Chapter Two

(Laura POV)

A week after I left the house to stay with Tia was the last time I saw him, when I walked into his office.

"Come in." My father's familiar voice boomed from inside the room.

As I stepped inside, the first thing that caught my eye was the large plaque on his desk: Chief Executive Officer.

"Dad, I need to talk to you," I said, walking into the room.

He didn't look up from his papers and just kept signing whatever was in front of him, like I was any other employee who'd wandered in.

"Make it quick, Laura, I have a meeting in ten minutes."

He hadn't seen me in a week, and that's all he had to say. I swallowed hard. "I'd like to take some leave. A week, maybe two."

That got his attention. He set down his pen and finally looked at me, and I saw it before he even said a word — that flicker of impatience he always wore when he thought I was being difficult.

"Leave? Why do you need it?"

"I just need some time, Dad. Things have been…"

"Is this about Mark?" he cut in.

"It's about a lot of things, Dad."

"Laura." He said my name the way he always did when he was about to lecture me, like it was a warning bell. "You cannot keep running your life around a man who chose your sister. You have a job here. Responsibilities. I didn't build this company so my daughter could take a vacation every time her heart gets bruised."

"You know that's not fair."

"Fair?" He chuckled. "You want to talk to me about fair? What's not fair is him controlling your life even after he's out of it. We have a big contract on the way that you should be working on, and you're in here discussing your boyfriend…"

"Ex-boyfriend," I interrupted, "and they'd been together for more than three years. It was happening right under my nose."

He picked his pen back up, the conversation apparently over as far as he was concerned. "I won't approve the leave. You have a lot of work to do."

I stood there for a moment, as if waiting for him to console me. It didn't come.

"Is there something else?" he asked, not looking up.

"No," I said quietly, and turned for the door.

"Laura."

I stopped, my hand on the handle, and some small foolish part of me hoped he'd changed his mind.

"You're better off without him," he said. "Mark, I mean. A man like that was never going to make you happy."

It should have sounded like comfort. Instead it landed like one more thing he'd decided about my life without asking me first one more verdict handed down instead of a hand extended.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm starting to think I'm better off without a lot of people."

I didn't wait to see his reaction. I walked out, and I didn't stop walking until I was in the elevator, and then in my car, where I finally let out a deep breath I'd been holding in.

I sent in my resignation a few days later. I didn't call. I sent an email to HR and came in at night, when no one was around, to clear my desk.

A month later I got a job in Los Angeles and left without saying goodbye to anyone.

Something buzzed in my hand, pulling me back from memory lane. I looked down and saw a message lighting up the screen.

'Where are you right now? Don't forget to bring the file. Call me back as soon as you can - Priya'

I'd almost forgotten where I was supposed to be today I am suppose to have meeting this morning with the head office for our monthly check-in.

I didn't feel like going in, not with Mr. Marcos's voice still ringing in my ears and my father's body somewhere in a morgue I hadn't even called about yet.

I called her back.

"Laura, where are you?" Priya's voice, clipped and rushed. "Mr. Holloway's asking for the Bristow file, and he wants you in the room for the nine o'clock."

I looked at the clock. 8:41.

"I don't think I will be coming in today," I said, wiping tears off my face.

"Dear, what's wrong?"

The line went silent for a few moments before I responded, "I just got a call from my father's lawyer. I was told he's dead."

The line stayed quiet for a moment, and I could almost picture Priya on the other end, hand pressed to her mouth the way she always did when something caught her off guard. She was the first friend I made when I arrived here, and she had always been there for me.

"Laura." Her voice dropped, all the clipped urgency from a moment ago gone completely. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. When did this happen?"

"This morning." My voice cracked on the word, and I let it, too tired to hold it together for her benefit. "A lawyer called me. I didn't even get the full details before I hung up on him."

"Oh my God. Laura, I'm so sorry." I heard her moving, a door closing somewhere on her end, like she wanted privacy for whatever came next. "Don't worry about the meeting. Don't worry about any of it. I'll handle Mr. Holloway."

"He's going to be furious."

"Let him be furious. This isn't about him right now." Her voice was firm Priya, who spent most of her day smoothing things over, absorbing Holloway's moods so the rest of us didn't have to. "Is there anyone with you? Anyone you can call?"

"No…" I admitted. "I haven't called anyone."

"You shouldn't be alone right now. Call your friend, whoever's closest to you. I'll handle things here." She paused for a moment before continuing. "I'm going to leave early and come check on you."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it more than the words probably conveyed.

"Call me if you need anything. I'm serious. Anytime."

"I will."

We hung up, and the apartment fell quiet again. I sat there for a second, staring at the screen, watching it dim, and then I did the only thing that felt right I scrolled to Tia's name and called her.

Tia still lived in New York, where she worked as a fashion designer for one of the leading brands in the country.

She picked up on the second ring, sounding distant.

"Hey girl, how are you doing? I was just about to text you…"

"My dad died." The words came out flat again, making me feel numb.

"Laura, what did you just say?" Tia's voice came in sharply.

"A lawyer called me this morning. Mr. Marcos. He said my father's dead, and then I don't even really remember the rest of the call, I just…" I pressed my palm against my mouth, the words tumbling out faster than I meant them to. "I don't know what to do, Tia. I'm confused."

"Oh my God, Laura." Her voice cracked slightly too, the news clearly landing hard on her end. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe this."

"I know." My throat tightened, the distance between us suddenly feeling heavier than usual. "I don't even know what to do right now."

"Laura." Her voice softened, but there was something steady underneath it, something that sounded like she was already thinking three steps ahead. "I think the best thing to do is come home, to at least see your father one more time."

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I haven't even thought that far."

