Chapter 65
Lance
The door swung shut behind him, but his final words echoed in the sudden silence: "A complete waste of space."
I stood frozen, watching the space Wesley had vacated, my chest tight with something I couldn't quite name. Not guilt—I'd stopped feeling guilty about Wesley's failures years ago.
This was different. Heavier. The recognition that I'd helped create the man who'd just walked out, the one who believed himself worthless because I'd never bothered to prove otherwise.
Vincent appeared in the doorway moments later, his usually composed expression fractured by genuine bewilderment. "What the fuck was that?" He didn't even apologize for the profanity, which told me exactly how rattled he was. "I've never seen Wesley that... hurt. Or angry. I didn't even know he was capable of—"
"It's my fault." Serena's voice was quiet but firm, her arms wrapped around herself in that defensive posture I'd seen too many times. "I should've handled it better. I'm sorry, Mr. Lawson—I didn't mean to cause problems between you and your nephew."
"Stop." The word came out sharper than I intended. "You have nothing to apologize for. He had no right to come here, no right to put his hands on you, and certainly no right to make you responsible for your parents' debts." The memory of his grip on her wrist sent another surge of anger through me. "You handled it exactly as you should have."
She blinked, seeming to absorb this, and I watched her shoulders drop fractionally, some of the defensive tension easing. Good. She shouldn't have to carry Wesley's damage on top of everything else.
"You have your board presentation tomorrow." I forced my voice back to something approaching professional neutrality. "You should get some rest. The directors can be... unforgiving if you're not at your sharpest."
I turned toward the door, Vincent falling into step beside me. I'd almost reached the threshold when her hand closed around my arm.
"Wait—that's it? You're just... leaving?"
I made the mistake of looking back. She stood close enough that I could see the confusion and disappointment written across her face, her fingers still gripping my sleeve.
Every instinct screamed at me to stay. To tell her I'd thought about her every day this week. To close the distance between us and— But Wesley's outburst. The bathtub. The boundaries I'd already crossed. His parting words: You're the one who upholds this family's honor best, after all.
I'd failed Wesley. The least I could do was handle this properly.
My hand covered hers, carefully loosening her grip and guiding it back to her side. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers. I released her before I could do something stupid.
"I heard the commotion," I said, keeping my voice level, professional, safe. "I was passing by and thought I should check. That's all."
The light in her eyes dimmed instantly, and I felt it like a physical blow. "Oh." Just that single syllable, but it carried the weight of disappointment she was trying to hide. "Right. Of course."
Something twisted in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. This was the right choice. The smart choice. She had a presentation tomorrow that could make or break her position here, and I had a nephew spiraling into God-knew-what kind of crisis.
"Get some rest," I said again, softer this time. "Tomorrow's important. Show them what you're capable of." I turned away before I could see her reaction, before the hurt in her eyes could undermine my resolve. "Let's go, Vincent."
I made it five steps down the hallway. Six. Seven. Then her voice rang out, clear and determined in the empty corridor, stopping me in my tracks.
"If I do well tomorrow—if the presentation goes perfectly—can I buy you dinner?"
My heart did something complicated and entirely inappropriate, a stuttering rhythm that had no place in a professional relationship. I stood frozen, my back still to her, acutely aware of Vincent's questioning glance and the way my hands had clenched into fists at my sides.
Don't turn around. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing how much that simple question affected you. Don't—
"Not—" Her voice came again, slightly panicked now, words tumbling over each other. "Not like a date or anything. I just meant—you've helped me so much, and if I succeed tomorrow, I'd like to thank you properly. That's all. Just... gratitude."
A smile tugged at my mouth despite everything, unexpected and genuine. Even now, backed into a corner, she was still fighting. Still refusing to show weakness. Still that same woman who'd looked at me in a hotel bathtub and decided she was done being afraid of what she wanted.
The smart thing would be to say no. To maintain the distance I'd worked so hard to establish. To remember that she was my employee, that my nephew had just stormed out of her office looking like I'd personally destroyed his world, that getting involved with Serena Vance in any capacity beyond professional would be a catastrophically bad decision.
I should say no.
"That depends," I heard myself say instead, still not turning around, "on how well you perform." I paused, letting the ambiguity of that statement hang in the air for just a moment.
"Vincent. We're leaving."