“I won’t,” I assure her, gently tightening my hold on her waist. “But I need to know exactly how many other ways they are going to sabotage this merger.”
“It’s going to be fine, Levi,” she says softly, and I almost believe her mellow voice.
Almost.
Then she rises on her tiptoes, hesitating for the briefest second, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. It’s barely there—but it detonates something in my chest.
I deepen it before I can think, before I can stop myself. My hands slide to her jaw, then her lower back, pulling her flush against me. The kiss lingers, her mouth warm and sweet against mine.
She’s kissing me back with the same fervor.
God, she tastes like something I could believe in. Like this moment will somehow dispel the guiltaround my encounter with Iris.
My heart pounds erratically, my entire body screaming to tell her—tell her the truth. How my past has come back. That she might share a conference room with her, without even knowing.
Fuck.
But also… tell Cece the three words I’ve been initiating for almost two months. Unable to comprehend whether she believes them. Or ifIbelieve her—when she returns them.
As I pull back, her forehead resting against mine, I say nothing. This time those words stay buried, lodged deep in my throat.
Not because I don’t feel it. I do. But because I don’t know ifshedoes. And just like always, she doesn’t offer them either.
SIX
Cece
TWO WEEKS LATER
Fourteen days since he said‘I love you.’
Fourteen days since he met his ex-girlfriend again after a decade.
Ten days since I learned about it—not from him, but from Taewon.
Three days since he’s evenseenme.
And none of our conversations ever included a mention of Iris Desmond.
And now—tomorrow—I’ll be in the same room as her, to finalize the contract with Miller-Moore. Tying this woman into our lives. Even if temporarily.
Still, the sting remains. Of being lied to, by omission.
I steady my hands and glance over at my sister, who’s currently mid-rant about one of her universityassignments. She’s only twenty, but already sharper than I was at that age. Possibly sharper than I am now.
But then again, she and I never had the same parents. Even if theywerethe same people.
She was raised by millionaires who had made something of themselves. Who had enough time to stay present for every single milestone she ever reached.
Meanwhile I was raised by two people who were desperate to launch out of the upper middle-class. Who believed that their firstborn being raised by a combination of neighbors and babysitters was good enough.
It wasn’t until I was already fifteen that they hit their first double-digit million. Apparently, single digits were never enough.
And that’s when they decided they finally had enough time to parent. But only their two-year old toddler, who was being raised by their surprisingly self-sufficient teenager.
God. I’d need to let go of this resentment at some point, right?
Vivienne rarely visits, though. Smith School of Business is her dream school, and I wasn’t able to see her when I was in Toronto a few weeks ago. Kingston just didn’t fit in the itinerary.
