Page 109 of Peppermint Bark

“Listen up: You’re Alexander Fucking Clarke. If they’re moronic enough to fire you, then it’s their loss, and you’ll rise like a goddamn phoenix. And if they’re smart enough to promote Victoria instead of you … well, can you blame them?” He chuckled, and I felt myself sile as he dropped his professional voice and sounded like my little brother again.

“Whatever happens, you’re still the best man I know. Have fun storming the castle.”

Grace

“I found champagne, get your sweet ass back upstairs!” Mallory yelled, but I barely heard her voice. The blood drained from my face as dizziness hit me and pressure rose in my chest. I reached for the stair railing to stay upright.

The glass door created a mirror image, reflecting my face over his.

“I can’t believe you get to be a mom without giving up booze or getting cankles,” Mallory’s voice sounded cloudy. “You’ve found the perfect workaround.”

He was almost me. Hazel eyes, full bottom lip, slender nose.

And yet, he was him. Unmistakably, undeniably him.

"Plus you get jewelry! I might consider having kids if it means …" After a brief pause, she chuckled. "Nah, I'll buy it for myself."

His wet hair fell over his forehead in a way I would have brushed back. His smooth beard covered his wider jaw in a way that mine had been patchy. His eyes yearned in a way that mine had always been guarded.

He wasn’t my before picture; he was my other half.

Mallory’s footsteps stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs. Her tone of voice shifted from playful to concerned, echoing down the narrow stairwell. “Honey, if you can hear me, take a deep breath.”

My lungs swelled as her footsteps vibrated down the stairs.

Then she was next to me where I was still frozen on the bottom step. Her hand provided a steadying touch on my elbow, then her gaze tracked mine and she gasped, “Holy shit, is that —”

The man outside lifted his hand, pressing his palm into the cold glass, coat sleeve dropping to reveal the tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

“Elijah,” I breathed the half answer, half prayer.

Chapter 38

Alex

“Alexander,” Frank Hamilton said at 4:49, greeting me with a firm clap on my back. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

Fred Houghton, the other equity partner, scowled. “We considered sending directions so you wouldn’t get lost and disappear again.”

I tamped down a surge of resentment. Cocky, arrogant, and entitled, but not angry. Before they offered a seat, I pulled out a chair and manspread. “My father is fine, thanks for asking. And all paperwork was filed by the deadline.”

If something went missing I could have shifted the blame, but it didn't so I claimed the credit like the arrogant prick they believed I was.

“No thanks to you,” Houghton glowered.

“That’s why we have paralegals,” I forced myself to shrug, unimpeachable. “I didn’t see you at the table on Christmas Eve. You sent me because you knew I could negotiate the shit out of the deal, not because you need me to file every paper. That’s called delegation, Fred.”

I’d never called him Fred before, it had always been a respectful 'Mr. Houghton,' but when it slipped out, I met his eyes without backing down.

An hour ago, I’d been ready to give up. But for the first time all week, taking in their smug faces and belittling tone, a new feeling rose in my gut: defiance.

Houghton blinked first, shuffling papers. Hamilton leaned on the table to loom over me. “The clients were livid you left before the deal was signed.”

I leaned back, aggressively casual. “The clients can wipe up their tears with the signed contract. I’m there to make money, not friendship bracelets.”

“You were right, Frank,” Houghton said, lips pressed tightly. “I didn’t believe you when you said he was more ruthless than ever in New York.”

“Alexander, it’s time for your tenure as senior associate to end ...”

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