6. Vince
VINCE
I closed the meeting room door behind me and stepped into the hallway, rolling my shoulders back.
God, I was tired. Four hours locked in a room with lawyers — my lawyers, the bank's lawyers, two paralegals with laptops who never looked up once — hammering out purchase terms for a property that should've closed three weeks ago.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My shirt collar felt too tight.
I checked my watch. Almost six. The floor was emptier now, just a few stragglers at their desks, screens still glowing in the dim. Through the windows the sky had gone orange, that late-summer color that meant the day was ending whether I was done with it or not.
The front desk was unmanned when I passed it. I frowned, slowing. Harlow's assistant was supposed to be there until seven, but the chair sat empty, the computer screen dark.
I kept walking toward my office, already pulling my phone from my pocket to check messages, when I heard heels clicking fast on the tile behind me.
"Mr. Ardito!"
I turned. Kelly, one of the reception staff, was hurrying toward me with a paper bag in her hands, her face flushed. She looked embarrassed.
"Sorry, I was in the break room," she said, a little breathless. "Your wife came by earlier. She left this for you."
I took the bag. It was heavier than I expected. "When was that?"
"Around noon, maybe twelve-thirty? I told her you were in the meeting and asked if she wanted to wait, but she said no, just to leave it at the desk for you.
" Kelly shifted her weight, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I put it in the fridge so it wouldn't go bad, but then I got pulled into the filing and I completely forgot about it until just now. I'm really sorry."
"It's fine," I said, waving her off. "Don't worry about it."
Kelly nodded, still looking guilty, and backed away toward the desk.
I turned and carried the bag into my office, nudging the door shut with my foot.
I set it down on the desk and flipped the overhead lights on.
The bag was plain brown paper, folded over at the top the way Josie always did it, edges creased neat and sharp.
Careful hands. She did everything like that.
I opened it and the smell hit me immediately. Turkey and provolone on that seeded bread she bought special, still faintly warm from sitting in the fridge all afternoon. My favorite sandwich. The one she'd made me a hundred times, maybe more. I smiled.
I pulled the contents out one at a time. Two thick sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. A red apple, polished until it shone. A napkin folded into a triangle.
My chest did something complicated.
She'd driven all the way down here in the middle of the day, packed this up, made the trip just to leave it at a desk for me because I was unavailable. Because I was always unavailable.
I unwrapped one of the sandwiches and sat down in my chair, biting into it. Cold now, hours old, the bread gone a little dry at the edges. But the flavor was perfect. The turkey was thick and tender, the provolone sharp and smooth, the seeded bread dense and nutty the way I liked it.
God, she was too good to me.
Better than I deserved, probably. I worked sixteen-hour days, came home to the penthouse after she was asleep half the week, and she still did things like this. Drove across the city with my favorite meal in a paper bag just because she thought I might be hungry.
I chewed slowly, staring out the window at the skyline going dark. The sun was nearly gone now, just a sliver of red-orange cutting between the glass towers to the west. The city lights were starting to blink on, one by one.
When was the last time I'd actually sat down and had a meal with her? A real meal, not something grabbed standing up in the kitchen on my way out the door?
I couldn't remember.
I reached back into the bag for the second sandwich, and my knuckles knocked hard against something at the bottom.
I frowned and set the sandwich down. I pulled the bag toward me and moved the wrapped sandwich aside, peering inside.
The ring lay there on the brown paper, small and impossibly bright.
I went still.
For a long moment I just stared at it, not moving, not understanding. Then I reached in carefully and picked it up, holding it between my thumb and forefinger like it might break.
The diamond caught the overhead light and threw sparks across my desk.
It was her ring. The one I'd bought her four years ago, for our fifth anniversary.
After I'd made my first real money, after the deals started closing and the bank account stopped looking like a joke.
After the proposal with the iron ring I'd hammered out myself in a machine shop on the corner where we'd both grown up, back when I'd had nothing and she'd said yes to me anyway.
I'd replaced it. Bought her this one, three carats, flawless, set in platinum with smaller diamonds all the way around the band.
I'd thought I was doing the right thing.
Thought she deserved something that looked like what she was worth to me, something that wasn't a piece of scrap metal I'd bent into shape with my own hands.
She'd taken it without a word. Slipped it on her finger and worn it every single day since.
And now it was sitting in a paper bag with cold turkey sandwiches.
I turned it slowly, watching the facets shift and catch the light. The band was warm, still holding heat from where it had been pressed against the paper.
What the hell does this mean?
My throat tightened. I set the ring down on the desk, right next to the half-eaten sandwich, and stared at it like it might suddenly make sense.
She wouldn't leave it. Not without a reason. Not Josie.
Had I missed something? Said something wrong, done something wrong? I ran back through the last few days in my head, combing for anything that felt off, any moment where she'd looked at me differently or said something I should've paid more attention to.
But there was nothing. I'd barely seen her. I'd been locked in the office every night this week — the Riverside deal, the rezoning fight, Harlow running me ragged with the mayor's office and their endless bullshit permitting requirements.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she was angry that I was never home.
But she'd never done anything like this before. She didn't play games. If Josie was upset, she said so. She told me, straight to my face, and we worked it out.
Didn't we?
I picked the ring up again, rolling it between my fingers. It felt wrong in my hand. Too light, too loose. It was supposed to be on her hand.
