Page 202 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Mostly.

I glanced at the door where Terry had disappeared. “Maybe he’ll learn?”

Alessia’s skepticism was audible. “I hope so.”

I lifted the bags in my hand, drawing her attention. “Come on. We have lunch plans.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Since when?”

I walked toward the low table in front of the couch. “Since you don’t have any food.” I set the bags down and unzipped the first one. “It’s your favorite.”

She sighed, but there was no real weight behind it. “Fine. Can you set it up? I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the bathroom while I unpacked the containers.

Liam had dropped me off ten minutes ago, on his way to lunch with Rohan. I’d asked if he wanted to join us. He’d laughed and said he didn’t want to be a third wheel.

Before I’d gotten out of the car, he’d asked, Are you going to tell her today? About stepping down?

I’d said yes.

The decision had been sitting with me for weeks, growing more certain with each passing day. Stepping down as CEO. I’d been nervous about it ever since I first considered it, turning it over in my head and waiting for it to feel wrong.

It never did.

It was the right move—for the company, for Liam, for me. Mr. Johnson would be a better partner than I’d ever been.

I needed to be somewhere else.

Liam had been against it at first. But I’d told him, over and over, that Mr. Johnson was better at this than I’d ever been. That the company needed someone who could focus on strategy without losing himself in it. That I needed to be somewhere else.

After a long, long time, he’d relented.

Now I just had to tell her.

I laid out the containers, arranging them carefully, and tried to ignore the slight unsteadiness in my hands.

To distract myself, I went back to Alessia’s desk.

The files were spread out the way she always left them—organized chaos, everything exactly where she needed it. My eyes drifted over them, not really seeing any of it, until they landed on the photograph.

The only one on her desk.

It was a man. Young, probably in his twenties, squinting into the sun like someone had caught him mid-laugh. His hair was light, his smile easy, his whole posture open and unguarded.

Something tightened in my chest.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stood there, frozen, staring at the face of a stranger who had no business being on my wife’s desk.

Who is he?

The question lodged itself behind my ribs.

Why is he here?