Seb
The gym smelled of salt and iron—James’s doing, not mine. He’d dragged me here before the city had even woken up, claiming we both needed “discipline” in our lives. Personally, I thought I needed sleep, but I wasn’t about to argue while he barked at me to hold the plank for another thirty seconds.
When we finally collapsed against the padded wall, sweat slicked my back and my lungs burned. James tossed me a bottle of water and gave me a sidelong look.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“Thanks,” I muttered, twisting the cap off.
I felt like it, honestly. I’d spent the past few months attempting to dive into something that would show my father that I cared—and something that might even help me forget Roxie King.
But no matter what I did, nothing stuck.
I’d contacted a few of the old companies I’d brought on to Whittaker Holdings in hopes of either joining their ranks or uncovering a new company that I could refer to my father.
But in truth, my heart wasn’t in it. I was quite capable of finding new talent for the family company.
I’d been doing it until the time that my father had practically disowned me.
But I had no motivation now. I had no one forcing me to do better, no one breathing down my neck.
And without that, I had space to realize I didn’t enjoy hunting down the most lavish fashion designers that I knew would be worn by some of the wealthiest people across the world.
It might be someone else’s dream job, but to me, it felt surface-level.
We sat in silence for a beat, the hum of lights and thud of treadmills filling the space. My head had been noisy since the night at Whiskey Locker a few months back. Roxie. That kiss. The way she bolted like I’d lit her on fire. I hadn’t talked about her to James since. I knew I had to move on.
“I need to start over,” I said finally, the words landing heavier than I expected.
James turned his head, brows lifting. “Start over how? With work?”
I shook my head. “No. Bigger than that. My entire life.”
His silence stretched, waiting me out. Typical James. He was better at letting things hang than anyone I knew. Finally, I filled the gap.
“I don’t care about Whittaker Holdings,” I said, blunt as a butter knife.
“At least not for its intended purpose. Fashion, luxury brands, commodities that only the wealthy would dream of being able to own. Whatever the hell we’re supposed to be selling the world—I don’t care.
I’ve been pretending I do, but it’s not me. ”
James leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then what is?”
I drew a long breath, letting it out slow.
I’d thought about this for months, in the quiet moments between parties, women, and the quiet that seemed to perpetuate my mind nowadays.
“New York has two problems that hit people harder than anything else: food and housing. You walk ten blocks in Manhattan, and you see it—people living on the street, people who don’t know where their next meal is coming from. It’s survival.”
His eyes narrowed. “So what? You’re going to turn Whittaker Holdings into a soup kitchen?”
I smirked as new excitement filled me. Something I hadn’t felt in quite some time.
“Not exactly. But I want to put money and energy into solutions that matter. Building affordable housing. Funding food programs. Real ones, not just some glossy charity gala bullshit that we’re so used to seeing. That’s how I help the most people.”
James studied me as if I’d grown a second head. “And how do you plan on doing that without the backing of your family’s company?”
I swallowed a mouthful of water, the plastic bottle crinkling in my hand. “That’s the thing. I think my father will help me. Or at least allow me to do it. Once he sees that I’m serious and have shown some initiative.”
James barked out a dry laugh. “So, your idea is to show what you can do, then persuade Edward Whittaker to fund you?”
“More or less.”
He shook his head but didn’t look away. “You’ve never gone against him like this before.”
“I know.” My jaw tightened. “But I can’t keep coasting on the path he carved out for me. If I don’t do this now, I never will. And then what? I’ll wake up at forty and still be the asshole playboy everyone whispers about. I don’t think so.”
For once, James didn’t have a quick comeback. He just studied me, like maybe he believed I was capable of something more.
And maybe I did too.
“This is the place,” I told James as we walked up to the building my real estate agent had found for me.
It was old brick, a little worn around the edges, but solid.
A wide stoop, cracked sidewalks, paint that had seen better days.
Still, something about it made my chest tighten with possibility.
I could picture families here, laughter spilling out the windows, kids running up the stairs with food in their bellies.
James gave it a slow once-over. “It’s … not terrible.”
The corner of my mouth tilted upward. “High praise, coming from you. It just needs some elbow grease and love.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the street filling in—horns, snippets of conversation, the city always humming.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, restless.
There was a question sitting on my tongue I didn’t want to ask, but it had been needling me, just like it did every time I was in either his or Hallie’s presence.
“How’s Roxie?” I asked, keeping my tone casual, though the question burned in my throat.
James didn’t answer right away. He shifted, as if he weren’t sure if he should tell me. That hesitation alone nearly gutted me.
Finally, he said, “She’s been dating again.”
The words hit harder than I expected, like a fist to the ribs. For a second, all I heard was the rush of blood in my ears. Dating again. Of course, she was. She should be. Roxie deserved someone steady, someone who wouldn’t hurt her without even meaning to. Someone who wasn’t … me.
I forced a tight smile. “Good for her.”
