20. Luther
Luther
The office is quieter than it’s been in weeks.
The decks are locked. The numbers are final. There’s nothing left to tweak without breaking something.
Tomorrow, the board arrives, including my father and my Godfather.
I should feel ready, but I don’t. Instead, I feel like I’m standing on a fault line.
I’m in my office reviewing notes for the tenth time when Erin knocks and walks in without waiting for an answer.
She closes the door behind her with a soft thud. It’s her way of telling me she’s annoyed.
“Luther, have you updated the agenda slide?”
I know what she’s asking. And, yes, I’ve done what I knew I had to, what my gut says is wrong, but my head knows is right.
“Yeah, it’s done.”
“Show it to me.”
I turn my laptop, and she looks through it; her brows go up in surprise.
“What?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d do it.”
I didn’t either. Removing Anouk’s name as a presenter took me days. Now, I have to tell her, and I wasn’t sure how to do that.
My spine stiffens. “What does that mean?”
Erin hooks a hand at her waist, cocking her hip like she’s claiming victory. “You really thought I didn’t know?”
Fuck! Does she know about Anouk and me? Honestly, I’d be fine with it, but I know my starling will hate it.
She arches an eyebrow smugly. “You’re not as subtle as you think. The late nights. The way you look at her in meetings. The way you shut people down when they interrupt her.”
I try to relax, not let her get to me. “That’s called being a decent manager.”
“It’s called being involved,” Erin counters, standing her ground. “I was worried you’d be thinking too much with your dick to—"
I stand. “Careful.”
She barks out a laugh with no humor in it. “Admit it, you almost gave in and let her present, and why was that but for the fact that you’re sleeping with her?”
She’s right. If I weren’t involved with Anouk, this decision would be simpler, faster. Knowing her—wanting her, caring for her, loving her—has made everything messier. It’s making me hesitate. And right now, that hesitation is weakness.
I swallow my anger both at Erin and myself.
“I know the importance of this presentation. And the board is going to grade me on it, not you, not Vijay, not Anouk.”
She chuckles. “Well, kudos to not letting your libido blur your judgment.”
“My judgment is that Anouk is damn good at what she does.”
“She’s one of the best analysts out there,” Erin agrees, surprising me. “That’s not the same thing as being the best presenter.”
I know who Anouk is and who she isn’t. I don’t need Erin narrating her to me. In fact, I’d prefer it if she never said Anouk’s name again.
The way Erin talks about her—and now the way she talks about us—is disrespectful. She thinks this is just sex. A fling. Something temporary and disposable.
But I don’t do flings.
This isn’t that.
I’m in love with Anouk.
And I know she has deep feelings for me, too. If she didn’t, she would never have let me in. Anouk doesn’t open herself easily. A woman who has gone her entire adult life without intimacy—who built walls tougher than the ones around Alcatraz—doesn’t let someone cross them without trust.
“She struggles to communicate under pressure, Erin, that’s not a moral failing,” I snarl.
“No, it isn’t, but she is a risk to your career.” Erin is relentless when she’s after something. It was a quality I admired, but not right now when she’s dismissing the woman I love; I despise it.
“Tell me, Luther, that you know she’s a risk to your career,” Erin insists.
To avoid showing how hard this is for me, I walk up to the windows. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and look out at the city spread before me.
“Luther?” she calls out.
“Yes.” The word is a bullet. “I know. I know she’s going to fuck things up for me at the board meeting. Is that what you want to hear?”
“No, it’s what you need to hear,” she says softly, and then, after a pause, asks, “Have you told her?”
No. Not yet. I haven’t been able to, especially since she’s been so excited about presenting, working so hard to do it right. But she won’t ever be able to do it as well as I need her to. It’s just the way it is.
“I have a one-on-one with her.” In about fifteen minutes.
She gives me a reassuring smile. “You’re doing the right thing, Luther. Leadership means making hard calls. It means protecting the company and yourself.”
I am also protecting Anouk, I tell myself, but it sounds like a massive rationalization.
“I will also let the rest of the team know,” I murmur, still not looking at her.
I know that I’m painting Erin as the villain of this story, but she’s only holding up a mirror, showing me when I’m a good leader and when I’m not. I’ve been handling Anouk with kid gloves because we’re dating. Anyone else wouldn’t have stayed on the agenda as long as she did.
“She’ll be disappointed,” Erin continues softly. “But she’ll recover. This is just business.”
I let out a long, exasperated noise. “Yes, she will be disappointed.”
“Stop thinking with your heart,” Erin continues. “Start thinking like a CEO.”
CEO. That’s the role I’ve been training for my entire life. The one my father is watching me perform tomorrow. The one that doesn’t leave room for hesitation. Or romance.
Pressure clamps down behind my sternum. “And what the hell does that mean?” I ask provocatively.
“That means you don’t let Anouk present because she sucks at it.”
