Page 126 of Fixing to Be Mine

Cameras click in quick succession. Voices rise in a chorus of speculation. Someone must’ve spotted my car and told the paps where I’d be.

“Stormy, are you back for good?”

“Are you here to take over the firm?”

“Do you have a comment about the wedding?”

I don’t respond. I keep walking, eyes forward. Colt moves with me, and he’s close enough that I feel him with me every step. The driver pulls the door open as we approach.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know how they knew.”

I slide in first, and Colt follows. The door closes behind us, muting the chaos to a dull throb.

I watch the street through the tinted window as we drive away. People blur together. Glass towers rise. Somewhere between Park Towers and the office, I let go of whatever part of me wanted to disappear.

Today is not about disappearing. It’s about finally being seen.

When we arrive, I get out, and Colt follows. The wind pushes at my coat. I straighten the collar and glance up at the tall building.

Langford Mediais in tall silver letters above the entryway. I used to be proud to enter this building, but now I’m disgusted.

The bottom-floor receptionist stiffens when she sees me, then quietly reaches for the phone.

“Ms. Stormy Langford has arrived. She’s heading there now.”

Security glances at us as we step onto the elevator. They let us go through.

“Is he expecting you?” Colt asks when the doors slide closed.

“He refused to see me today, and I’m not waiting. He’ll see me now,” I explain. “I’m ready to have this conversation regardless of his schedule.”

The rest of the elevator ride is silent. Colt stands beside me, one hand resting lightly against the small of my back. The gesture is quiet, and it steadies something inside me.

When the doors open, his executive assistant is already waiting.

“He wants to reschedule for tomorrow,” she says. Her eyes flick between me and Colt, but she doesn’t ask questions.

I grab his hand and pull him past her and into my father’s office, where he’s on the phone.

“I have to let you go,” he says, ending the call.

The space is clean, deliberate, and cold. My father stands and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Stormy,” he says, as if I’m stopping by for lunch, “I thought my secretary?—”

“I’m not here for pleasantries. You’re not busy. And you will listen to what I have to say right now before I torch this company’s reputation too.”

His gaze moves to Colt, and something shifts behind his expression. “You brought company.”

“This is the man I’m going to marry one day. Colt Valentine.”

Colt is polite and nods, but my father is rude. He motions to the chairs across from his desk, eyes and jaw set.

I don’t sit.

“I’m resigning,” I say. “Effective immediately. My legal team will send over the documents by the end of the day.”

He watches me like I’m a boardroom problem he didn’t anticipate. “Stormy, you don’t need to do this. There’s a path forward. We can manage the fallout.”

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