Chapter 25
OSCAR
Two weeks.
Two weeks of hell since Alice walked away on that tarmac. Two weeks of sleepless nights and distracted days, of throwing myself into work to avoid thinking about her. And failing miserably.
I glance at the clock on my office wall. Nearly eight. Another late night, another excuse to avoid going home to my empty house, to my empty life.
At least there's one victory to savor: the layoffs at Rooted Pantry have been officially reversed.
Every single terminated employee has been offered their position back, with a substantial retention bonus as an apology.
Most have accepted, including Sydney — though I suspect that has more to do with the job itself than any goodwill toward me.
Jack and Halston are gone — voted off the board after the unauthorized layoffs came to light. A small victory, considering what it cost me.
I close the financial report I've been staring at for the past hour without absorbing a single word. What's the point? The work will still be here tomorrow, and my brain checked out hours ago, replaced by an endless loop of Alice's face — hurt, betrayed, walking away.
Sighing, I shut down my computer and gather my things. The office is empty, my footsteps echoing in the silence as I make my way to the elevator. The security guard nods as I pass through the lobby.
"Another late night, Mr. Glynn?"
"Looks that way, Ted." I manage a tight smile. "Have a good one."
"You too, sir. Get some rest."
Rest. As if that's possible when every time I close my eyes, I see her.
Outside, people laugh down the street. Cars honk. The wind whistles. Life goes on, I suppose, but it feels like I’m stuck in a loop, unable to move forward.
Loosening my tie, I walk toward the parking garage where my car waits. Maybe I shouldn’t be leaving the office. There’s nothing – no one – waiting for me at home, and–
"Oscar!"
I freeze at the sound of my name, for one wild moment hoping… but no. I know that voice, and it's not Alice's.
I turn to see Sydney approaching, her red hair unmistakable even in the dim light of the street lamps. She's wearing jeans and a casual jacket — not her work clothes — which means this isn't a coincidental run-in. She came here deliberately, past work hours, to find me.
"Sydney," I say cautiously as she reaches me. "Hi…”
"I figured you'd still be here," she says, gesturing to the building behind me. "Your car was in the garage, and the security guy said you hadn't left yet."
"Should I be concerned that you're tracking my movements?" I ask, only half-joking.
"Please.” She rolls her eyes.
"Yet here you are. Is there something up at Rooted Pantry? If you–"
"No.” She folds her arms. " This isn’t about work. Look, I'm not your biggest fan. Not after everything that's happened. But since you mentioned Rooted Pantry, I did want to thank you for reversing the layoffs."
"You already thanked me when you accepted your position back," I remind her.
"Yeah, well…" she shrugs. "It bears repeating. Especially since I know how hard you had to fight the board."
I study her face, searching for the real reason behind this late-night visit. Could it be…? "Why are you really here, Sydney?"
She glances around, as if ensuring we're alone, then fixes me with a direct stare. "Alice."
Just her name sends a jolt through me. "What about her?" I try my best to act chill and like I haven’t been obsessing over the woman who's haunted my every waking moment.
"She's not over you."
Four simple words, yet they hit me with the force of a physical blow. I have to resist the urge to grab Sydney's shoulders and demand details.
"Did she say that?" I ask, no longer caring if I look unhinged.
"Not in so many words," Sydney admits. "Actually, she insists she's completely done with you. That's how I know she's not."
"That… doesn't make sense."
"It does if you know the parts of her I do," she counters. "When she truly doesn't care about something, she doesn't waste energy denying it. But you?" She gestures vaguely in my direction. "She can't go ten minutes without bringing up how completely over you she is."
Hope stirs in my chest, a dangerous, fragile thing that I try to temper. "Even if that's true, she won't talk to me. She won't answer my calls, my emails. She's blocked me on every platform."
"Because she's hurt," Sydney says, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "And stubborn. And terrified of being hurt by you again."
"I never meant to hurt her," I say softly. "Not back then, and certainly not now."
"Yet somehow, you managed to do it spectacularly both times." There's no malice in her tone, just a statement of fact that stings all the more for its truth.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration welling up. "What am I supposed to do? Hm? Camp outside her place? She's made it pretty clear she doesn't want to see me."
"She's at Get Fresh now," Sydney says, watching my reaction carefully. "Did you know that?"
I nod grimly. "I heard." The news had felt like a knife to the gut. Not just that Alice had left Rooted Pantry — that I'd expected — but that she'd gone straight to our biggest competitor. It felt deliberate, personal. A way to hurt me like I'd hurt her.
"She almost burned down her kitchen trying to destroy old photos of you two from college," Sydney continues.
This stops me short. "What?"
"Yeah. Her plan was to set fire to them in some melodramatic ceremony, only to get distracted and nearly burn the place down." A small smile plays at her lips.
I don't know what to say to this revelation. The image of Alice sitting alone, angry enough to try destroying our shared past, yet unable to follow through — it breaks my heart and gives me hope in equal measure.
"Why are you telling me this?" I finally ask. "I thought you were on her side."
"I am on her side. Always. But that's why I'm here." She takes a deep breath. "Look, I've never seen her as happy as she was when you two were in San Diego. Or as devastated as she was after."
"I'm sorry—"
"I'm not finished," she cuts me off. "You hurt her. Badly. Twice. And normally, I'd be the first one telling her to move on and never look back. But…" she hesitates.
"But?" I prompt, barely breathing.
"But I think you two might actually be good for each other. When you're not being idiots, that is." She fiddles with the zipper of her jacket. "And I don't want her to look back years from now and regret what happened. Regret not giving you another chance."
It's more than I expected, more than I deserve. "I appreciate you telling me all this," I say sincerely. "But it doesn't solve the problem of her refusing to speak to me."
"True. And that's your problem to solve, not mine," she says, already backing away. "I've done my part by telling you there's still a chance. What you do with that information is up to you."
"Wait," I call as she turns to leave. "Why now? It's been two weeks."
She looks over her shoulder. "Because enough time has already gone by. If you're going to do something, it needs to be soon."
With that, she walks away, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk, my mind racing with possibilities.
A chance. Sydney thinks I have a chance. Alice isn't over me, despite her insistence to the contrary.
For the first time in two weeks, I feel something other than despair. A flicker of hope, small but persistent, begins to burn in my chest.
But Sydney's right about one thing - I'm running out of time. Once Alice is firmly entrenched at Get Fresh, the professional divide between us will make any reconciliation that much harder. Not to mention the non-compete and confidentiality agreements she'll inevitably sign.
I need to act fast. I need to do something big enough to break through the walls she's built, something that proves beyond doubt that I'm not the man she thinks I am — that I've changed, that I'm worthy of her trust again.
But what? A grand gesture feels too shallow, too easily dismissed as manipulation. Words alone won't be enough — she has no reason to believe my promises after everything that's happened.
I need to show her, not tell her. I need to demonstrate through actions, not just declarations, that I've learned from my mistakes. That I'm not the ruthless man she believes me to be, but the person who thinks the sun rises and sets on her face.
As I walk to my car, my mind sifts through possibilities, each seeming more inadequate than the last. How do you convince someone to trust you when you've given them every reason not to?
How do you prove that this time is different, that you've changed, when they've heard those promises before?