Chapter 19 Step down
Vivienne's POV
I just felt I should do something a bit crazy when I saw him sitting on the patio. The afternoon light was hitting him in that particular way that made everything look softer, almost dreamlike.
He was leaning back in one of the wicker chairs, his jacket discarded on the table beside him, his tie loosened just enough to show he'd had a long day. It's only fair for me to thank him for funding the shopping, I thought to myself. He didn't have to do that. He didn't have to give me his card and tell me to get whatever I wanted, no limits, no questions asked. But he did.
I walked toward him slowly, my footsteps quiet on the stone tiles of the patio. He didn't notice me at first. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance, maybe the garden, maybe nothing at all. Just lost in his own thoughts.
I placed my hand on his chin and rubbed him slowly, feeling the slight stubble there that had grown since this morning. His skin was warm beneath my fingertips, and I felt him tense for just a moment before relaxing into my touch.
"When you said I'd go shopping today, I thought you didn't mean it," I said softly, my thumb moving in small circles against his jawline. "This is me saying thank you for everything."
I kept my hand in place while my eyes danced on his face, taking in every detail. The way his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. The small scar near his temple that he'd gotten years ago, before I knew him. The tiredness around his eyes that seemed deeper than usual today.
"Have you had lunch yet?" I asked, trying to ease the tension between us. There was something heavy in the air, something I couldn't quite name but could definitely feel.
"Not yet," he said, his voice quieter than normal, almost flat. "I just finished having a meeting with the board. They want me to step down from the position of CEO."
The words hung there between us like smoke. I was surprised and angry, emotions flooding through me all at once. How could they? After everything he'd built, everything he'd done for that company? My first instinct was to pull away, to remove my hand and start pacing, to demand answers and plan some kind of counterattack. I wanted to remove my hand but he held it in place, his own hand coming up to cover mine, pressing my palm more firmly against his face.
"Don't go," he said, and there was something in his voice I rarely heard. Vulnerability. Need. "I want to feel the warmth of your hand. Maybe I need something that would take my mind from that painful news."
I didn't argue. How could I? I felt for him in a way that made my chest ache. This wasn't just about business or power or money. This was about his identity, his purpose, the thing he'd dedicated years of his life to building. But there's one thing he hasn't said—the reason he was being mandated to step down. That was the piece missing from this puzzle, and it gnawed at me.
I wanted to ask him. The question was right there on my tongue, ready to spill out. Why? What happened? What did they say? But I chose to let it go. When he's ready, he will tell me. Pushing him now, when he looked this defeated, this tired, wouldn't help anyone.
"I need something strong," he said, finally releasing my hand and leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
That was when I stood up, straightening my dress and nodding. "I'll just tell one of the housekeepers to bring a bottle for you."
I walked back into the house, my heels clicking against the hardwood floors. The house was quiet, that kind of peaceful silence that usually felt comforting but today just felt empty. I found Maria in the kitchen, wiping down the counters.
"Maria, could you bring a bottle of tequila to the patio? And two glasses, please. The good tequila, not the stuff we keep for parties."
She nodded, understanding in her eyes. Maria had worked here long enough to know when not to ask questions.
I made my way back outside, settling into the chair across from him. We sat in silence for a few minutes, just existing in the same space. I watched him, and he watched the garden, and neither of us said anything. There was something comforting about it, actually. No need to fill every moment with words.
Maria appeared with a tray, setting down the bottle and two crystal glasses on the table between us. She disappeared as quietly as she'd come, and I reached for the bottle, breaking the seal and pouring him a generous amount. The liquid caught the sunlight, turning golden as I filled his glass.
He took it without a word, bringing it to his lips and downing it in one smooth motion. I poured him another, and he took that one more slowly, savoring it this time. Then another. And another.
After a few shots of tequila, something in him shifted. I could see it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his jaw unclenched. The alcohol was doing its work, loosening the tight grip he'd been keeping on his emotions.
He set his glass down and looked at me directly for the first time since I'd come back outside. His eyes were slightly glassy now, but more open, more honest.
"Do you know why I was asked to step down?" he said, the words coming out thick and heavy. He didn't wait for me to answer. "They said I've become too aggressive in my expansion plans. Too risky. That I'm putting the company in jeopardy with my vision."
He laughed, but it was a bitter sound, nothing like his usual laugh. "My vision. The same vision that tripled our revenue in five years. The same vision that put us on the map internationally. But now, suddenly, it's too much. Too risky."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, giving him my full attention. He needed to talk, and I needed to listen.
"They want someone safe," he continued, reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another shot without my help this time. "Someone who will maintain what we have instead of pushing for more. Someone who won't rock the boat."
"And that's not you," I said quietly.
"That's never been me," he agreed, downing the shot. "I didn't build this company by playing it safe. I built it by taking calculated risks, by seeing opportunities where others saw obstacles. But now they're scared. The market's uncertain, there's talk of a recession, and they want to hunker down and protect what we have."
He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I am too aggressive. Maybe I should step down and let someone else take over."
"Do you believe that?" I asked.
He was quiet for a long moment, staring into his empty glass like it held answers. "I don't know what I believe anymore. I'm tired. I'm so damn tired of fighting. Fighting the board, fighting the market, fighting everyone who thinks they know better than me about the company I built from nothing."
I stood up and moved to his chair, perching on the armrest beside him. I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension still coiled there despite the alcohol.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," I said softly. "You don't have to fight right now. Right now, you can just be here. Just breathe. Just exist."
He looked up at me, and I saw something break in his expression. Not weakness, exactly, but a letting go. A release of the armor he wore every single day.
"Thank you," he whispered, his hand coming up to cover mine on his shoulder. "For being here. For not judging me. For just... being you."
We stayed like that as the sun moved lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of orange and pink. The tequila bottle sat half-empty on the table, and somewhere in the house I could hear Maria preparing dinner, the sounds of normalcy continuing despite everything.
And in that moment, despite the uncertainty, despite the hurt and the anger and the confusion, there was also peace. The kind of peace that comes from not being alone, from having someone who sees you at your worst and doesn't turn away.