22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Let’s not pretend we’re something we’re not.
Those words haven’t left me alone since Monroe uttered them to me, repeating in my mind over and over again. I should be thrilled she’s so set on keeping things the same, to keep us as we are. But I’m not. I feel vacant, like some part of me is missing. My chest still rumbles with each beat, but they’re uneven and heavy. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together as to the cause.
Monroe said that we were pretending to be something we weren’t in New York, but I feel like I’ve been pretending for longer than that. Pretending to be satisfied with what we were to each other. This might have all started as a way to distract me from my unyielding grief or pain, or maybe I just finally let myself give in to my attraction for her, but these past few weeks have opened my eyes.
I’m tired of lying to myself and to those around me and avoiding my emotions until they’re too buried to ever resurrect. I’ve been at the mercy of my regrets for so long, always feeling that speaking them wouldn’t do any good. But what if I was wrong? What if voicing what I’m feeling is the very thing that will set me free?
I used to wear my shields proudly, fighting against everything and anything that could hurt me. I closed myself off to the things that hurt too much to think about, that caused me pain. But, looking back on it now, I was also shutting myself off from feeling anything else. The few good moments threaded through my life didn’t make up for the slew of bad ones. I kept it all away. I thought I was protecting myself, protecting my heart from breaking apart again. But I was wrong.
I’ve been going through life on autopilot and making decisions with my guard up. Not letting Monroe get close to me is confirmation of that. I thought I was stuck being emotionless, my interior too icy to thaw. Without even trying, she showed me I’m not so broken. Some of the broken pieces might run deeper than others, but it doesn’t mean I’m irreparable. I can learn to live with the pain, but the fact that I’m still standing, still surviving when it’s difficult, is proof that I can exist without letting the pain take over.
For so long, I wasn’t able to laugh or smile or be happy around anyone. But all those defences have weakened. She weakened them. And I’m so glad she did. Against my better judgment I spent time with Monroe. I allowed her light to infiltrate my shadows. And the ice has thawed.
If I admit that I want her, she won’t hear it. This stupid agreement between us made sure of that. Everything was so much simpler when she was the waitress I was mildly attracted to and I was the aloof, gloomy customer she could barely tolerate. But there’s no going back now. Things aren’t the same anymore. And I don’t know if she’s ready to accept it.
“Take your shot, Van Doren,” Humboldt calls from a few feet down the green.
I need to get my head back in the game, focus up and close this deal with Humboldt. All my energy needs to be put into this before I can even think about broaching the topic of feelings with Monroe.
I clear my throat harshly, hoping the action will magically reset my thoughts and purge them of her, but I know it won’t.
Walking up to the tee, I place my ball down and try to focus. My club cuts through the air, and the ball flies toward the hole. It bounces once before settling on the manicured course, just on the edge of the hole. I hear Humboldt sigh in relief, then chuckle nervously.
“Agh, so close,” he says, slapping me on the back. “But you need to follow through with the shot.”
When he looks away, I roll my eyes and grunt in response. His disingenuous comment rolls off my back, and I hardly pay it any mind. I’ve been pretending to enjoy golf and other activities that pertain to my line of work for way too long. And I’ve gotten surprisingly good at it—without even trying. Crossing the course, I reach Humboldt in three long strides.
He puffs out his chest, readying himself for his turn. But he doesn’t take his shot. Instead, he straightens and shoves his free hand in his pocket.
“I know you didn’t bring me out here so that I can critique your golf game,” he says, leaning against his club. “Let’s hear your pitch. Go ahead.”
I’m surprised by his eagerness but take the opening.
“Do you want to know the reason you fired your previous portfolio manager?”
Humboldt’s eyes shimmer with amusement, and he scratches his chin. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because he was a coward. He made mistake after mistake and lost you millions of dollars. And he never said a word because he couldn’t admit it to you. And when you found out, it took you weeks to fire him. He wasn’t the right fit for you.”
