Chapter Twenty-Seven
Zane
The suit was suffocating me.
Maybe not literally, but close enough. The collar of the dress shirt dug into the sides of my neck, and the tie felt like a noose I’d knotted myself.
I’d bought the whole thing that morning from a store near the hotel where I was staying. It was charcoal grey, and expensive enough to look like I belonged here. Like I hadn’t spent my entire adulthood pouring drinks and throwing parties in a town most New Yorkers couldn’t find on a map.
The lobby of BTA-Xander Pharmaceuticals was exactly what I’d expected and everything I hated. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Polished marble. Chrome fixtures that reflected the cold, sterile light back at me from every angle.
Even the air here was wrong. Flat, without a hint of scent to it. Just recycled, temperature-controlled nothingness.
I sat in one of the low-slung leather chairs near the reception desk, my hands clasped between my knees, watching people move through the space with purpose and efficiency. They all looked the same—pressed suits, polished shoes, lanyards swinging from their necks like proof of belonging.
No one looked at me. I was just another body waiting to be processed.
A guy who looked to be about the same age as Caleb sat across from me, flipping through a leather portfolio. He had that sharp, hungry look of someone fresh out of an Ivy League MBA program.
He glanced up, caught me watching, and gave a tight, competitive nod before going back to his notes.
Was that what I’d look like in a year? Sitting in this building like I’d earned my spot, pretending I gave a shit about quarterly projections and market share?
My stomach turned and I reached for my phone, checking it for the third time in ten minutes. Still no new messages.
Melina hadn’t spoken to me in over twenty-four hours, and every second of silence felt like another nail in my coffin.
My last text to her sat on the screen like an accusation.
I’m sorry.
The one thing she’d told me never to say, and I’d typed it out like it meant something. Like it could fix what I’d broken. Of course she hadn’t responded. And I hadn’t sent anything since because the words I actually wanted to give her were too big to say over text.
“Mr. Alexander?” The receptionist’s voice was polite but impersonal. “Mr. Alexander will see you now. Seventy-ninth floor.”
Mr. Alexander will see you now. Like I was a fucking stranger.
But maybe that was the point. And honestly, it was probably a hell of a lot closer to the truth than calling me his son.
I stood, buttoned my jacket the way I’d seen men do in movies, and walked toward the elevator bank. The MBA kid watched me go, probably wondering what division I was interviewing for.
If he only knew.
The elevator was mirrored on all sides, and no matter where I looked, some version of Zane Alexander in an expensive suit stared back at me.
My hair was slicked back instead of falling in its usual mess.
My jaw was clean-shaven for the first time in months.
Even my shoes were new, stiff, and pinching at the heel.
I didn’t recognize myself. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to, so I kept my eyes on the floor.
The doors opened to a hallway with thick carpet, muted lighting, and art on the wall that reeked of money.
A woman in a black blazer was waiting for me. “This way, please.”
She led me past a reception area, a conference room with a long glass table, and what looked like a private lounge before we reached his office at the far end. The door was already open.
My father stood behind a huge desk, his back to me as he looked out at the Manhattan skyline through a wall of glass. He didn’t turn around when I entered. The woman disappeared, and the door clicked shut behind me.
I stood with my hands in my pockets out of habit, then pulled them out and let them hang at my sides. Then shoved them back in. Nowhere felt right.
Fuck, nothing about any of this felt right.
“Sit down, Zane.” It was his no-nonsense voice, with a hint of boredom, and topped with disdain. Only now it filled an actual room, bouncing off the glass and the polished wood and the framed awards lining the walls.
I sat in one of the cold leather chairs across from his desk.
Finally, he turned, looking me over like he was appraising an asset. And was completely unimpressed. “You look uncomfortable.”
“I am.”
The corners of his mouth pulled up as he settled into his chair. But it wasn’t a real smile. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it. “So. You called me.”
“I did.”
“After years of hanging up on me, ignoring my calls, and acting like an insolent teenager. Now you’re sitting in my office, in a suit you clearly bought this morning, asking me for a job.”
Asking me for a job.
He’d spent years pushing me to come here. Calling, pressuring, guilting. And now that I was actually sitting in front of him, the prick was going to make me grovel for it.
“I’m not asking for a handout,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I’m offering to come work for you. Like you’ve been wanting.”