The door swung open behind me without a knock.
"Vince, the permits finally came through for the Gardiner Street site and I swear to God I could kiss Carmichael right now, he actually—" Harlow stopped mid-sentence, her voice cutting off. "Oh. You're eating."
I glanced back at her. She had a folder tucked under one arm, her jacket off and her sleeves rolled up the way she always did at the end of a long day. She looked pleased with herself.
"Good news?" I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I meant it to.
"Great news." She crossed the room toward my desk, grinning. "The city approved the variance this afternoon. We're clear to break ground next month, maybe sooner if the contractor can move his schedule up. I told you Carmichael would come through for us if we just gave him a little room to work."
"Yeah." I nodded, barely glancing at the folder she set down in front of me. "Good work."
Harlow's smile faltered. Her gaze flicked from my face to the paper bag on the desk, the unwrapped sandwich, the apple still gleaming. Then her eyes caught on my hand.
She went very still.
"Is that Josie's ring?" she asked quietly.
I didn't answer right away. I set the ring down on the desk, carefully, right next to the folder Harlow had brought in. Then I leaned back in my chair and dragged a hand over my face. My jaw ached.
"She came by earlier," I said finally. "Left lunch."
Harlow's eyes moved from the ring to the paper bag and back to my face. Something shifted in her expression, something careful sliding into place.
"And she left the ring in the bag?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Harlow was quiet for a beat. Then she pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, folding her hands on the edge of the desk.
"Vince, I don't want to overstep here, but you have to know that when a woman leaves her engagement ring somewhere, that's not exactly a good sign.
I mean, generally speaking that's a pretty clear message about?—"
"Harlow." I cut her off, sharper than I meant to. "Don't."
She blinked, straightening slightly in the chair. Her mouth closed.
The annoyance kicked up hot and immediate in my chest. She was going to sit there and theorize. She was going to tell me what Josie was thinking, what Josie meant by this, what it all added up to, like she had any goddamn clue what went on between me and my wife.
"I appreciate the concern," I said, my tone flat and final. "But I'll handle it."
Harlow held my gaze for a second, her expression unreadable. Then she stood, picking up the folder she'd just set down.
"Of course," she said, her voice cooler now. Professional. "I didn't mean to intrude."
She turned and walked to the door, heels clicking on the floor. She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and glanced back at me over her shoulder.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Maybe she just… needed to get it resized or something."
I didn't answer. Didn't even look at her.
Harlow hesitated another moment, then walked out and pulled the door shut behind her.
The office went silent.
I sat there, staring at the ring on the desk.
I'm sure it's nothing serious.
Right. Because women left their rings in sandwich bags all the time for no reason.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Josie's number, my thumb already hitting the call button before I'd decided to do it.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then her voicemail picked up, bright and familiar. Hey, it's Josie. Leave a message and I'll call you back.
I hung up without saying anything and immediately called again.
Same thing. Three rings, voicemail.
She wasn't picking up.
My jaw tightened. I set the phone down on the desk, harder than I needed to, and the sound cracked loud in the quiet office. The sandwich sat there in front of me, half-eaten and forgotten. The apple still polished and perfect.
I looked at the ring again, sitting there small and cold on the dark wood.
Then I picked it up, slipped it into my pocket, and stood. I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair, turned off the lights, and walked out.
The elevator took forever. I stood alone in the narrow space, one hand shoved in my pocket, fingers closed tight around the ring. The metal was cool now, the stone sharp against my palm.
The parking garage was almost empty when I stepped out. My car sat in its usual spot near the elevator, low and black and built for speed I never used because the city streets were a gridlock nightmare.
I unlocked it, tossed my jacket onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel.
Then I just sat there.
The ring was still in my hand. I pulled it out and held it up, angling it toward the dim yellow light from the garage fluorescents overhead.
It sparkled. Cold and flawless and expensive.
I'd thought I was giving her something real when I bought this. Thought I was making up for all the years when I couldn't afford to give her anything, when all I'd had to offer was a bent piece of scrap iron I'd shaped with my own hands.
But she'd kept that iron ring. Tucked it away in the drawer by the bed, in the back corner where she thought I wouldn't notice.
I'd hated that drawer.
Hated that she still had the thing I'd made when I was nobody, like it meant more to her than the one I'd bought when I could finally afford to give her what she deserved. Like the iron mattered and the diamond didn't.
Why do you still keep that? I'd asked her once, years ago, standing in the bedroom doorway while she folded laundry.
She'd looked up at me, surprised. Keep what?
The iron ring. The first one I gave you.
She'd glanced at the drawer, then back at me, and she'd smiled. That small, soft smile that made my chest hurt. Because you made it for me, Vince.
That was it. That was the whole explanation, like it was obvious.
I'd let it go. Told myself it didn't matter. She wore the diamond every day. That was what counted.
Except now the diamond was in my hand and she wasn't answering her phone and I didn't know what the hell any of it meant.
I started the car. The engine rumbled to life, low and smooth. I pulled out of the garage and into the street, merging into the thin evening traffic. The sun was almost gone now, just a sliver of burning red-orange hanging over the buildings to the west.
The light came through the windshield, slanted and warm, and caught the diamond in my hand. It turned into a little spark of fire, bright and sharp.
I drove, holding the ring tight, and had no idea where I was going.