Chapter 31
WE KEEP OUR CROWNS
RORIE
Maya!
You’re back from your trip early?
Yep. Trip imploded. Wine required.
Bring tissues and judgment.
I’m on my way. Don’t move.
The restaurant is small, tucked into a quiet SoHo side street, dimly lit and rich with the scent of garlic butter and aged wood. It’s a place where secrets melt into candlelight and feelings slip loose between sips of wine.
And judging by the SOS Maya texted me an hour ago, I’m about to find out what secret is bleeding all over the bread basket.
Maya’s halfway through a bottle of red when I arrive, one dainty hand curled around her glass, the other attached to her phone.
She’s not scrolling. Not texting. Just sitting, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, eyes locked on the flickering flame in front of her, distracting her from whatever ache she’s feeling.
“So,” I say, sitting across from her and forcing lightness into my voice, “what are we drinking to?”
She lifts her wine, but her smile falters. “Clarity. I think.”
“I take it your business trip-slash-secret Asher escape didn’t end in rose petals and orgasms?”
“Not even close.”
“You okay?”
Maya exhales, gaze dropping to the untouched oysters. “Not really.”
I go quiet, waiting. She doesn’t rush. Maya never does. But when she finally speaks, it’s soft. Careful. Like her words might splinter if she says them too fast.
“I’m ending things with Asher.”
I blink. “Why? They’ve only just begun.”
Her fingertip swirls around the rim. “Or at least… I’m preparing to.”
My heart sinks. I’ve watched this almost-thing between them unfold for weeks now, felt that intense spark between them from across the damn room. “Maya…”
“I can’t do it, Ro.” She looks up at me, and her eyes aren’t glittering with sarcasm or confidence or even frustration. They’re just sad. “I can’t be someone’s secret.”
My heart sinks.
“You know what you got after one impulsive, arguably irresponsible dry hump, complete with a symphonic finger fuck?” she says with a dry laugh. “A galaxy.”
Her words don’t strike all at once. They seep in, sinking deeper with every heartbeat until I feel them everywhere.
Because she’s not wrong.
It was reckless. Ill-advised. Created from heat and hunger and very little forethought.
It was also one of my best.
For once, I didn’t overthink it. I didn’t run. I let myself feel something wild and exciting and messy. And for a moment—just one—I existed outside the boundaries of fear.
My throat tightens. “Maya—”
“No, I’m serious,” she interrupts gently. “You got a man who tracked the stars and memorialized the moment you met. Meanwhile, I’ve got a man who can’t even say my name in a crowded room.”
Oof. That one hits.
“I don’t want to be a hidden thing. I want to be center stage, not buried in the credits.” She lifts her chin a little. She’s trying to convince herself. “If he can’t give me that, then he doesn’t get me at all.”
The silence aches between us. I know it’s not just about Asher. It’s about everything Maya’s ever fought for—her image, her worth, her place in this industry.
“I’m proud of you,” I say quietly.
She smiles, but it’s soft around the edges. “It still sucks.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone.”
Maya squeezes back, then exhales and peels her hand away.
“God, I’ve been talking about Asher non-stop.
I completely blanked. How are you doing?
With… you know.” She wiggles her eyebrows like we’re in middle school and not grown-ass adults dealing with actual heartbreak and questionable professional etiquette.
I force a smile. One of those tight-lipped ones that says let’s not.
I haven’t talked about the galaxy he sent. Or the email that followed.
Not to her. Not to Jeremy. Not to anyone.
It’s been a week since I opened that box and felt the floor drop out from under me.
A week since I read those words—a one-time lapse in judgment—and locked that part of me away as though it never existed.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t rage. Just... closed the door. And turned the key.
Because if I said it out loud, it would be real. And if it’s real, then I have to admit how humiliated I am.
Because in a few weeks, I’ll have to see him again. Work with him. Compete against him.
Pretend that my mind isn’t haunted by the way his fingers made me sing like a goddamn aria behind that bathroom door.
Pretend I don’t still feel him in the hollow ache between my thighs when I’m trying to sleep. That I’m not picturing him every time my thoughts drift into dangerous places.
And pretend—worst of all—that it wasn’t the best I’ve ever felt.
Nothing about this is professional.
And now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to scrub off the shame. It’s lodged in my skin, jagged, stubborn, like a barnacle.
