"Thanks, Dad," I mutter.
He rolls his eyes and drops his arm. "Right. You're not wobbly at all."
"It's my shoes," I say, walking after him through the lobby. "They look great, but they're not very steady."
Steven's waiting for us outside. Victor holds the car door open for me, an inscrutable expression on his face.
I unbuckle my strappy heels the second we're inside. "Ah. Relief."
He snorts, but he doesn't look away.
My head feels light. "Your friends are lovely."
"They're my business partners."
"You don't consider them friends?"
"Of a sort, I suppose. But we have shared investments, so I won't get too friendly."
I pull up a leg beneath me on the plush leather seat. "They don't seem to think that way."
"They have different values than me."
I raise an eyebrow and he turns to me fully, draping an arm behind the headrests. Something sparks in his eyes. "You take issue with that."
"No," I say. "It's just so you."
His voice deepens. "So me? Care to elaborate, Miss… Cecilia?"
"Well, that's an example of it, actually. It's been weeks, but you still find it difficult to call me Cecilia. You want to go for Miss Myers."
"It's a force of habit."
"It creates even more of a boundary between us, and that's something you like," I say. "Isn't that right? Because you and I are business partners."
"We are."
I'm on a roll, champagne and adrenaline making my words flow. "Do you know, that in the entire year I worked for you, I never once saw you laugh on the phone? Make a joke with an employee?"
"You kept track?"
I roll my eyes. "No, I didn't. But I can't remember a single instance. Your separation between church and state is absolute."
"As opposed to you, who prefers to mix them incessantly."
"I mix them?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Do you think I never noticed how much you and Eleanor's assistant talked? Some afternoons you chatted for hours."
"You heard us? Through the door?"
"Sometimes."
"Wow." Trying to sort through a year's worth of hushed conversations with Mason is difficult, but my brain attempts it. What incriminating things had I said about Victor?
He shifts closer, voice dropping. "Thinking of all the awful things I might have overheard?"
"Yes. I don't know if I should apologize."
"I didn't hear a thing. But if you think you should apologize, I'm willing to hear it."
"You vain man," I say. "Do you know how good of an assistant I was? I had lists of your favorite lunches, rotating them based on the day of the week and the mood you were in. I took pride in organizing your email inbox. It was labeled and color-coordinated and a work of art. I drafted the best memos and meeting notes for you."
Victor's lips curl, an expression I'm so unused to seeing that it stops me mid-brag. "I've noticed, now that Brad is here."
"He's doing a good job, isn't he?"
"Good enough. Probably thanks to your coaching."
The compliment is tiny, but it warms me. I'd wanted Conway's approval when I was his assistant. With St. Clair, I'd craved it, and every day he said nothing was a day I needed it more.
He's close, his aftershave a heady balm. In the dim light of the car, his blue eyes look almost black. "Cecilia."
"They bought it. About you and me, and our marriage. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome."
He takes my hand in between both of his and with strong, sure fingers he slides my rings off my finger. He has to worry them around my knuckle, but then they're off, gleaming gold in his palm.
"Keep them safe for me," I murmur.
He puts them in his suit pocket. "Until next time."
My heart pounds. The champagne, I think.
Steven pulls the car to a stop outside our apartment building. Victor's the first to break eye contact and get out, but I follow suit, heart still racing.
He had always intimidated me. It hasn't changed.
Victor rests a hand on my low back and we walk through the lobby. There's no one here to see us, but his hand is there regardless, a warm weight through my dress.
He unlocks our front door and nods toward the staircase. "Get some sleep," he tells me. "You'll need it, because tomorrow, I'm going to tear your business idea to shreds."
The dry threat makes me smile. "Good. I don't want you to go easy on me."
"That's not my style."
"Oh, I know." I look at him standing alone in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He looks back at me until our gazes break.