor.
"I was just leaving," I said quickly, taking a step back.
Before he could respond, a small, sleepy figure appeared behind me, rubbing her eyes with one fist. Daisy, in her unicorn pajamas, with a trailing Mr. Bounces held by one ear.
She must have woken up and come looking for us.
She bypassed me completely and padded into the office. She went straight to Jack's chair and tugged on his sleeve.
He looked down at her, his expression softening from weary frustration to gentle concern. "What is it, bug?"
She didn't speak. She just raised her arms in the universal signal. He hesitated for only a second before lifting her onto his lap. She settled against his chest, her head finding the crook of his neck. Then, she looked over at me and made a small, beckoning gesture with her hand.
My eyes flew to Jack's. He gave a tired, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, Don't ask me, I'm just following orders.
Daisy pointed firmly toward the hallway, then at Jack, then at me. The message was clear: Both of you. Take me back to bed.
We walked in a silent procession to Daisy's room. Jack first, carrying Daisy. I was following a few steps behind, hyperaware of the informal intimacy of this moment, the three of us moving through the darkened penthouse like a family.
Like we belonged together.
The thought made my chest ache.
Jack laid her in bed while I turned on the small nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. Daisy immediately reached out, not for one of us, but for both. She took Jack's hand with her right, and mine with her left, and pulled until we were both sitting on the edge of her bed.
I was aware of Jack beside me. The heat of his body. The way our shoulders almost touched. The matching weight of Daisy's small hands in each of ours, linking us like a chain.
"Story," she whispered, her eyes already drifting shut.
Jack looked at me, a question in his eyes.
I nodded. I picked up The Velveteen Rabbit from her nightstand.
I began to read, my voice low and steady.
Jack didn't pull his hand away from Daisy's.
He sat there, a warm presence, listening.
Daisy's grip on our hands slowly loosened as she fell asleep, but she didn't let go.
When her breathing was deep and even, we carefully extracted our hands. We crept out, leaving the door ajar, and drifted back into the living room. The earlier tension was gone, replaced by a strange, shared quiet.
He walked to the window, his hands in his pockets. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared out at the city lights. I could see his reflection in the glass, his breath fogging it as he was sinking deep in thought, like he was forcing something out.
"I've decided to push the closing date," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Six weeks. A trial period."
My heart gave a hard thump against my ribs. I stayed silent, waiting.
"Margaret will remain as director. You will report to her. Two reading sessions a week, plus whatever administrative support she needs that you can manage around your hours here. It's temporary, supervised. To see if it's sustainable." He finally turned to look at me. "Do you accept?"
The offer was cautious, hedged with conditions. But it was a chance. A tiny, fragile foothold.
"Yes," I said, the word rushing out. "Absolutely. Thank you."
He didn't acknowledge the thanks. He took a step closer, his gaze intent, searching my face in the half-light. "I need to understand something, Anna. Why? Why do you care so much about my family? About Elena’s legacy?"
The question hung between us, heavy and direct. The vulnerable intimacy of the darkened room, the shared memory of Daisy's small hands holding ours, made the usual walls feel porous.
"Because I've spent my whole life getting it wrong," I heard myself say, the words soft and raw.
I walked to the sofa, not sitting, just needing to hold onto something.
"My mom left when I was twelve. Just a note.
She used to say love could fix people if you were patient enough.
Then she proved herself wrong by running. "
I could feel Jack shift slightly, his attention sharpening.
"So I spent seven years trying to fix my dad. He drank. I hid bottles, made excuses, believed if I just loved him enough, was good enough, he'd choose me. He didn't. He died when I was nineteen."
Jack was quiet, but I could hear his breathing change. Deeper. Like he was taking in the weight of what I was saying.
"After that, I kept trying. I was a magnet for broken men.
Ben, who was so sad, I foolishly thought I could be his happiness.
Mark, whose anger was always someone else's fault.
I stayed too long, gave too much, and believed my love was the magic ingredient.
" I finally looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, but something had changed in his eyes.
Not pity. Something closer to recognition.
"Then came Carter. He seemed solid. In control. By the time I realized that control was a cage, I was trapped. The night of the accident... that was when I finally saw the monster. But seeing it and escaping it were two different things."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "So you see, I'm an expert in one thing: trying to save people who don't want to be saved.
