She blinks. "I might."
I glance up. Hudson's watching me from behind the glass wall of his office. Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable. I give him a smile and a nod.
"Right. I need to go," I tell Samantha. I grab the resignation letter I printed at my apartment this morning, folded in thirds, and head for his door.
I knock once and walk in without waiting.
He's turned away from me. Staring out the window. The LA skyline stretches behind him, all glass and haze and money, and he stands in front of it like he owns every building on the horizon. Maybe he does.
"Gianna called," he says.
I stop a few feet inside the door. "Oh. Right. So she told you the story's done? She told me this morning."
Hudson turns slowly. His hands come out of his pockets, and he adjusts his cuffs as he stands behind his desk. "I appreciate it. Thank you," he says.
I frown. "For what?"
He chuckles. "Whatever you said to scare her away from printing this and keeping my company involved. I don't want Gianna breathing down my neck. So, this saved me."
My eyes go wide. This isn't what I expected. I came in here braced for a fight. "You're happy?" I ask, needing to hear it confirmed.
"Very. Being tied to a local mafia war isn't exactly the editorial direction I had in mind for this company. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable." He straightens a pen on his desk. "You did well."
I nod. He's right, I suppose. And something about the ease of this is making the hair on the back of my neck prickle, but I pushit down. Sometimes things just go smoothly. Sometimes you get lucky.
I close the distance between us, pull the engagement ring from my back pocket, and place it on his desk beside the resignation letter. The diamond clicks against the wood. The paper sits perfectly white next to it.
Two anchors cut loose. Finally. I can almost breathe again.
"What the fuck?" he hisses.
I take a breath. The speech I had planned has been completely forgotten.
"I quit. Both jobs. I got Gianna off your back. I’ve cleaned up your image. I've done enough, Hudson. I want out of everything."
He picks up the ring. Holds it between his thumb and forefinger the way Ace did, but different. Ace held it like evidence, the worst thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. Hudson holds it like a chess piece he wasn't expecting to lose.
He looks at the ring. Then at me. Expressionless in a way that could mean anything.
"No," he says.
"Yes," I counter.
"What do I tell my parents?"
I shrug. "Lie. You're great at it. Tell them I've gone away for work. That we're pushing the wedding to next year. Then once you’ve got the company done, tell them we split up. I had an affair. Broke your heart. You're the victim. You get the sympathy and the company."
He clears his throat. "Wow. Quite the story."
"That is kind of my job."
He looks at me, and for a moment I can't read him at all. My heart hammers in the silence. He picks up the resignation letter. Reads it. Folds it back along the creases and places it on the desk beside the ring.
"Why?" he asks, as if he’s curious.
"Because I don't want to do this anymore. I hate it in LA. I don't enjoy this job the way I thought I would. And I have a life waiting for me somewhere else."
He's quiet. Studies me. I wait for the catch. The clause. The reason this can't be this easy.
