Chapter 20 Alice
ALICE
Light filters through the gauzy hotel curtains, brushing against my eyelids. I stir, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist and the steady breathing of someone beside me.
Oscar.
The memories of last night flood back — his confession in the park, my own admission, that first earth-shattering kiss that led us here. To his bed. To this moment.
I carefully turn my head to look at him.
In sleep, his face is softer, the hard lines of the businessman melted away.
Dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his hair tousled in a way that would mortify the perfectly polished CEO the world sees.
This is the Oscar I remember from college — vulnerable, real.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. What have I done?
The question loops through my mind as I gently slide out from under his arm, holding my breath when he shifts but doesn't wake.
Standing naked beside the bed, I feel utterly exposed, and not just physically.
Last night, in the heat of passion and long-buried feelings, everything seemed so clear.
But in the harsh light of morning, uncertainty creeps in like a fog.
We work together. He's technically my boss. My ex-best friend who abandoned me once before. The man who bought my company.
And I just spent the night having the most incredible sex of my life with him.
I silently gather my scattered clothes, slipping into them as quickly and quietly as possible. My dress from yesterday is wrinkled beyond saving, but it'll have to do until I can get to my room. As I step into my heels, my gaze falls on Oscar again.
He looks so peaceful. So content. I wonder what he's dreaming about.
Part of me wants to crawl back into bed, to curl against his warmth and stay there until he wakes. To see if the tenderness in his eyes last night is still there this morning. But another part — the self-protective part that's been burned before — warns me to run.
"We'll look back on last night fondly," he might say when he wakes. "But we both know this can't go anywhere."
Or worse: "That was a mistake, let's be professional from now on."
I can't bear to hear those words from him. Not after everything we shared. Not after he made me believe, for one perfect night, that maybe we could have the connection we missed out on twelve years ago.
Grabbing my purse, I glance around one final time to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.
My gaze catches on Oscar's discarded shirt, the expensive fabric pooled on the floor where we frantically undressed each other.
The watch on the nightstand worth more than my car.
The quiet luxury of the suite that reminds me just how different our worlds have become.
With a deep breath, I slip out the door, closing it with a soft click behind me.
The hallway is mercifully empty as I hurry toward my own room, fishing the key card from my purse. Once inside, I lean against the closed door, my heart pounding. What am I doing? Running away like this is exactly what I accused Oscar of doing all those years ago. But this is different… isn't it?
I don't have time to contemplate the irony. We have a flight to catch in a few hours, and I need to shower, pack, and figure out how to face Oscar without falling apart.
Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed in fresh clothes, my hair still damp as I stuff yesterday's wrinkled dress into my suitcase. My movements are mechanical, efficient. If I just focus on the logistics, maybe I can delay the emotional reckoning that's coming.
I check my phone — no messages. Did he even notice I'm gone yet?
With one final glance around the room, I grab my luggage and head out. If I'm lucky, I can get to the airport early, maybe even change my seat on the plane. Anything to avoid being trapped next to Oscar for hours after what’s happened.
The elevator opens onto the hotel lobby, which is busy with morning check-outs and business travelers grabbing coffee.
I weave through the crowd, heading for the exit.
Just a few more steps and I'll be outside, able to breathe again, to think clearly without the weight of what happened pressing down on me from all sides.
"Alice!"
His voice cuts through the ambient noise of the lobby, stopping me in my tracks. I freeze, unable to turn around, unable to move forward.
"Alice, wait!"
I hear the slap of what sounds like… slippers?
against the marble floor, and suddenly Oscar is there, right in front of me, blocking my path to the door.
His hair is still disheveled, his chest bare except for a hastily thrown-on robe that's barely tied, and yes — hotel slippers on his feet. He looks nothing like the man I’m used to seeing each morning at work.
He looks like a man who woke to find someone missing and ran.
For me.
"Where are you going?" he asks, slightly out of breath, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
The lobby suddenly feels very quiet, and I realize we're drawing stares. Oscar Glynn, half-dressed in a five-star hotel lobby, is quite the spectacle.
"I…" My mouth is dry. "I was just heading out. We have a flight to catch."
