Page 114 of A Ticking Time Boss

“Fuck you,” I say quietly, and mean it.

Tristan’s eyes soften. “It’s not easy to hear any of this stuff. I know, Kingsley. Trust me. But from the look on your face… you want her back.”

I look out the window at the falling leaves outside. This is a charming little city. I wish Audrey would be here to see it, too. “Yes,” I admit. “More than anything.”

“Perhaps she came up to your office hoping you would convince her to stay, you know. Hoping you’d tell her that everything would be okay? Perhaps even wanting you to apologize?”

I groan. “I didn’t do any of those things.”

“No.” Tristan’s voice is tinged with faint hesitation when he speaks again, like he knows he might be overstepping but won’t stop. “You were already protecting yourself, I’m guessing. Had your wall all the way up?”

I close my eyes. Idiot, I think. She was right there, and with her soft eyes on mine, asking me to reassure, to apologize, to fight. And I’d been too busy wallowing in my own feelings to see any of it.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” I say.

“Well, that’s a bit harsh,” Tristan says. “I saw how the two of you looked at the dinner a few weeks ago. Do you really think it’s too late?”

“It better not be,” I say. “God, when can I leave this thing?”

He laughs. “I think you have to stay until after the ceremony, at least.”

“Fuck the ceremony. They’re already married.”

“Get out of here first thing tomorrow morning,” Tristan says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Be honest with her about why you reacted the way you did. That’s the secret, you know. To me and Freddie. We’re honest, even when it’s terrible.”

“Couldn’t the secret just be to have a lot of really great fucking sex?” I mutter. “Because I could work with that.”

Tristan chuckles again, looking over his shoulder. But we’re out of earshot. “That helps too,” he tells me.

It feels like an age later until we’re finally all seated outdoors, beneath the shade of an oak with rapidly falling leaves. The water across the pond ripples gently with the wind. A sunny day, as opposed to yesterday’s rain. They’ve chosen well.

Audrey would have enjoyed it. She’d comment on things I don’t notice, like the silkiness of the chair coverings or how pretty the sunlight is through the leaves. I’d take her hand, and look at Victor standing there, waiting for Cecilia to join him.

Wondering how I’d feel in his place. Waiting for the woman next to me to promise to love me forever.

But she’s not here, and the absence is like a lost limb, a disease, an ache. Beside me is Summer, and Anthony to her right. From the corner of my eye I can see their tightly clasped hands.

Their wedding is coming up, too.

I used to roll my eyes at my friends’ obsession with marital bliss. The joke doesn’t seem quite as funny now, when I’d rather be the punchline than the joker.

A single violinist starts to play, a soft, warm sound. Everyone turns in their seats to watch Cecilia… but I look at Victor. He’s in a tux, hands relaxed at his side. Watching his wife walk down the aisle to him.

And beneath his composure, he’s burning with emotion.

I see it in his eyes. They’re locked on her. We might as well not be here for all he cares. It’s not even that he’d prefer it… but he doesn’t care. Because he’s focused on her and her alone. We don’t exist.

This man, who I’ve argued with time and time again. The competitive bastard who loves to find weaknesses and exploit them, who has never seen a business he couldn’t make more efficient, who is a far bigger proponent of layoffs than I’ve ever been.

He’s standing here with love shining in his eyes.

If Victor St. Clair can change for Cecilia and embrace vulnerability, then I can’t do anything less for Audrey. I’ll be nothing short of what she deserves.

I watch them renew their vows. Eyes locked on one another, a silent conversation flowing beneath their softly spoken words. Audrey might not be mine, but by God am I hers. The need to talk to her is a bone-deep ache. For so many years, convincing people had been my job. I’d used my charm in more ways than I care to count. Some I’m proud of and many I’m not.

This time is different.

I’m going to have to be one hundred percent myself, and even that might not be enough. But I’m not going to run anymore.

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