Chapter 87 Unwanted Invitations pt 2
CHAPTER EIGHTY SEVEN
Valenticia's POV~
We shifted to the topic of Carla’s new puppy and how it chewed up her favorite shoes, but the taunts followed me through the rest of brunch and even on the walk home. Did everyone else see what I worked so hard to suppress? That old connection we share, worn a little thin at the edges but not entirely broken. It gave me cause to briefly doubt my rejections; did I mean them as much in my heart as they sounded out loud?
The pattern only kept repeating without pause, and two weeks later it emerged again at an industry mixer hosted on a rooftop bar, city lights twinkling below, live jazz band playing softly in the corner. I settled on soda in a tall glass and sat down to chat with the supplier about our bulk orders for next season’s materials when Stefan appeared at my elbow like some kind of ghost, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up like he’d be working into the night.
“Valenticia, you look like a scrub as usual. Dance with me? Or at least one drink, on me.”
I spun to face him, keeping my tone sharp this time because the crowd surrounding us seemed like we had eyes on every movement. "Stefan, enough already. We're colleagues, nothing more. Colleagues are not exchanging drinks. Go mingle somewhere else tonight."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, retreating with a half-smile that only partially disguised his disappointment. "Message received loud and clear. For now, anyway." But when he walked off, a colleague at another firm came up with a knowing expression. "Trouble in paradise over there? You two come across like exes with a lot of unresolved issues hanging in the air between you."
I laughed lightly and sipped my soda. "Just business, really, nothing dramatic." But walking by myself on the dark sidewalk toward home that night, doubt began to eat at me more powerfully than ever. Why did his attempts break me so much every single time? I’d built this life for myself, solid and complete without him around, and there was no sense in wondering over what-ifs that could steer me off course.
The rumor at work got noisier after that, and one day, during a team lunch in the break room with sandwiches and chips laid out on the table, Tom from operations leaned over his plate toward me. “Heard Stefan’s still chasing you hard. That gala invite he sent? After everything, with the divorce papers.”
I choked on my water, placing the glass down with a little too much force. “How on earth do you know that? It's supposed to be private."
With a sheepish smile, he shrugged and cleaned mustard from his lip. “Office vines grow really fast in here. People think it’s romantic, you know? ‘Power couple reboot, ’ that’s the line. Cute story, right?"
“Not cute at all,” I said, pushing my half-eaten sandwich off to the side. “Just irritating and way too personal for water cooler talk.”
Lena jumped in from the side of the table, her voice gentle but insistent. "Ignore them, Val, they mean well. But if you feel any trace of it, bend a little and check this man out. Life’s too brief, and he seems to be sorry.
I shook my head, trying to keep my voice even. “Because I already know better from experience. Once burned is enough for me, thanks, though.” They let it go after that, moving on to discuss weekend plans, not before expressing their worry in a way that somehow felt both human and caring enough to make me appreciate them even more, which also had the effect of making me feel uncomfortably exposed under all the scrutiny.
Next came the night of the huge invitation that triggered it all, the annual industry ball, a black-tie affair in one of those old-timey grand hotel ballrooms with chandeliers and formal gowns. I had received an invitation weeks before, and I’d resolved to skip it altogether because it involved too much small talk and not enough real progress on deals. But Stefan intercepted me in the office lobby that afternoon when I was getting ready to leave early and slipped into my coat.
"Valenticia, wait up a second." He jogged a few paces to catch up with me, his tie loosened after a long day of meetings. "The ball tonight, go with me. No pressure at all as friends. Just one night to talk with no agenda getting in the way.”
I halted squarely in the center of the lobby, bag slung over my shoulder, and his face appeared so open and hopeful that it snagged at memories for a moment. I saw the safehouses guy again, the one who shared bad jokes to ease the fear during storms. But I squashed that thought quickly and let my voice be firm. "No, Stefan. I will not marginalize myself for you like that. We tried something once, and it ended because it was meant to end. Go find somebody else to lead you tonight."
His shoulders sagged a bit, but he nodded without arguing. “Roger that, you’re tough, Val, ain’t never been any doubt of that.” He walked away then, towards the elevators, and I was left there alone with the sound of my own words.
The rejection felt final and even good, at the time, at least, like I had drawn a clear line, so I went home straight afterward, changed into sweats that softened me again physically, whatever they did for my mood, and worked myself busy to get through the day. I laid out spreadsheets across the kitchen table and scanned through e-mails concerning next quarter’s goals, the TV murmuring in the background to some low news show I wasn’t really listening to, but which droned on about stories unrelated. Focus, that was what I was lacking more than anything else. No time for his games or the pull on my heart that I didn’t want to name.
That’s how the hours went on, until ten o’clock struck and my phone buzzed on the table, a call from an old contact of mine, Rosa Stark, who I hadn’t spoken to much since the Galden days but still called me every now and again with some handy tips. "Valenticia? I hope I’m not calling on a Friday too late.”
“No, not at all, I'm happy to hear from you,” I replied, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes. "What's going on?"
"Just heard something from the birdies and wanted to let you know ASAP. Stefan has frequently been spotted around town with Natasha recently. Not only business meetings, dinners out, and things together. Arm in arm at that art opening last week, as far as people are telling it. People think they are tight now, more than just partners on paper.”
Right then, my heart clenched in me, a knot I could not ignore. "Really? Well, good for them, I guess, maybe they’re admitting they have to try something else.”
There was a long pause on the other end before Ravi, using a soft voice, said. “Valenticia, you sound a little pale. Look, if it bothers you at all…”
"It's none of your business," I interrupted more harshly than I intended, straightening up. "That's old news, all of it. But thanks for the heads up, I’m glad you have my back!”
We clicked off, and I continued to stare at the phone for a long minute, trying to ignore the knot getting tighter in my chest as I chanted over and over again but it doesn’t matter now. He’d moved on the same way I had. Fine. Surely there was an element of theater to it, creeping out under my skin, but surely too it had all been real and in the open. Memories suddenly came rushing back: that easy laugh he had with her in meetings, the easy conversations I’d have with him. Did I miss my chance somehow? No, stop thinking like that.
I stood up and walked around the living room, still holding the phone, looking at one of my desks full of working papers on a project I was preparing to introduce legislation for, until I saw the ball invite that I had thrown on a counter days earlier. A fancy envelope with gold lettering, which now seemed to call out to me. One night, that's all. Go, find out for myself what was really going on. Close the book on wondering for good and take a clean break.
I grabbed my black dress from the closet, the simple knee-length one that felt comfortable yet put-together, and slipped it on before fixing my hair in the mirror. I called for a car on my phone, and as it pulled up outside my building a few minutes later, I took one last deep breath in the hallway. It was a quiet decision, just for me. I'd go to the ball after all, alone and on my own terms and finally end all the what-ifs swirling in my head.