“And you’re ready to present her data?” I can’t keep the sneer out of my voice.
She smiles, throwing her shoulders up casually. “You know I am.”
She would be. That’s Erin for you. No room for emotions, just get the work done, shoot the wounded, and move on.
“Anything else?” I ask softly because I need to be alone for a moment, so I can prepare for what’s going to happen with Anouk.
“No,” she says softly and leaves.
I walk away from the windows and brace my hands on the edge of my desk, staring into space.
She’ll be here in a moment, my starling, and I’ll tell her that I don’t trust her enough to carry the presentation.
And that’s the truth.
She’s not a reliable presenter.
This is business; it’s not personal.
Right?
Luther, this is leadership, so stop second-guessing yourself. You’re doing what needs to be done. And remember, your father and Martin will chew her up and spit her out over the way she stumbles.
She knocks softly, then steps into my office with her laptop hugged to her chest. Her scarf today is pale blue with white flowers. She’s wearing a linen sheath, the color of the sky on a warm sunny day.
Her hair is pulled back. She looks…beautiful.
“Hey,” she says softly. The smile on her face is just for me. Mine.
“Hey.” I walk to her, brush my lips to hers. I need the touch.
Her cheeks flush.
I lead her to the chair across from my desk and then take my seat.
Yeah, to do what I have to, I need distance now.
She sets her laptop down but doesn’t open it. She’s waiting.
I fold my hands together and pretend like this is any other conversation. Like this isn’t about to crack something fragile.
“First,” I say, “I want you to know how impressed I am with the work you’ve done.”
I’m following the sandwich model of giving bad news. You layer the shit between two slices of good.
Her lips curve. Hope and pride flicker in her eyes.
God, I’m going to crush her.
“The model is exceptional,” I continue. “Your assumptions are solid. The sensitivity analysis—especially around supplier volatility—was frankly ahead of schedule.”
She nods, eyes bright. “Thank you.”
“And tomorrow,” I say, steadying my voice, “the board is going to be very focused on outcomes. On clarity.”
Her smile falters. Just a touch. She suspects.
I barrel on.
“So, I’ve decided that Erin will present the model and the data.”
My decision hangs between us. Stark and irreversible.
For a moment, she doesn’t react at all. Then her face changes. No tears. No anger.
Just…collapse.
The light in her eyes dims, like a light switched off in a room.
“Oh,” she says softly.
“You’ll still be there,” I add quickly. “For questions. For technical follow-ups. This isn’t about your capability, Anouk. It’s about—”
“Optics?” she cuts me off.
I swallow. I can’t lie to her. To the rest of the world, yes. To myself, yes. Not Anouk.
“Anouk, the board is…old school. I don’t want them distracted.”
Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress.
“Please tell me you understand?”
Tell me nothing will change between us. Tell me you’ll still love me and let me love you.
“I un-understand.”
The stutter kills me.
“This doesn’t diminish your role,” I try to patch a gushing wound with words. “It’s just about making sure the message lands cleanly.”
She looks so lost. Her green eyes are deep pools of anguish and confusion.
God, what am I doing to her!
“I p-prepared. A lot.”
“I know,” I reply, reaching across the desk, taking her hand in mine. “And that matters. This doesn’t change how I see you.”
She looks at our hands and slides her hand away from mine. The confusion I saw before melts away, and so does the anguish.
“Is th-that all?” She even manages a small smile. A pathetic one that doesn’t reach her beautiful eyes.
There’s no accusation in her voice.
No anger.
Just distance.
I want to pull her into my arms. I want to hold her. I want to give her the world.
What a joke!
I can’t even give her the visibility in a board meeting that she’s worked so hard for.
Defeated, I hang my head, and I look away from her. “Yes, that’s all.”
She stands. Picks up her laptop. She moves like she’s on autopilot, muscle memory carrying her through.
“Th-thank you for t-telling me,” she murmurs.
I watch her leave, each step widening the distance between us. This is why I hesitated for so long—because I knew she wouldn’t see my decision as simply a business one. She’d make it personal.
This is the end of us.
“Anouk,” I call.
She pauses, turns halfway.
I want—desperately—to say something that fixes this. Something reassuring. Something that tells her she’s not being sidelined, not being erased.
“You did everything right.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Th-then why am I th-the one who is hu-hurting?”
She doesn’t wait for my response, not that I have anything left to say. There is no repairing this.
The door shuts softly behind her.
Fuck! I broke her heart. And mine.
Give it time, Luther, she’ll get it. This isn’t the end.
I know I’m lying to myself. The devastation I saw on her face is akin to what I saw that time when she sat in a conference room, having got the message about her mother dying.
No, actually, this time is worse. Then she was crying. Now…there was nothing.
Damn it! I didn’t have a choice.
This is leadership. This is me being a good leader. I did it kindly. Someone else would’ve just announced it. Can’t she see that?