Chapter 51
Rowan's POV
The call came at nine-thirty Tuesday morning.
I was reviewing quarterly projections when my phone lit up with Lena's name. My hand paused over the keyboard.
"Rowan." Her voice was cool, professional. "Tomorrow's the fifteenth. Are you available in the afternoon?"
The fifteenth. Contract expiration date. Of course.
"I'm—" The lie formed before I could think. "I'm traveling tomorrow. Client meetings."
Silence on her end. Then: "You mentioned last week you'd be free this week."
Fuck.
Jack looked up from his laptop across the desk, confusion flickering across his face. I caught his eye, gave a subtle head shake.
"Plans changed," I said. "Urgent matter in—" I glanced at Jack, made a quick gesture. He blinked, then understanding dawned.
"Oakridge," Jack supplied quietly.
"Oakridge," I repeated into the phone. "Should only be a few days."
Another pause. I could practically hear her thinking, calculating whether to push.
"Fine," she said finally. "Let me know when you're back."
The line went dead.
Jack stared at me. "Sir, we don't have anything scheduled in Oakridge."
"I know." I set the phone down. "Book two tickets. Today. And update my calendar—client meetings, due diligence, whatever. Make it look legitimate."
"Tickets to where?"
"Colin's place. The resort property outside the city."
Jack's eyebrows rose slightly. "The... lakeside resort? Sir, that's not a—"
"I'm aware." I turned back to my computer. "Just book it."
"May I ask why—"
"No."
He fell silent. Started typing. I could feel his judgment radiating across the desk, but he was too professional to voice it.
Smart man.
---
We arrived at Oakridge Lakeside Retreat by mid-afternoon. Colin's "small resort" was actually a sprawling estate—main lodge, six guest cabins, pristine lake frontage. Family inheritance from his grandfather's logging fortune, now mostly empty except for occasional high-end corporate events.
Jack hauled our bags into the largest cabin while I stood on the deck, looking out at the water. The lake was glass-smooth, reflecting grey October sky.
My phone buzzed. Text from Colin.
Colin: [Marissa just told me someone checked into the resort. Imagine my surprise when she said it was YOU. What the hell are you doing there?]
I typed back.
Me: [Needed a change of scenery. Quiet place to work.]
Colin: [You're telling me you dragged Jack to my family's resort to WORK? You have a perfectly good office.]
Me: [Your place was empty anyway. Thought I'd give it some use.]
Colin: [Bullshit. I'm coming over.]
Great.
---
Jack set up a makeshift workstation in the cabin's main room—laptop, files, portable printer. Efficient as always. He glanced at me occasionally, clearly wanting to ask questions but wisely staying silent.
I tried to focus on the acquisition reports in front of me. Failed. My eyes kept drifting to my phone.
No messages from Lena.
Of course there weren't. Why would there be? She'd gotten her answer. I was "traveling." She'd wait until I returned, sign the papers, pack her things, and that would be that.
Exactly as planned.
So why did my chest feel tight?
"Sir?" Jack's voice cut through my thoughts. "The Henderson contract needs your signature."
I signed without reading it properly. Jack noticed but said nothing.
---
Colin showed up around six, letting himself in without knocking. He found me on the deck with a scotch, Jack inside dutifully reviewing email chains.
"So," Colin said, dropping into the chair beside me. "Want to tell me why you're hiding at my family's lake house the day before your contract expires?"
"I'm not hiding."
"Right. You're 'working.'" He made air quotes. "With your assistant. At a resort. Very convincing."
"Glad you approve."
He studied me for a long moment. "This is about her, isn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lena. Your wife. The woman you're supposed to be divorcing soon."
"It's not a divorce. It's a contract termination."
"Semantics." He poured himself a drink from the bottle I'd left on the side table. "You're hiding from your wife because you don't want to end your marriage. That's the definition of cold feet."
"It's not—" I stopped. Took a breath. "It's a business arrangement. She wants out. Fine. I'm giving her what she wants."
"By running away the day before?"
"I'm not running. I have work to do, and this place is quiet."
"Uh-huh." Colin sipped his scotch. "So it's pure coincidence you chose today to suddenly need solitude?"
I didn't answer.
He sighed. "You're an idiot."
"Thanks for the support."
"I'm serious. Two years with that woman—seeing her every day, sharing a house, a bed—and you expect me to believe you feel nothing?"
"What I feel is irrelevant. The contract was always temporary."
"Was it?" He tilted his head. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look like a man who just realized he's about to lose something he values."
"She's not—" I cut myself off. "It's complicated."
"It's really not." Colin set his glass down. "You either want her to stay or you don't. Which is it?"
I stared out at the lake. The sun was setting, turning the water gold.
"What I want doesn't matter," I said quietly. "She made her choice."
"Did you give her a reason to choose differently?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
---
Midnight found the three of us still on the deck. Jack had given up on working hours ago and joined us, nursing a beer while Colin and I steadily worked through the scotch bottle.
"Question," Colin said, slightly slurred. "When she moved into the estate, did you ever actually talk to her? Like, really talk?"
"We talked."
"About what? Work? Schedules? Which charity gala to attend?"
"Among other things."
"Did you ever ask what she wanted? Beyond the contract terms?"
I thought about it. Tried to remember conversations that weren't about logistics or obligations.
Came up empty.
"That's what I thought," Colin muttered. "You treated her like a business associate."
"That's what she was."
"Bullshit. She was your wife. Contract or not, she lived in your house. Wore your ring." He pointed at me. "You don't fuck someone for two years and call it 'just business.'"
Jack suddenly became very interested in his beer bottle.
"She wanted the arrangement," I said. "She proposed it."
"Sure. And then what? You just... kept it transactional? Never wondered if maybe she wanted more?"
"She never said—"
"Of course she didn't. Jesus, Rowan, women don't spell it out like a contract clause. You have to actually pay attention."
I fell silent.
Images flashed through my mind. Lena at the breakfast table, asking about my day. Lena reviewing my contracts late at night, making sure I hadn't missed anything. Lena standing in the doorway when I came home late, not saying anything but clearly waiting up.
Seven years ago, sending me research materials anonymously. Helping me win a case that could have destroyed my company. Never asking for credit or acknowledgment.
"Fuck," I whispered.
"Yeah," Colin said. "Fuck."