Page 27 of Merry with a Tycoon

The questions come rapid-fire, and I find myself swept up in a media frenzy. Mother is in her element, charming the reporters with practiced ease. Vivian plays her part perfectly, the supportive ex-girlfriend who’s still on good terms with the family.

And me? I’m stuck, playing a role I thought I’d left behind. All the while, my eyes scan the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of the woman who saw the real me.

But Crystal is nowhere to be found.

As the impromptu interview session finally winds down, I manage to extricate myself from Vivian’s grip. “I need to speak with some of the tenants,” I mutter, not meeting her gaze.

“Of course, darling,” she purrs, her hand touching my cheek. “We’ll catch up later.”

I make my way through the square, shaking hands with shop owners, answering questions, trying to reassure everyone that their livelihoods are safe. But my mind is elsewhere.Where did Crystal go? What must she be thinking?

Finally, I find myself in front of HarmonyWorks. The ‘Closed’ sign hangs in the window, mocking me. I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes.

“Everything okay, boss?” Javi’s voice startles me.

I straighten up, running a hand through my hair. “No, Javi. I don’t think it is.”

He follows my gaze to the closed shop. “The crystal lady, huh? She seemed upset when she left.”

“You saw her leave?” I ask, hope flaring in my chest. “Did she say anything?”

Javi shakes his head. “Nah, but her face said plenty. Look, boss, I know it’s not my place, but... maybe you should go after her. Explain things.”

I sigh, looking back at the chaos of the square. Mother and Vivian are still holding court with a group of reporters. The tenants are gathered in small groups, discussing the press conference. I can see Mr. Goldstein gesticulating wildly, clearly not fully convinced by my assurances.

“I can’t, Javi. Not right now. There’s too much at stake here.”

He nods, understanding but clearly disapproving. “Car’s ready whenever you are.”

As I make my way back to the center of the square, my CEO mask firmly back in place, I can’t shake the image of Crystal’s shop, closed and dark. It feels like a metaphor for something, but I’m too tired, too overwhelmed to puzzle it out.

This isn’t how I imagined this day going. True, I’ve somehow handled the mess that was the rent increase being leaked, but I hoped to speak to Crystal and tell her in person. Assure her that everything I said about the project then was real, and not part of damage control.

But as Mother waves me over, Vivian at her side, I realize that’s going to be easier said than done… just like everything else in my life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CRYSTAL

The late afternoonsun casts long shadows across the small courtyard nestled between the two units of the duplex I call home. It’s a hidden oasis, accessible only to residents through a wrought iron gate on the side of the building. Mrs. Abernathy, the sweet elderly lady who occupies the other unit, gave me full use of this space when I moved in, on the condition that I tend to her prized rosebushes and keep the miniature herb garden thriving.

Today, the scent of lavender and basil mingles with the sharp odor of grout as I work on my latest mosaic piece. The colorful tiles spread before me on the weathered wooden table – a recent flea market find that Mrs. Abernathy insisted would be perfect for my “artistic endeavors.”

As the rhythmic snip of tile cutters fills the air as I work, I know it’s no use. What used to offer me their usual comfort is drowned by the memories of the press conference playing on repeat in my mind—from Preston’s earnest speech, the positive reaction of the crowd, and the sudden appearance of his mother and Vivian.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of her perfectly manicured hand on Preston’s arm. My gaze drifts to my own fingernails, stained with grout and flecked with bits of colored tile. I can’t help but laugh at the contrast.

What could Preston possibly see in me when he’s got Vivian. Ex-girlfriend or not, she’s leagues away from my world. I set down my tile cutter with a sigh, realizing I’ve been working on the same piece for far too long without making any real progress.

Vivian’s sudden appearance at the square really shouldn’t bother me. It’s not like Preston and I are... anything. One magical night doesn’t erase years of history, does it?

The tile slips, nicking my finger. I hiss in pain, watching a bead of blood well up. Fitting, I think bitterly. A physical manifestation of the ache in my chest.

I set down the cutter and lean back in the rickety garden chair, my eyes drifting over the courtyard. The string lights Mrs. Abernathy insisted on hanging last summer twinkle faintly in the fading light, creating a whimsical atmosphere that feels at odds with my emotions.

This space has always been my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the meditative process of creating beauty from broken pieces. But today, even the soothing act of mosaic-making can’t quiet the storm in my mind.

As the sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I finally admit defeat. The mosaic before me is a mess, a chaotic jumble of colors and shapes that reflects my inner turmoil. With a sigh, I begin to pack up my tools, carefully sweeping the tile shards into a bucket. Mrs. Abernathy would never forgive me if I left a mess.

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