14. Vince
VINCE
I called Harlow in just after eight.
I'd been at my desk since six, sitting in the same chair I'd left at midnight the night before, staring at blueprints I wasn't actually reading.
My coffee had gone cold an hour ago. I hadn't touched it.
The penthouse felt wrong without Josie in it, and the office felt wrong too, but at least here I could do something about the noise in my head.
I could deal with the one person who'd put her hands on my marriage and torn it apart.
My assistant put Harlow through without a question, and I heard the click of heels in the corridor outside my office before the door opened.
She came in smiling, folder tucked under one arm, coffee in the other hand.
She had that look she always wore when she thought she'd cleared some obstacle I hadn't asked her to touch — satisfied, like she'd just closed a deal and was waiting for me to thank her.
"Morning." She set the folder on my desk, glanced at the chair across from me, and then back at my face. "You wanted to see me?"
I didn't ask her to sit. I didn't say good morning. I just looked at her, my hands flat on the desk, and let the silence stretch until her smile faltered at the edges. "What did you say to my wife?"
The smile disappeared. She straightened, one hand still resting on the folder, and met my eyes without flinching. For a second I thought she might lie, might try to dance around it, but she didn't. "I went to her shop yesterday afternoon. I told her the truth."
"What truth."
"That she was holding you back." Harlow's voice didn't waver.
She said it like she was delivering a report on permit approvals or zoning amendments, calm and matter-of-fact, like she was stating something everyone already knew.
"That you needed someone who understood the work you do, Vince.
Someone who could actually support what you're building instead of dragging you down.
Someone who didn't spend every dinner asking you to waste your time on a corner that doesn't matter anymore. "
My chest tightened, a pressure building behind my ribs that I couldn't name yet. My jaw clenched. "You told her we slept together."
"Yes."
No hesitation. No shame. No apology. Just that single word, dropped between us like it was nothing, like it didn't mean anything at all.
"We didn't."
"I know that." Harlow tilted her head, and her expression shifted into something I'd seen her use on donors who were waffling on a check — patient, indulgent, like she was explaining something obvious to someone who wasn't keeping up.
"But she didn't need to know that, did she?
She was a liability, Vince. You've been carrying her for nine years, and what has she given you in return?
Guilt. That's it. Guilt every time you stayed late, guilt every time you prioritized the work that actually matters. I got rid of the problem."
The word liability landed like a slap. I remembered her using it before, at the fundraiser about two weeks ago, when she'd told the donors Josie's corner had been struggling for years and she was surprised anyone still ran a business there.
It's a liability, really, she'd said, glancing at Josie with practiced sympathy.
No matter how much effort you put in, the location drags everything down.
Josie had defended herself in front of everyone, insisting the shop wasn't a liability, that it supported four families and had been there thirty years.
I'd stood there with my hand on her back and said nothing, my gaze already on the mayor's table.
She'd meant the neighborhood then. The buildings, the streets, the people. Now she meant Josie.
I stood up. My hands were flat on the desk, and I realized I was leaning forward, my weight pressing into my palms hard enough that my knuckles had gone white.
My pulse was hammering in my throat. "You went to her shop.
You walked into her place of work. You looked her in the eye and told her I'd been unfaithful. "
"You needed the space to do your work without her hanging on your back, asking you to come home, asking you to waste entire weekends walking around streets you left behind years ago.
" Harlow's tone didn't change. She wasn't apologizing.
She wasn't even pretending to regret it.
If anything, she sounded annoyed that I wasn't seeing her logic.
"Someone had to make the hard call, and you weren't going to do it. So I did it for you."
The fury hit me all at once, a wave of heat that started in my chest and spread up into my throat, into my jaw, into my hands.
I'd spent nine years keeping my temper on a leash, keeping my voice level, keeping everything controlled and businesslike even when I wanted to put my fist through a wall.