“No. What I wanted was for you to come to me when you’d grown up enough to see the opportunity I was offering. Not because you’ve run out of options.”
The words landed like a backhand. He didn’t know why I was here. Not the real reason. But he’d already framed it as my failure.
My surrender.
“I haven’t run out of options.”
“Haven’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, and fuck, it was the same expression I saw in my own mirror every day.
The resemblance made my skin crawl. “You quit your job, Zane. Your uncle called me. Said you left your resignation letter in someone’s inbox like a fucking coward.
So either something’s gone very wrong in that little life of yours, or you’ve finally realized it wasn’t much of a life to begin with. ”
My stomach sank. Uncle Glenn had called him. Because, apparently, the Alexanders couldn’t sneeze without the whole family hearing about it.
“I had my reasons for leaving.” I shifted in my seat, trying and failing to keep my discomfort to myself.
“I’m sure you did.” He dismissed it with a wave, like my reasons were irrelevant. “The question is whether you’re serious about this, or whether you’ll change your mind in a week and run back to your bartending.”
“I’m serious.”
“Are you?” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and fixed me with a look that had probably intimidated boardrooms full of executives.
“Because I don’t have time to babysit a twenty-eight-year-old who’s having a quarter-life crisis.
If you come to work for me, you work. You show up, you learn the business, and you commit.
I’m not running a rehabilitation program for my wayward son. ”
Every word was designed to diminish me. To remind me that in his world, I was nothing. Not the fun guy everyone loved, not the neighbor who helped, and not the man Melina had believed in. Just a disappointment who’d finally come crawling.
And I sat there and took it. “I understand.”
He studied me for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the desk. “I’ll need some time to think about where to place you. We’d have to create a role that makes sense. I’m not just going to invent a position because my son decided to show up.”
“I have conditions.”
He barked a laugh. “You think you’re in a position to make demands?”
“I keep my life in Copper Ridge,” I said, ignoring him. “I commute, work remotely, whatever we need to figure out. But I’m not moving to New York full-time. And I want nothing to do with the other side of your business. Legitimate shit only.”
His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he’d shut the whole thing down. “I’ll consider it. But don’t mistake my flexibility for weakness, Zane. I’m not weak, and I never lose.”
Fucking hell. “Yeah, Dad. I’m well aware.”
“Good.” He stood, signaling the meeting was over. No handshake. No warmth. Just a man who’d gotten what he wanted and was already thinking three moves ahead. “I’ll have my team reach out after the holidays with something formal. In the meantime, try not to do anything else impulsive.”
I stood, buttoned my jacket again, and turned for the door.
“And Zane.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I hope your Melina knows what she’s getting into.”
Every muscle in my body locked. Her name in my father’s mouth made something dark and primal rear up inside me. “She’s off limits.” My voice was hard, and my resolve iron-fucking-clad. “To you. And anyone connected to you.”
He laughed, sending a chill up my spine. “That almost sounded like a threat.”
“No. It’s a promise.” I walked out without waiting for his response.
He didn’t get the last word this time. Not when it came to her.
Because she was more than worth it. Every miserable second in this glass tower. Every piece of myself I’d just handed over. She was worth it all.
And that was something he’d never understand, because he’d never loved anyone enough to sacrifice a goddamn thing.
The elevator mirrored me on the way down. This time, I looked. The tie still choked me, but the man staring back was different than the one who’d ridden up with his eyes on the floor. He still wasn’t comfortable. But he was done fucking hiding.
The lobby was busier than before. The MBA kid was gone. Probably upstairs, impressing someone, beginning the career he’d spent years preparing for. Good for him. At least he wanted to be here.
I pushed through the revolving door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Manhattan hit me like a wall. The noise, the cold, the crush of bodies moving in every direction. All of it was too fucking much.
The resort was gone. The bar was gone. The life I’d built, the only life that had ever felt like mine, was traded for a maybe. A leash my father would hold until he decided when to pull.
But I’d made my choice. And for the first time, it wasn’t about hiding or performing or being the guy everyone expected. It was about choosing something real. Committing to it. Trusting that the man I was becoming was worth more than the one I’d been pretending to be.
Melina might not forgive me. She might not even let me explain. But if there was any chance she could see past what I’d done to why I’d done it, I had to try.
It was the hardest choice of my life, but I’d made it for the right reasons.
Now I just had to get home and prove it.