14. A Small Price #2
He turned away. I didn’t reach for the window switch. I let the coastal wind howl through the open gap, turning the sweat on my forehead to ice. I watched him walk away into the dark street, content to freeze to death as long as it kept her safe.
Hours bled away in the pitch-black cabin, the clock creeping toward three in the morning. The coastal chill overtook the interior of the vehicle, icing over the inside of the windows. My breath frosted in the dark.
The soaked shirt under my jacket did nothing against the cold, pulling the heat directly from my skin. My muscles settled into a shivering ache. I stared at the outline of the fourth-floor window where my wife slept.
A harsh vibration shattered the quiet. My secondary business phone rattled against the tray of the center console.
The screen flared to life, flooding the cramped space with a glaring blue light.
My father’s name flashed across the glass in bold letters, the harsh buzz tearing through the stillness of the freezing cabin.
“Just burn,” I whispered.
I uncurled my right hand from my lap, the fabric of my coat rustling in the quiet car. My fingers were stiff and numb from the chill. The torn skin on my knuckles protested as my grip tightened.
I reached across the center console and snatched the phone, gripping it hard to stop the rattling. The freezing phone bit into the raw, split skin of my palm. I fumbled with the touchscreen until the display finally responded.
I dropped the device back onto the console and tapped the speaker icon.
“Pick up this damn phone, Cassian!” Arthur’s voice erupted from the small speakers, tinny and distorted. “The Sterling board blocked the takeover, and the Addisons are threatening to pull their capital! You are ruining a decade of work!”
His screaming bounced off the frosted windows of the SUV, trapped in the small space with me. The executive board was in full panic mode. Billions of dollars in market value were bleeding from the Kensington portfolio, evaporating into the night because I had abandoned the signing table hours ago.
Before today, a market drop of that magnitude would have commanded my ruthless attention.
Now, the staggering numbers meant nothing.
I stared at the faint glow of the streetlamp illuminating Wren’s window.
My father’s frantic demands felt distant compared to the quiet, steady sight of that fourth-floor room.
Let the executives scramble in the boardroom. Let the legacy rot. Losing the family company was a small price to pay to just stay parked on this freezing street.
I reached for the console, keeping my gaze aimed toward the walk-up across the street.
“The Sterling deal is dead, Dad,” I said. The bitter air scraped against my throat, making my voice hoarse. “Stop calling this number, because I am not coming back to the city.”
“Call my office before the market opens tomorrow morning,” Arthur shouted. The audio crackled, unable to handle the volume of his screaming. “Or you are finished in this comp—”
I reached down and pressed the red icon on the screen. The call cut out mid-sentence.
The screaming stopped. The screen went black, killing the blue glare and plunging the cabin back into darkness. The low howl of the wind settled over the car again. I shoved the silent device deep into my coat pocket, fixing my eyes back on the fourth-floor glass.
The eastern sky turned a pale pink across the horizon. Dawn broke over the commercial block, offering zero warmth to the freezing interior of the SUV. My joints ached with stiffness as I shifted in the driver’s seat. My ruined shirt was frozen solid against my skin.
I shoved the driver-side door open and stepped out onto the salted pavement, exhaling a white plume of breath into the bitter air. My shoes cracked against the frozen asphalt. Half a block down, a man wearing a parka dragged a coffee cart onto the corner, arranging stacks of paper cups.
I walked toward the cart, pulling a twenty from my wallet.
“Just a black coffee,” I muttered, handing the cash across the counter.
The vendor took the money. He eyed my ruined suit jacket and the blood crusted along my knuckles. He passed a steaming cup back.
“Rough night, buddy?” he asked. “You look like you got dragged behind a city garbage truck.”
I wrapped both hands around the scalding cup. The intense heat seared my blistered hands, a sharp sting that jolted the numbness from my fingers. I welcomed the burn.
“Something like that,” I said. “Keep the change for the coffee, I really don’t need it.”
“Suit yourself, pal,” the vendor said, sliding the remaining bills into his apron pocket. “Watch your step on the black ice.”
I turned away from the cart, coffee in hand. The front door of the walk-up groaned open into the quiet street, rooting me in place.
Wren stepped out onto the icy sidewalk. She wore her winter coat pulled tight over her stomach, a scarf wound around her throat. She looked exhausted in the dim morning light. She paused on the top step, gripping the railing for balance as she navigated the icy stairs.
I took a half-step forward, freezing in place.
I gripped the burning cup tighter, letting the pain distract me from my urge to interfere.
Everything in me wanted to cross the street, unlock the SUV, blast the heater, and order her into the passenger seat.
I had a hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle parked on the curb that could warm her up in minutes.
If I pull the car up to the curb, she will just lock me out.
Wren did not want my money or my vehicles.
She had left the penthouse specifically so she wouldn’t have to rely on my wealth to survive.
Using my money to bulldoze her morning commute would just prove her right for walking away.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and began walking slowly down the salted block.
I did not reach for the door handle of my vehicle.
I stepped up to a trash can on the corner and dropped the full, steaming coffee inside. I pulled the key fob from my pocket and pressed the lock button, sealing the SUV behind me. I turned my back on the frozen vehicle. I walked down the block, keeping my eyes locked on her back.