But the foundation... It's not about fixing something broken.
It's about nurturing something beautiful that Elena already built.
Maybe this is the first time I can actually help something grow. "
The silence after my confession was profound. Jack had moved closer without me realizing it. He was standing by the arm of the sofa.
"Elena had a theory about love. She said it wasn't a crowbar to pry people open, or a bandage to stop their bleeding. It was just... a light you held up, so they could see their own way."
The image was so beautiful, so perfect, that my eyes burned.
He paused, his gaze distant. "She would have liked you, I think. If circumstances were different."
The words were a kindness I couldn't bear. "Please." My voice cracked, and suddenly, tears I'd been holding back for months were threatening to spill. "Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes this harder." I pressed my palms to my eyes, fighting for control. "Imagining a world where we could have been normal. Where I could have met you at the foundation. Where Elena would be introducing us. It just makes the real world hurt more."
He took the final step that brought him directly in front of me. "The world now is you, in my home, caring for my daughter, and asking to run my wife's foundation. That's the world we have to face, Anna. Not the one that could have been."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I know."
We stood there, inches apart, in the quiet dark. I could smell his cologne, something woody and expensive. The air between us felt charged, alive.
"I don't forgive you."
The words were sudden, sharp. A cold splash of reality shattering the fragile moment. His voice was clear and firm, but I heard the effort it took to say it.
"I need you to know that. This arrangement... It's for Daisy. It's for the foundation. It's not an absolution."
The words didn't land with the sting I expected. "I don't expect your forgiveness," I said, matching his quiet honesty. "I wouldn't know what to do with it if you offered."
He gave a short, sharp nod. But he didn't move away. My eyes, adjusting to the dim light, caught a detail out of place. His tie, usually knotted with impeccable precision, was slightly askew, the end dangling longer than the other.
Without thinking, driven by an impulse I didn't understand, I reached up. My fingers brushed the silk of his tie, my knuckles grazing the solid warmth of his chest through his shirt.
I felt his sharp intake of breath. Felt his heart hammering beneath my knuckles, as fast as mine.
He froze.
I froze.
His hand came up, not to push me away, but to close around my wrist. His grip wasn't tight; it was a circle of heat that felt like a caress. His thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse hammered.
He could feel it. The evidence of what his touch did to me.
We stood there, trapped in the silence, connected by that point of contact, my fingers on his tie, his hand on my wrist. In the shadows, his gaze was dark, intense, utterly focused on my face. I saw the conflict in his eyes. Anger fighting something softer.
Time stopped. The only sound was the frantic drum of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. He released my wrist as if I'd burned him, his hand dropping to his side. He took a deliberate step back, putting a foot of cool, empty space between us.
His chest was rising and falling too quickly. His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself.
"Go home, Anna." His voice was rough, stripped bare. Almost desperate. "Now."
I didn't need to be told twice. I turned and walked to the service entrance, my legs unsteady. I didn't look back.
In the elevator, I leaned against the wall, pressing my trembling hand, the one he'd touched, against my stomach. My skin still tingled where his fingers had been.
What had just happened?
He'd almost... we'd almost...
No. I couldn't even finish the thought. It was impossible. Dangerous. Wrong in every conceivable way.
But I could still feel the heat of his hand on my wrist, the way his pulse had hammered against my fingertips.
Driving through the neon-washed streets, the reality settled over me. The danger had shifted. His rage, his cold disdain, his plans for revenge, those had been survivable.
But this... this reluctant truce, this shared vulnerability, the shocking, electric charge of that single touch.
.. it was a different kind of peril. This was the possibility of him starting to see me not as a monster, but as a woman.
This was the fragile, terrifying spark of an attraction that had no right to exist.
My phone buzzed as I pulled into my apartment parking lot. A text. From Jack.
Jack
First session Saturday, 10 AM. Margaret will brief you on Friday. Be on time.
Professional. Exactly what it should be.
But sent at 11:47 PM. Which meant he was still awake. Still thinking about what had happened.
Just like I was.
I stared at the message for a long moment before typing back:
Anna
I'll be there.
I watched the screen. Waiting. The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Then, nothing.
Whatever he'd been about to say, he'd thought better of it.
I locked my phone and sat in the dark car, wondering if I'd just been given a second chance at redemption or signed up for the most exquisite torture of my life.
Probably both.