His features tighten, but he doesn’t deny it. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Humboldt crosses his arms, staring me down like he’s trying to intimidate me. I run a hand through my hair, giving myself a second to collect my thoughts. If he thought I was going to back down from this fight after one withering stare, he doesn’t know my game.
“You claim to be the toughest litigator in New York, and yet you didn’t have the backbone to stand up to a man who took your trust and your money and exploited them for his own gain. And he did it because regardless, he would get paid. So, who really cared how much you ended up losing, right?”
“Make your point and make it fast.” His gaze is deadly, but it doesn’t scare me in the least.
“I am making my point, Warren.” Humboldt’s brows lift in surprise at my tone. His eyes lock onto mine. “You need someone you can trust and someone who isn’t afraid to be honest with you, even when they make a mistake. If you’ve heard the gossip about me, I’ve heard the gossip about you. You’re a pain to work with; everyone knows that. That’s why you’ve had four different portfolio managers at four different firms, all within the last six months.”
“If you think insulting me is the way to go, you have another—”
I close the gap between us. “I’m not finished.”
Resigned, Humboldt puts his hand up, and his jaw flexes. But he lets me continue.
“But no matter how pig-headed or controlling they are, everyone deserves to feel confident in every move their portfolio manager makes on their behalf. You don’t need a coward; you need a shark. Someone willing to take the big risks, not apologize for them.”
“And you’re that person?”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice unwavering, sure.
The silence between us stretches on as we stare at each other, neither of us backing down. Then, finally, Humboldt’s face twitches, and his lips tug up into a slow smile.
“You really do have a unique approach to this business, Van Doren. I’m equally impressed and also fighting the urge to smack you upside the head for speaking to me like that.”
I smile. “That has always been my sweet spot.”
His laughter grows louder. “Everyone told me you had balls, and they weren’t kidding.” Humboldt grows serious then. “But all this talk means nothing to me unless you can prove it. I don’t know you or how you work. I haven’t seen the shark you’re claiming to be, and I’m curious if you’ll drown if I throw you in the deep end.”
“What are you proposing?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I want you to look at my portfolio and see what companies are worth my time. I’m looking to diversify and invest in different sectors. Do some research and get back to me.”
That’s it? I can do that in my sleep.
“Easy enough,” I tell him, nodding.
Humboldt takes his next shot. Both of us track the ball as it effortlessly sinks into the hole. He pumps his fist in the air, smiling in satisfaction.
“But I should tell you, Braxton Hayes has also approached me, and I’ve given him the same task. Whichever one of you comes to me with the best scenario will get my John Hancock at the end of this. You have five days. Will that be a problem?” His deep blue eyes darken significantly, as if he enjoys pitting Braxton and me against each other more than he should.
“Not at all.” I tap my ball into the hole and collect it. “I’ve never been afraid of a little competition.”
Five days. I have five days to make the impression of a lifetime on my biggest potential client to date. A few weeks ago, I would have been holed up in my bathroom, running a frigid shower to calm myself down from a panic attack. The timeline pressure and the added stress of Braxton vying for Humboldt would make my stomach sink. But right now, I don’t feel a lick of that crippling panic I’m so used to. I feel grounded and even—
Hayes is in the lobby talking to Monroe.
My brain must be forcing me to dream up my worst nightmare. I blink, blink again, and then blink some more, but they’re still there. Out in the open, talking like old friends. Monroe throws her head back in laughter, grabbing onto Braxton’s arm, and I feel violently ill.
She’s not pretending with him. She looks like she actually enjoys his company. And that makes the scene even harder to watch. My spine stiffens when Hayes’s fingers grasp the stray strand of hair blocking Monroe’s face and tuck it behind her ear. I need to intervene or do something other than just watch them. Without thinking, I step forward but stop when Monroe comes toward me instead.
“Alden?”
Monroe stops in front of me, and a feeling washes over me that I’ve never felt before. Like I’m happy to see her.
“The one and only,” I chuckle nervously, running a hand over the back of my neck. I’m sweating like I’ve been running laps. The one and only? I’m an idiot.
