Page 96 of Audacity

I can tell from his frown that he doesn’t like that. Not one bit.

‘You’re allowed to feel furious and let down, you know.’

‘Oh, believe me,’ I say, ‘ I feel furiousandlet down.’

‘Bren and I kicked Harrington out right after you left. I reiterated what you’d said about the NDA. I’ll get our lawyers on it today.’

‘Already in motion through Seraph’s General Counsel.’ There’s a stab of something small and warm at the knowledge that his brother has my back—or Gabe’s back. That’s something, at least.

He nods, impressed. ‘That’s my girl.’

‘What’s the score with your family? Did the speech go well, all things considered?’ This I can do: participate in a dispassionate post-mortem of the event and help Gabe to draw up action points.

‘I didn’t really see them. I basically went back to the table, got rid of Harrington, told everyone else that they’d better keep their traps shut, and locked myself in an empty room to pray until the speech, which was absolutely fine.’ He shrugs, and it’s forlorn and defeated and boyish, and I feel like I’m bleeding through my skin for this man.

This is why we were so good together. He’s too decent for this world, and I’m a merciless little go-getter, but I’mhisgo-getter, and I needed him to save my blackened soul just as he needed me to ensure that the world didn’t take advantage of his soul of purest sparkling white. We were an unlikely team, but a perfect one.

‘Okay,’ I say, focusing on the positives. ‘As long as everyone agrees to stay quiet, I can manage this.’

My brain is flipping through potential outcomes at the speed of light. As long as my cover hasn’t been blown and Gabe and I don’t find ourselves on the front pages of the tabloids this weekend, my future at Seraph is secure. I can go back there and take up another position easily. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach, but it’s a solid Plan B to have in my back pocket, especially since my Plan A has fallen apart quite so spectacularly.

‘Seraph can help you with some talking points,’ I tell him now. My eyes are darting all over his face and I realise I’m tryingto drink in every last, perfect detail of him. ‘For your family, I mean. They can help you spin it with them. It’s not the first time a client has got caught with his proverbial pants down, and it won’t be the last.’

‘Sweetheart.’ He releases my jaw so he can clasp both my hands on my lap. ‘No one is spinning anything. I’ll handle my family. At the end of the day, it’s not the first time I’ve morally failed them. It’s none of their business what I do on my own dime. Give them time and they’ll come around—to our relationship and to the foundation stuff. I just need to let them vent a little. I promise, my darling.’

‘Gabe. They’re not going to come around to either. I’m telling you now, that plan is dead in the water. There’s no point in you wasting any time or energy on it. I can help you find a new candidate, if you like. Someone who’s really strategic.’

‘No.’He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Don’t think like that. I promise you I’ll sort it.’

One thing I’ve learnt in business is that when the shit hits the fan, the absolute worst things you can do are double down or indulge in any denial. You need to face the problem head-on, rip off that Band-Aid, and do what needs to be done. There’s no time to grieve what could have been: you pivot, and youact.

Gabe is approaching this like a priest, not a businessman. I know, even if he hasn’t uttered them yet, that concepts likegraceandredemptionandforgivenessare floating around inside that big, gooey heart of his.

I could tell him now that his family certainly isn’t embodyinganyof those words. Gabe’s excess of emotional intelligence is, in this instance, a blinker, not a benefit.

These are the big leagues. He’s running a ten-figure business here. The stakes are sky fucking high, and I’m now dead wood: worse, I’m a liability. I’m blood flowing out of a gaping wound,and he needs to stem that lossnow, no matter how brutal or painful it is, no matter how anathema to his natural compassion.

But I don’t have the chance to explain any of this to him, because he does precisely the worst thing he could do in this moment.

He closes the gap between our faces and kisses me.

I forget for a second—I really do. His lips are so soft and perfect, and his hands, as they come up to cradle my head, are so loving, and my entire nervous system is spilling forth safety cues.He has me, it’s shouting.He’s your safe place. Just relax and collapse and let him be your person.

I open for him. His tongue is gentle and warm as he seeks to show me with his mouth what he knows I’m choosing not to hear in his words. For a moment, I allow it. I allow myself this brief, perfect fragment of time where it’s just me and him and nothing is more important than the way his mouth feels against mine.

As I do, I can feel how badly my defences want to fall by the roadside. The dams of my eyelids, which have been valiantly fighting for the past twelve or thirteen hours to hold in the weight of my tears, are close to bursting. I recall Gabe speaking that line from his favourite prayer:

To thee do we send up our sorrows, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.

I could do it. I could let him take it all; I could let someone else in to look after me, and it could feel amazing…

Until it doesn’t.

Until his family forces his hand, and I’m out on my ear, having dared to dream outside of this career path I’ve so meticulously forged for myself, a path that until recently felt like the express lift to the top and whose walls are now closing in around me.

I jerk my head back and wrench myself away from our kiss. We both speak at once, and I hear his words right as I say my piece.

‘I love you,’ he whispers, looking at me with a world of pain and joy and adoration in his blue eyes.

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