Page 95 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Chapter 16

“Call Liam and Cassandra in my office,” I told Rohan the second I stepped out of the elevator. “And you’re coming in too.”

I walked into my office, the confrontation with my mother—no, with Camilla—still echoing in my mind. The second I’d walked out of that house, something inside me had loosened, as if a weight I’d carried for a lifetime had finally lifted.

The door opened, and Liam, Cassandra, and Rohan filed in.

My jaw tightened instantly. The conversation with Camilla had been difficult because, despite everything, a part of me had once ached for her love. I had wanted it, stupidly and stubbornly, even when I knew better.

No part of me felt anything like that for Cassandra.

Connection.

I internally scoffed.

What fucking connection?

Liam’s eyes found mine, and he frowned immediately. “You okay?”

No, I’m not.

My gaze locked on Cassandra, and the memory of that catastrophic night flooded back in a dizzying flash.

The bar was a swirling blur of noise and celebration. My team was drinking with the desperate fervor of people who had narrowly escaped a sinking ship.

My eyes were gritty with exhaustion, my body a hollow shell. I was making a half-hearted attempt to keep track of everyone, but it was a futile effort. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, voices rose over the music at the bar, while a few members remained anchored beside me, slurring their profound relief that Velaré was saved.

For the first few hours, it had been manageable. Contained. Then Cassandra, with a bright, triumphant smile, announced to the entire table that it was my birthday.

That was the moment it spiraled. The dam broke. A relentless tide of shots and cocktails began to flow, a wave of obligation and celebration I was too bone-tired to fight against.

I looked at my watch. It was well past midnight.

It wasn’t even my birthday anymore.

My chest constricted. I’d had the same fear, a constant, gnawing dread that I was a failure leading all these people to ruin. It was an ugly thought, made worse by how easily it had begun to feel like fact.

I let out a slow breath, the relief a tangible thing in my lungs. The disaster had been averted. For tonight, at least, we had made it through.

Mr. Johnson beamed at me, his eyes already gone pleasantly glassy. “You should let loose too! It’s your birthday. Drink.” He shoved a glass into my hand.

I sighed inwardly. It was the third time I’d told him I didn’t drink. I set the glass on a nearby table and rubbed my temples, where the first warning throb of a headache had begun to pulse.

The sleeplessness of the last few days sat behind my eyes like a lead weight. Once the deal was signed, all I’d wanted was to go home—to quiet, to Alessia, to the blessed possibility of collapsing into bed and not speaking to another human being for several hours.

Instead, Cassandra had suggested a celebration, and the team, carried along by the collective euphoria of having narrowly survived the deal, had agreed before I could object.

So I gave them another hour.

Then I got to work.

I moved through the bar, finding my team members one by one, arranging rideshares and confirming the drivers they’d booked in advance. I’d never seen them this drunk. Usually, Liam and I handled the aftermath together, dividing the responsibility between us, but with him absent tonight, rounding everyone up and making sure they actually got home safely became a slow, solitary task.

Finally, Rina’s driver arrived. She was halfway into the car when she leaned back out, her expression suddenly concerned.

“I saw Cassandra in the bathroom,” she said. “She was… really sick. Puking pretty badly.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as a fresh wave of exhaustion hit me. “I’ll take care of it.”