She doesn’t laugh at my stupid attempt at alleviating some of the awkwardness I’m feeling. God, why am I so unnerved? Oh, right, the whole having feelings for her thing. How do I go about bringing that up naturally without just blurting it out?
“Don’t let me stop you from getting to where you were going,” Monroe says dryly, stepping to the side.
“I… thank you,” I mutter.
She walks off wordlessly, and I can’t stand it anymore.
“How do you know Braxton?” I call after her.
Monroe turns around to face me, her expression filled with something I couldn’t even begin to describe.
“I don’t. Not really.”
I nod, absorbing what she’s telling me. “It didn’t look like that from where I was standing.”
Her hands find her hips, and she scoffs. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked, then.”
“Monroe, I just—”
“Do you have an answer to my question?”
She catches me off guard. “What?”
“My question. From the car…”—she pauses—“from after New York.” She sighs when I don’t respond. She doesn’t realize how much I’ve mulled over her question, but I still haven’t found an answer. “What do you want from me?”
What can I say to that? What answer would fix whatever strain I’ve built between us?
I want you.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Give me a chance.
But nothing comes out of my mouth, so I close it.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, finally walking away.
It’s like a punch to my gut, the friction between us, and it’s all my fault because I can’t tell her what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. My throat is clogged, preventing me from saying the words I want to say—the words she needs to hear. It’s infuriating not being able to communicate how I’m feeling. I could scream. Maybe if I went to Monroe when we were alone, I could say it. I need to say it. Before she runs out of chances to give me and into the arms of someone else.
Wendell, being the eternal happy-go-lucky guy he is, invited me out to celebrate landing Humboldt as a client. I told him it seemed a little premature when I hadn’t even brokered the deal yet, but he insisted.
“You’re quiet,” Wendell says, cutting into his veal parmigiana.
His observation irks me more than normal.
“Long day.”
I shuffle my pasta from one side of my plate to the other mindlessly, trying to avoid his all-knowing gaze. It was a long day, but not for the reason I wanted it to be. It was long because despite my anxiety taking a back seat lately, I haven’t been able to turn my mind off, feeling bogged down by the thousand thoughts I have rushing through it. There isn’t a time I can recall where it hasn’t been exhausting just trying to keep up with them.
What is Braxton up to?
Will Humboldt sign with him?
Am I doing everything I can to convince him to sign with me?
What is Monroe doing right now?
When did Braxton and Monroe get so close?
It’s never-ending. My thoughts rattle with every possibility for every situation. Good or bad. And when I dwell over something long enough, my obsessing thoughts manifest into physical symptoms. My heart races, my stomach clenches, and I feel like I’m nosediving off a cliff. Having no control over yourself, over how you react to thoughts that some people consider normal, is terrifying. And it’s usually everyday things that other people don’t give a second thought.
“How have things been lately? What have you been up to?”
I freeze. Does he know something?
I shake my head, hoping my quick answer gives nothing away. “Not much. Just working.”
Wendell hums, stuffing his fork into his mouth. He only nods, but his face tells me something different.
“If you want to keep pretending nothing is going on between you and that waitress, I’m game, but I just thought you could use my advice.”
My jaw goes slack, but I refuse to let Wendell say I told you so.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stab at my pasta with enough force to break the plate.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. “It’s glaringly obvious from where I’m sitting. And you’re not the most subtle person in the world, Alden.”
I’m still too afraid to look at him. It’s been hard enough to admit my feelings to myself, but to confide in Wendell about them might just be too much.
He snickers, watching me closely. “I’ll take your silence as an enthusiastic ‘Wendell, you’re spot on.’ Now, go on, tell me about her. But by the way you’re so wound up right now, I can tell things are going… well.”
I glare at him, letting my fork drop with a clatter. “They’re fine.” I sigh then, realizing that I’ve basically just admitted to the very thing that I denied. Shit.
Wendell’s eyes practically roll out of his head. “I knew it. See, I know how to read you.”
I shake my head. “Then you should be better at poker.”