James gave me a look, one that said he wasn’t buying my act. “She’s been going out a lot. Usually when I’m at the apartment. Hallie says it’s good for her. Healthy.”
My jaw clenched, the ache in my chest a strange mix of devastation and something that almost resembled happiness. If she was moving on, if she was finding pieces of joy I hadn’t been able to give her, wasn’t that what I should want for her?
Still, it hurt like hell.
“Right,” I muttered, dragging my gaze back to the building in front of us. “She deserves that.”
If Roxie was moving on, then I could too.
I was rebuilding myself from the ground up.
That was what I needed to concentrate on.
I had already experienced the disastrous consequences of chasing after her while I was still aimlessly wandering through life.
It was time that I spent some time focusing on myself first, without her. Even if it pained me.
I stared up at the building again, imagining scaffolding lining the brick, fresh paint, new windows that didn’t rattle with the wind. Families moving in. Kids dragging backpacks up the steps as they came here for after-school activities. Something real. Something that mattered.
James shoved his hands in his vest pockets and gave me one of his patented skeptical looks. “What’s the plan, exactly? Are you going to buy this place yourself?”
I nodded. “I have enough money set aside from my old salary at Whittaker Holdings. But that’s about it.
I will need my father to help fund the restoration.
I want to make the downstairs into a community food bank that also hosts weekly dinners for those who could never afford a nice sit-down meal to come in and experience one for free.
Then, make the upstairs affordable housing.
Rent capped so real people can live here without worrying about being able to afford it the next year. ”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s a tall order. You’ve never even handled a project this size. Hell, I’ve never seen you balance your own checkbook. Not to mention how you’re going to get your dad to agree to all of this.”
I huffed a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “You’re not wrong. I’ve never managed something like this before. But maybe that’s the point. I can’t keep doing what I’ve always done and expect to become someone different.”
James arched a brow. “So, you’re telling me you’re going to waltz into your father’s office and pitch him a low-profit housing project and a community soup kitchen like it’s the next couture line?”
I bristled. “It’s not a ‘soup kitchen.’ It’s a meal.
A dignified one. Do you know how many people in this city have never sat down in a restaurant in their entire lives?
Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t.
You think they don’t deserve that experience?
I’m sure it’s horrible feeling like the city you live in wasn’t built for you. ”
For once, James didn’t cut me down with sarcasm. He just studied me; eyes narrowed in that way he did when he was trying to figure out whether I was bluffing. But I could see the gears whirring in his head as he crunched the numbers.
“And the housing?” he pressed.
I shrugged one shoulder, but my voice came out firm, driven by my conviction for this project.
“The city’s bleeding people, James. The rich get richer; the poor get shoved out to the margins.
I’m not saying I can fix it all overnight, but if I can give even twenty families a place where the rent doesn’t bankrupt them, that’s twenty families’ lives changed.
That’s twenty families with new futures. ”
He blew out a slow breath, leaning back on his heels. “And you really think your father will help?”
“I think he’ll help me if he sees I’ve thought it through. If he sees I’m not just floundering or rebelling for the sake of rebellion. He’s always respected initiative, and that was all he’s asked of me. And if he doesn’t? Then I’ll find another way.”
James tilted his head, something almost resembling a smile tugging at his mouth. “Since when did Sebastian Whittaker talk about ‘finding another way’ that didn’t involve a VIP list and three bottles of Dom? Or even doing something that doesn’t benefit him?”
“That’s where you’ve got this wrong. This benefits me, James. It gives me purpose.”
James’s arm clapped solidly around my back, and for a second, I just let myself breathe into the quiet weight of it. He wasn’t a guy who handed out sentiment easily, so the hug said more than words could.
When he pulled away, I cleared my throat, a half-smile tugging at my mouth. “Alright, enough about me. How are you and Hallie doing now that you’re official?”
The widest grin spread across James’s face as he thought about his girlfriend. “We’re good,” he said, a little too simply.
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Good? I practically bared my soul to you about reinventing my entire life, and you gave me a one-word answer?”
He huffed a laugh, running a hand over his jaw. “You want details? I feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world. She’s beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, hilarious. And she supports every new idea I have, every new adventure I’d like to take with my own career. She feels like my safe space.”
I smirked. “Sounds like she’s domesticated you already.”
“Not domesticated,” he shot back, but his tone was lighter than usual, like he didn’t mind. “She just … makes the noise stop. You know?”
I did know. There was only ever one person in my life that could make all the noise stop. And she was out dating other people, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Subject: Maybe I’ve Finally Figured it Out
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
Roxie,
Today is one of those days when I wish you were here.
Something big happened that I wanted to share with you, but my own actions have prevented me from getting that moment with you.
After watching you chase your dreams, even though it pains me that I can’t celebrate your achievements with you, I think I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life.
It’s something big and scary, but I know in my heart it will be worthwhile.
Maybe one day you’ll get to see it if it ever comes to fruition.
First, I have to convince my father that the idea is worthy of his investment, and you and I both know how hard of a task that will be.
Sebastian xx