Chapter 24 #3
He smiles faintly, but his eyes stay serious.
“I’m worried talking to him will convince me to stay,” I admit. “And I want to stay for the right reasons.”
“What if he’s the right reason?”
My eyes lift. Tate holds my gaze.
“Or,” he adds, “what if he tells you he thinks you should go?”
That hits somewhere tender.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he loves you.”
My breath stops. The words land between us like something fragile dropped on glass. Tate looks almost apologetic, but he doesn’t take it back.
People move around us. The restaurant hums. Somewhere behind me, a fork clatters against a plate. But my whole world narrows to those three words. He loves you.
I know. I do know. I saw the message Opal showed me. Tell her I love her. But hearing it out loud is different.
“Tate,” I whisper.
“He does,” he says. “And before you ask, no, he didn’t tell me to say that.”
“Then why are you saying it?”
“Because I’m tired of watching two people I care about look like shit.”
I laugh, but it comes out watery. “You Sinclairs are really fond of that phrase.”
“It’s accurate.” He pauses. “He’s trying, Laurel.”
I look away. “I know.”
“No, I mean really trying. He’s stayed away because he was told to. Because you needed space. Because Owen threatened to remove several parts of him if he violated the agreement.”
“That sounds like Owen.”
“It was actually one of his gentler threats.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth, then fades.
Tate continues, “The divorce is settled. Jenna is taken care of. The company is stable. The board has a plan. None of that erases what happened, but things are different now.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
I trace condensation down the side of my glass. “It doesn’t feel different.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Like I’m standing between two doors and both of them are on fire.”
He considers that. “Dramatic but understandable.”
“Thank you.”
“With Sex Activity Pro, you get distance,” he says. “Money. Title. A clean professional structure.”
“Don’t make it sound so good.”
“It is good.”
I nod. Because it is. That’s the problem.
“And with SINsual?” I ask.
“With SINsual, you get your work. Your team. Credit for what you built. A launch that is going to change the company.” He pauses. “And yes, you get Sin nearby.”
I close my eyes. Nearby. What a dangerous word.
“He wouldn’t be my boss anymore.”
“No.”
“But he’d still be there.”
“Yes.”
“And everyone would know.”
“Everyone already knows.”
I open my eyes and glare at him.
He lifts one shoulder. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” he agrees with a smile.
The food arrives, and I stare at my salad like it might provide wisdom. It does not. Lettuce is famously unhelpful.
Tate picks up his fork. “Sin mentioned a letter.”
My hand stills and I keep my eyes on my plate. “He told you?”
“He told Wilder, who told me, because Wilder has never met a private thought he didn’t immediately mishandle.”
“I haven’t read it yet,” I say.
Tate is quiet for a moment. “Why not?”
Because I’m scared. Because once I open it, I can’t pretend I don’t know what’s inside.
Because it might say goodbye. Because it might not.
Because if Sin asks me to come back, every part of me might say yes before my brain has a chance to object.
Because if he tells me to go, I might never recover from how much that will feel like love.
His voice softens. “What are you afraid it says?”
My throat tightens. “The truth.”
He nods slowly, like that makes perfect sense.
“I think that’s probably why you should read it.”
“Again with the reasonable.”
“I’m unbearable today.”
“Truly.”
He smiles, then reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small envelope.
For one insane second, I think it’s another letter and my stomach drops.
Tate notices and shakes his head. “Relax. Not from him.”
He slides it across the table.
“What is it?”
“Your launch bonus confirmation.”
I blink. “What?”
“Protected. In writing. Separate from your employment decision. Whether you stay, leave, take time, or run away to become a lighthouse keeper.”
“I’ve always thought I’d make an excellent lighthouse keeper.”
“You’d redesign the lighthouse within a week.”
“Obviously. Some of them have terrible branding.”
He smiles, but mine falters as I open the envelope and scan the document.
The number makes my breath catch. Not because it’s as much as Sex Activity Pro.
It isn’t. Because it’s proof that the company is not erasing me and that my work still matters.
Proof that I am not being quietly punished while everyone smiles and says words like valued.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You earned it.”
“I know.”
This time, I almost believe it.
We eat for a while in easier silence.
Then Tate says, “Whatever you choose, don’t make the decision from fear.”
I look at him.
“That’s all I’m saying,” he adds. “Don’t stay because you’re afraid leaving means he wins or loses or whatever. Don’t go because you’re afraid everyone will think you only stayed for him. Pick the life you actually want once the noise fades.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
“You do.”
I laugh once. “Bold claim.”
“You know. You’re just afraid of the cost.”
After lunch, Tate walks me outside. The air is cold, but bright, the kind of late-afternoon light that makes the city look kinder than it is. He hugs me before I can prepare for it. It is warm and brotherly and completely unfair.
“Read the letter,” he says against my hair.
“Bossy.”
“Sinclair trait.”
“I noticed.”
He pulls back. “And call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I might.”
“You won’t.”
I smile. “You know me too well.”
“Working on it.”
On the ride home, I think about what Tate said. Maybe the choice isn’t between staying and leaving. Maybe the real choice is whether I keep letting fear make the decision for me.
My apartment is quiet when I get back and the letter is still on the kitchen counter.
I stand there for a long time with my coat still on and my purse hanging from my shoulder.
Then I set down my bag. Take off my coat.
Wash my hands. Make tea I will probably forget about.
Delay, delay, delay. Finally, there is nothing left to do except stand in front of the counter and admit that a piece of paper has been holding me hostage.
I pick it up.
The envelope feels heavier than it should.
My thumb slips under the flap.
Then I open it.