Page 95 of Knot Your Sunshine
Seeing my disapproving expression, Noa straightens to his full height, shoulders squared, and the shift in his presence is immediate. Pack-head authority radiates from him, commanding attention from both Keanu and me without saying a word.
"We take the meeting. We assess the situation. Then we decide how to proceed. That's the most responsible approach," he barks.
I want to argue. To march upstairs and tell Mia everything: the marketing spend, the meeting, all of it. But beyond his commanding presence, his logic is sound. She did look exhausted. And the thought of watching her collapse under more stress when she desperately needs rest... Maybe this approach offers the best balance.
"Fine." The word tastes like ash. "But if a decision has to be made, we go get her.Andwe tell her everything tomorrow, even if nothing came up. No filtering, no protection. Everything."
"Agreed." Noa's posture relaxes. "Now, let's go."
We head toward our office where we can take the call privately, my shoes still squelching with each step. Through the windows, I can see the moonlit beach where just hours ago, this day was just about chilling and spotting dolphins.
Now, with each second away from her, the weight in my chest grows heavier.
We're trying to protect her. That's what I tell myself as Noa logs into our video meeting software. We're doing this for her.
But deep down, I'm afraid we might just be making things worse.
Chapter thirty-seven
Mia
I'm wearing a path in the carpet of my suite, my feet sinking into the plush fibers with each step. Outside, the ocean stretches black under the moon, calm now as if the storm never happened.
Endgame.
The word sits heavy in my chest.
I pause at the window, press my forehead against the cool glass. Even after a relaxing hot shower, their voices play on repeat in my mind.
Have you thought about what comes after?
Maybe eventually bringing in help?
We know where this could lead.
They meant well. I know that. But knowing and feeling are two different things, and right now something feels fundamentally off.
Would they still want me if I said I planned to work this hard for the next decade? Two decades? Would their support come with an expiration date?
I turn from the window and resume pacing, the carpet muffling my footsteps but not my racing thoughts.
Alex lasted one month before my ambition became "too much." How long before these three reach the same conclusion, just wrapped in kinder words?We want you to have balance. We want you to be happy.As if happiness only comes in their prescribed doses of work versus life.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. A headache is building behind my temples.
I need to talk to someone. Someone who won't tell me what they think I want to hear.
I grab my phone and text Elena.
Me: SOS. Are you free? I need to talk.
I watch the message hang there, waiting for the 'delivered' confirmation. Nothing.
Me: Sorry, I know it's late.
Still nothing. She's probably on the silver fox's yacht, or somewhere with terrible cell service. Or just sleeping like a normal person.
The silence of the suite presses in. Too quiet after the crackling fire, after their suggestions that I should already be planning my exit from the thing that makes me feel most alive.