And God help me, I loved every fucked up, unprofessional, dizzying second of it.
But it’s done.
“Nolan?” I fill in the blank, already feeling the wave of discomfort roll in.
“Mr. Stars-In-A-Box himself. What the hell kind of maniac move was that?” She leans in, eyes wide. “Did you thank him with a mind-blowing, toe-curling blowjob?”
“Jesus Christ, Maya.” I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Well.” I grab my water hoping, start gulping it like it might drown the shame. “I haven’t seen or heard from him. I sent him a thank you email and about two seconds later, he replied me a rejection.”
Her face drops. “A rejection?”
“Yup.”
“Okay–but why would he do that?”
I shrug, but everything about it feels tight. Coiled. “It was all just... a lot. One minute, I was plotting the corporate downfall of Big Stream, and the next I’m orgasming against their top exec in a bar bathroom? What the hell is wrong with me?”
She tries so hard not to laugh, she snorts into her glass. “Rorie, I’m begging you—never change.”
“I’m serious.” I slump back against the chair. “All I wanted was a one-night stand. With some random guy. Some fun-sex to reset the algorithm.”
“And instead,” Maya finishes, “you got Nolan Rhodes, emotional mindfuck and CEO of Making You Forget Logic Exists.”
“I’ve got a mental highlight reel of his hands in my hair and my thighs around his waist,” I groan. “I haven’t been able to blink without seeing that adorable dimple of his. It’s a mess.”
“It’s not a mess,” she says gently. “It’s chemistry. Chaos-flavored, sure. But it’s not nothing.”
I exhale. “But that gift was from a man trying to fall in love, and the email was from a man trying to walk back a mistake. Two sides to the coin. Guess he got a taste and decided he didn’t want seconds.”
Maya tilts her head. “That’s not true. What did the email say exactly?”
I swallow. “Said we got swept up in something. That it was probably just a moment.”
The words sting more out loud than they did on screen.
“Oh, babe,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “So much for the highlight reel.”
Maya shifts in her seat.
“I scared something off before I even had the chance to hold it,” I say quietly, staring down at the table.
“That’s the pattern, right? I feel too deeply, want or need too much, and the second it shows, I watch them run.
It’s my specialty. Pushing men to their limit just by existing.
” I swallow hard. “Nolan ran for the same reason they all do. Wanting me means having to stay, means handling real emotions, real fire, real fucking weight. And that’s too much for men like him.
Men who’ve only ever been taught how to win, the easy, not how to fight. ”
Maya doesn’t say anything right away. She reaches across the table and hooks her pinky with mine like we’re sixteen and trying to swear away the worst parts of life.
“You didn’t scare anything off. You did what you always do when the ground feels shaky, you tried to make it solid.
That’s not wrong. That’s you surviving.”
I look up, throat tight.
“And sometimes,” she adds, her voice stronger now, “survival looks like control. But giving in to your feelings is not weakness, Rorie. That’s brave as hell. Especially for someone who’s convinced she has to earn love by being invincible.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “One bathroom hookup and suddenly I’m fraying at the seams.”
“Rorie.” Her voice is still firm, anchored. “You are intense. And brilliant. And turbulent in the best way. Anyone who can’t handle that doesn’t get to keep you.”
A breath stutters out of me, brittle and raw. “So I didn’t blow it?”
She squeezes my hand. “He’s the one that blew it. You showed him who you really are. And if he walks away from that? Then he was never supposed to stay.”
My eyes sting. I blink fast, but it doesn’t stop the prickle behind them. “Jesus. Why are you right at the worst possible times?”
Maya smiles, gentle and a little smug. “Because I’ve been exactly where you are. I know when a woman starts to confuse being real with being too much.”
We sit in silence for a while. Me with my heartbreak, her with her clarity. Two women refusing to shrink for anyone, even when it would be easier.
I sniff. Sit up straighter. “Alright. So… what’s our game plan?”
Maya leans back, collecting herself. “We show up. We bring fire. We win this Pitchpocalypse. We prove, once again, that we don’t need a man—or a headline—to dominate a pitch.”
I grin. “Words from a true strategist.”
Her eyes sparkle again. We clink glasses, a silent agreement passing between us.
Asher can keep his secrets.
Nolan can keep his distance.
We’ll keep our crowns.
And tomorrow, we rise.