I'd learned how to be the kind of man who didn't lose it in front of his staff, who didn't let emotion dictate the terms, who kept his head when everyone else was losing theirs.
That leash snapped.
"You sabotaged my marriage." My voice came out louder than I'd meant it to, and I didn't care. The words tore out of me, raw and furious. "You walked into her shop, looked her in the eye, and destroyed the one thing I?—"
The door opened behind Harlow. Gideon stepped in, his hand still on the handle, his gaze moving from me to Harlow and back again.
He didn't ask what was going on. He didn't say a word.
He just stood there, silent, and I knew from the look on his face that he'd heard enough through the door to piece the whole thing together.
I turned back to Harlow, my chest heaving. "You're fired."
Her face went pale. All the color drained out of it in an instant, and her hand jerked away from the folder like it had burned her. "Vince?—"
"Get out."
"You can't do this." Her voice rose, losing that smooth, polished veneer she always carried, cracking into something sharp and desperate.
"I've been covering for you with the mayor's office for three years.
I've brought in every donor on your books, every connection you've got in this city.
You need me, Vince. You can't afford to lose me. "
"I don't need anyone who goes behind my back and lies to my wife." My voice came out flat and cold now, every word deliberate. "I don't need anyone who thinks they can make decisions about my life without asking me first."
Harlow's hands were shaking. I watched her fingers curl into fists at her sides, watched her take a step toward the desk, her eyes searching my face like she was looking for some crack in my resolve that she could wedge open.
"Vince, please. I made a mistake. I thought I was helping you.
I thought if she was out of the picture, you could focus on what really matters, on the work we're building together?—"
"We're not building anything together." I leaned back, folding my arms across my chest. My pulse was still hammering, but my voice stayed level. "You work for me. You did. Past tense. And you just ended that by going after the one person who actually matters."
"She doesn't care about this." Harlow's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through now.
She gestured at the office, at the blueprints on my desk, at the view of the city through the window behind me.
"She doesn't care about any of it, Vince.
She doesn't understand what you're trying to accomplish.
She just wants you to come home and pretend you're still the same kid who grew up on her corner, like you haven't built something that actually matters?—"
"Stop talking."
She flinched, but she kept going. "I'll fix it. I'll go back to her shop, I'll tell her I lied, I'll tell her it was all a mistake and that nothing happened between us. I'll make it right, Vince. Just give me a chance to?—"
"No." I cut her off, my voice hard. "You're done. Pack your office. You have an hour, and then security is walking you out."
She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't find the words. I watched her cycle through shock, disbelief, and then something that looked like genuine panic before her expression shifted again, hardening into something sharp and mean and calculating.
"You're making a mistake," she said. Her voice had changed, all the desperation gone, replaced by something colder. "The mayor's not going to like this, Vince. You know that, right?"
"I don't care what the mayor likes."
"You should." Harlow's eyes narrowed. "He'll pull every permit you have.
Every single one. You think you can operate in this city without his office behind you?
I'm the only reason he's tolerated you this long.
I'm the one who's been smoothing things over, keeping him happy, making sure you get the approvals you need.
You fire me, and he'll shut you down. Every project you've got in motion, every deal you're building, every plan you've made for the next five years — gone. "
I met her eyes and didn't blink. "Then he pulls them."
"You'd lose everything."
"Not everything." My jaw tightened. I felt the muscle jump under my skin, felt my teeth grinding together.
"I'd still have enough left to make sure you never work in this city again.
I'll burn every bridge you've got, Harlow.
Every single one. I'll call in every favor I'm owed, and I'll spend every dollar it takes to make sure no one ever hires you for anything more important than fetching coffee.
You want to play that game? Fine. Let's play it.
You went after my wife. I'm going to ruin you for it. "
Harlow's face twisted. For a second I thought she might actually try to argue, might try to threaten me again, but then her expression crumpled into something raw and wounded and pathetic. Her eyes got wet. Her voice dropped.