"In three hours," he says flatly. "Were you planning to wait at the airport all that time? Or were you hoping to catch an earlier flight without me?"
Yep. Right on the first try. And the second.
I would take either of those opportunities — whichever presents itself first.
I can't meet his gaze. "Oscar, last night was… it was a mistake. We work together. It's complicated."
"Bullshit."
The word is so unexpected, so unlike his usual eloquence, that I look up in surprise.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His voice drops lower, for my ears only. "Last night wasn't a mistake. It was years in the making. And you're not leaving because you're worried about mixing business with pleasure. You're leaving because you're scared."
"I'm not scared," I protest automatically, but the words sound hollow, like I’m a robot just repeating something I’ve been programmed to say.
His expression softens. "Yes, you are. You're scared that this is just a fling to me. That I'll change my mind, or that I won't be there when you wake up one morning." He takes a step closer. "Sound familiar?"
The parallel to his desertion years ago isn't lost on me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and something else — the discomfort of having someone see right through you.
"Look, I get it," I say, desperate to regain control of the situation. "We had unfinished business. We resolved it. Now we can move forward professionally without all this… history hanging over us."
Oscar shakes his head, a small, incredulous smile playing at his lips. "Is that what you think last night was? Closure?"
"Wasn't it?"
"No, Alice." He reaches for my hand, and despite my better judgment, I let him take it. "Last night was a beginning, not an end."
My heart flutters treacherously in my chest. "Oscar—"
"I want to be with you," he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle.
"Not just for one night. Not just for a fling.
I want to see where this goes — where we could go.
I've spent so long building these companies, but it means nothing without someone to share it with.
" His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "Without you to share it with."
I swallow hard, fighting against the hope rising in my chest. "How could this possibly work? You own my company. We're in completely different worlds now."
"We'll figure it out. Together." His gaze is steady, unwavering. "I'm not the same man who walked away from you, Alice. Hell, I wasn’t even a man then. I was a boy. And I won't make that mistake again."
"And what if it doesn't work?" I whisper, voicing my deepest fear. "What if we try, and it falls apart, and this time we can't even salvage a professional relationship?"
"Then at least we'll know we tried." His free hand comes up to brush a strand of damp hair from my face. "Isn't that better than spending another twelve years wondering what could have been?"
The touch of his fingers against my cheek is electric, sending warmth spreading through me. All my carefully constructed arguments against this — against us — suddenly seem flimsy in the face of the raw emotion in his eyes.
"I'm not good at this," I admit quietly. "Relationships. Vulnerability. I've spent so long being strong and independent."
"I know." He smiles slightly. "It's one of the things I love about you."
Love. The word hangs between us, loaded with possibility.
"I'm afraid," I finally confess, the words feeling like they're being torn from somewhere deep inside me.
"So am I," he says, surprising me. "Alice, you terrify me. You always have. You're the only person who's ever had the power to break my heart."
The sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, undoes me completely. And suddenly, I know. Despite the risks, despite the complications, despite the million ways this could go wrong, I want this. I want him.
"Okay," I say, so softly I'm not sure he hears me at first.
His brow furrows slightly. "Okay?"
A smile breaks across my face, surprising even me with its strength. "Count me in. Let's see where this goes."
The relief and joy that transforms his features is almost comical.
Without warning, he pulls me into his arms, lifting me slightly off the ground as he kisses me.
I'm vaguely aware of a smattering of applause from onlookers in the lobby, but I can't bring myself to care.
Not when Oscar's lips are on mine, warm and insistent and full of promise.
When he finally sets me down, we're both breathless, and I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all — Oscar standing in the middle of a hotel lobby in his robe and slippers, me with wet hair, both of us grinning like idiots.
"What now?" I ask, still not entirely believing what's happening.
His smile turns mischievous as he takes my hand, interlacing our fingers with a deliberate slowness that makes my pulse quicken.
"Now," he says, tugging me gently back toward the elevators. "We go back upstairs. I believe we still have a few hours before our flight."
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I let him lead me across the lobby, the weight of my luggage forgotten in my other hand, the weight of my fears forgotten in my heart.
I’m no longer running from the past. No longer running from the pain, running from memories of Oscar.
I'm running with him.