He throws a hand over the left side of his chest. “Ouch, that was a low blow.”
That makes me smile. “Sorry.”
Wendell contains his excitement over this new information for about thirty seconds before he almost bursts out of his seat. “So, how are things going with her?” He pauses, seeing how I’ll react. “ Monroe .” He draws her name out.
Wendell’s eyes sparkle annoyingly, and I know he won’t drop this, no matter how beat up I feel from the past few days. I’m long past adhering to the rules that Monroe and I set at the beginning of the month, and honestly, who will Wendell tell? Even though it goes against my very nature, it seems like I’m going to be confiding in him about my problems. What have I become?
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Wendell is smiling like he just won a million bucks. He knows he’s worn me down. “Nope. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Now, tell me before I have to call Violet. She’s not going to believe this.”
I’m about to tell him all about my dilemma, but his words register. “What do you mean, you’ve been waiting for this for a long time?”
His face drops. He hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s nothing. I’ve just spent years seeing you beat yourself up and never truly let yourself off the hook after Evelyn. But now, you seem lighter, happier even.”
“Really?” That’s all I can come up with.
He tilts his head. “I’ll even prove it to you. When was the last time you had a panic attack?”
I make a show of pausing, looking like I’m trying to rack my brain for an exact date, but I know it’s been three weeks. Three weeks since I’ve had a panic attack. Three weeks since I started things with Monroe. An intense gut punch knocks the wind from my lungs. I wait for the pain to subside, but it doesn’t. It only intensifies.
“I don’t remember when the last time was.” My heart races, and I swallow thickly. I know my answer but decide to keep it to myself.
Wendell’s eyes are on me. “Alden, this isn’t a bad thing. It’s not. Wanting to move on, to be happy, it happens whether we want it to or not, and often when we least expect it. Someone comes in and changes our perspective. So, if you want to be happy, if Monroe makes you happy, be happy.”
“Wendell, I don’t know how to do that.”
His eyes bounce over my face. “Explain it to me, then. What’s holding you back?”
A light pounding starts in my temples, and I can’t concentrate on what he’s saying anymore. All I can think about is how right he is. I want to be happy. I’ve wanted it for a long time; the realization that it could be so easy just never set in. All I have to do is let the part of myself that I’ve spurned, that I’ve shut off, back into the light.
If I’m going to put it all out there and fully admit out loud to what or who is holding me back, I’m not going to stop until I’ve said everything.
“Evelyn is holding me back. She’s always holding me back. I don’t know if I deserve to move on, to be happy after what I did.” I run a hand through my hair, strangling the strands. “I don’t know if Monroe would understand why I can’t move on.”
“Why don’t you let her make her own decision about that?”
It feels unnatural to talk about my feelings out loud when I’ve spent so long ignoring them. The restaurant suddenly feels too small and too big at the same time. My skin burns. It’s sticky and hot. I pat my chest in a panic, feeling it pinch painfully. Wendell is assessing me closely, and I feel a foreign prick behind my eyes.
I breathe in deeply. “You think I should tell her?”
He leans forward. “The question is: do you want to tell her? It’s not my call to make, but maybe if you tell her about Evelyn, about all of it, you might find some peace from finally letting everything go.”
I look down at my pasta, forgotten and probably cold. “Your sage advice isn’t making any of this easier for me.”
“Making what easier?” Wendell asks.
Here goes nothing.
“That I broke a rule. That I have feelings for her.” The truth is out, and it didn’t hurt like I thought it would. It’s not heavy; it feels lighter than ever. A breath passes my lips, and I feel my chest decompress.
Wendell’s wineglass slips out of his hand, nearly smashing to the ground. But luckily, he catches it, placing it back on the table.
His only response is, “Oh.”
“Oh?” I pin him with an incredulous look. “That’s all you have to say? I make this declaration, and you say oh .”
He clears his throat, shrugging. “No, I’m just a little surprised. I didn’t think you were capable of big boy emotions.”
I want to smack my so-called best friend right now. He’s not taking this as seriously as I am.
“You’re not allowed to say anything else unless it’s helpful, got it?”
Wendell opens his mouth to respond but shuts it almost immediately. He takes one look at my face, and I know he’s rethinking whatever smart-ass comment he was about to make.
“Wait. Back up a second here. What do you mean, you broke a rule?”
I guess he didn’t gloss over that like I hoped he would. Well, there’s really no going back now. Taking a deep breath, I tell Wendell everything about my arrangement with Monroe. But leave some parts to myself. He doesn’t need to know all the dirty details. I don’t forget to mention what happened in New York.
Wendell looks stunned by the time I’m finished. “Wow.”
I run a hand down my face, exasperated with his one-word answers.
“This shouldn’t have happened…” I mumble.
“Which part?”
Not realizing I said that out loud, I perk up. “All of it. None of it. I don’t know anymore. It’s all become so confusing.”
“That happens when feelings are involved. There’s no avoiding it.”
“I wish I was heartless.” I massage my forehead with my fingers vigorously.
“No, you don’t,” Wendell says. “And is it really the worst thing? Having feelings for her?”
“Yes, it is. Because she doesn’t want me. She wants nothing to do with me. She doesn’t feel the same.”
A twisting feeling grabs at my heart, wrenching it the more I think about it.
Wendell snorts, motioning for our server. He orders us a round of whisky, and I don’t get the chance to tell him I don’t want a drink, that I haven’t in weeks. I push the tumbler away from me.
“Has she told you that? Word for word?”
I think about it for a second. “No, but it’s been heavily implied.”
“Then you don’t know for certain. You’re making excuses, Alden. Just ask her. Tell her how you feel.”
I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“I can’t just…” I trail off. “We had an agreement—no attachment, no feelings.”
He eyes me before taking a sip, and his expression tells me everything that he’s thinking. He thinks I’m the king of avoidance, and maybe I am.
“Have I told you how stupid I think that whole thing was?”
“Calling it stupid might have just clued me in, yes.”
Wendell’s eyes lose their lightness. “You clearly feel something for Monroe, something that goes beyond those rules. You boxed yourself in, and it doesn’t help you now.”
“I know that,” I growl.
His face softens. “She’s not Evelyn. At least, from what I’ve seen.”
“I know that, too.”
After a stint of quiet, Wendell speaks up. “Will you tell her?”
“If she’ll even see me. After that talk, when we got back from New York, I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t just spit on me and tell me to screw off.”
“You’re not giving her enough credit,” Wendell chuckles. “She’ll be the more mature one of the two of you.”
He’s probably right. Monroe isn’t the type to lose her composure, at least not all of it. I decide before I can talk myself out of it. I’m going to tell her how I feel and hope she feels the same way.
I need to change the subject before I start to overthink. “How’s the wedding planning coming?”
Wendell puts his fork down and leans in. “Good, I think. I just can’t wait until the actual day.” He’s beaming. He might also be a little tipsy right now, but gushing over his wedding and everything to do with Violet isn’t new. “Violet has been on top of most of it, but I’m helping as much as I can.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Do you know how much a cake costs?”
“Should I even ask?”
“Too much. Too much, Alden.”
I laugh as Wendell buries his face in his hands.
“Well, it’s her day. And she’s probably been planning it since she was a little girl. She wants everything to be perfect.”
Wendell nods slowly. “I know, I know. And that’s what worries me. When she gets really into something, she ignores everything else. She forgets to eat. To drink water. To sleep. I don’t want her to run herself into the ground before we’ve even said our vows. It’ll be perfect no matter what cake we have or which flowers are in the centerpieces. It’ll be perfect because I’m marrying her.”
His words hang in the air between us, and my heart tightens. Wendell adores Violet. They both love each other as intensely as the other one does. I used to be envious of their relationship, but now I realize that the envy I was feeling was just misplaced want. Because I want what they have. I want a healthy and secure relationship. I want a love that lasts. And I want it all with Monroe.