"I know you feel hurt, and I get it," She said it gently, but there was no room for argument. "I know how you feel about that house, Laura, believe me, I remember exactly how you feel about that house. But he was your father. And I'm not far I can come to you the second you land, wherever you want to stay. You won't have to walk into that place alone."

"I don't even know when the funeral is yet," I replied. "Luciana or Betty haven't called to tell me."

"Then find out. And book a flight the second you do." A pause, softer now. "I mean it. Let me be there for you this time."

I closed my eyes, the phone against my ear, as she calmed me down. The tightness in my chest loosened a bit.

"Thank you so much," I said quietly. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear something."

"Good. I'll call you back later."

As I dropped the call, a message popped up on my screen.

'You don't need to come home, you have nothing left here.'

(Laura POV)

I stared at the message for a long time reading it over and over again.

'You don't need to come home, you have nothing left here.'

There was no name from the sender, just the number that sent it. But something told me it is either from Luciana or Betty. I tapped on it, scrolled up through the thread, and there it was, the same number that had sent me that message back when I first left the house, the one warning me not to come back home.

I still suspect that it is from Luciana. She was always after the money, I don't know how my father never saw through her fake facade.

I set the phone down on the counter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing myself not to cry again.

The knock on my door came a little after seven, and when I opened it, Priya was standing there with two plastic bags in one hand and a look on her face that was somewhere between determined and gentle.

Before I could say a word, she pulled me into a hug. "How are you doing? And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Priya, you didn't have to…"

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to." She set the bags down on my kitchen counter and started unpacking containers some kind of noodle dish, spring rolls, a chicken soup that smelled like ginger and something warm. "I know you haven't eaten yet. Come sit."

I sank onto one of the stools at my counter, watching her move around my kitchen.

"I talked to Mr. Holloway," Priya said, pulling out some plates and dishing out the food. "I told him what happened. He wasn't thrilled, obviously, because when is he ever, but he knows. What would you like to have?"

"Thank you," I said quietly. "I don't think I would have been able to handle him all by myself. Just give me anything that will go down my throat easily."

"You wouldn't have had to. I made sure of that." She slid a bottle of water and a plate of noodles with chicken soup toward me. "By the way, did you already send in something official? For the leave, I mean. HR usually wants it in writing, even for something like this."

I opened my mouth to say yes, and then stopped, because the truth was I hadn't. I'd told Priya. I'd told Tia. I'd sat here for hours letting the day fall apart around me, and somewhere in all of it, the actual, practical step of requesting time off had slipped through completely.

"I haven't," I admitted. "I completely forgot. I don't even know how I forgot something that basic."

"Laura, your father died this morning. You're allowed to forget things." Priya pulled out her phone, thumb already moving. "Do you have the HR email pulled up? Let's just get it done now, before it becomes one more thing hanging over you."

I found my laptop where I'd abandoned it that morning, and sent a message to HR informing them of my father's passing, asking for two weeks, promising to follow up once I knew more about the funeral arrangements.

"Okay," Priya said, setting her fork down after we'd both picked at the food for a while. "Now. Tell me you have a bag packed."

"I haven't Priya, I don't think I will be going back to New York."

"Why?" Priya asked, surprise lining her face.

I rubbed my temples and picked up my phone to show her the text message that I received. "There is nothing left for me there."

“Oh… dear” she dropped the phone and pulled me to the couch “You need to pay your father a last respect dear. I can come with you if yo want.”

"I know. But”

“Go home Laura and have closure, you have been through a lot.” She was already up pulling me along and moving toward my bedroom. "Come on. I'll help you pack."

I followed her, mostly because I didn't have the energy to argue, and stood in the doorway of my own closet while she pulled things down my clothes.

The next morning, she drove me to the airport.

“Call me once you land.” Priya said. “Never forget you are not alone.”

“I will” I said returning back the hug.

As I approach the counter, the woman behind it typed my confirmation number in, frowned, typed it again, and then looked up at me with an expression I recognized immediately as bad news trying to find a polite way out.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, just a minute." She typed into her system again. "It looks like there's been a mix-up with your booking. This flight shows as already checked in under your name."

"That's not possible," I said, pulling out my phone to show her the confirmation email. "I just booked this last night. I haven't checked in for anything."

"I understand, but the seat's already been assigned in our system, I going to need to rebook you..."

"I don't have forty-eight hours. I need to be there for my father's funeral." My voice climbed, sharper than I meant it to

"I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am, but I don't have any earlier availability I can offer you."

She tapped away at her keyboard, printed something out, and slid the slip across the counter along with an apology I barely heard. I grabbed it, my bag, and what was left of my patience, and turned away from the counter.

As I turn around to walk away, I dumped into someone my bag toppling sideways, a splash of hot drink dripping down my shirt.

I looked up, already halfway through an apology, and the words caught in my throat.

The sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with the kind of stubble that looked deliberate rather than lazy, was the first thing that caught my eye. Then his amber eyes the same unreadable stare I remembered all too well.

He wore a grey suit that fit like it had been made for exactly this body and no other, the jacket open, a watch on his wrist that probably cost more than the apartment I'd just packed up. His hair was cut shorter than the last time I'd seen him, and there was something harder in his face now, something I couldn't read.

Nathaniel Cross stood before me.

Chapter Four

(Laura POV)

Nathaniel Cross. The man that is always on the front cover of every magazine.

The Billionaire bachelor, splashed across business magazines and gossip columns in equal measure, the one whose face I'd seen staring back at me from newsstands more times than I could count over the past two years, usually under some headline about a merger, an acquisition, or which billionaire's daughter he'd supposedly been seen with that week.

I remember the last time I saw him two years ago.

"You do realize the Arson account was mine before you came in and stole it," Nathaniel said, sliding into the seat across from me at the industry dinner.

"Stole it?" I raised an eyebrow, unable to stop a small smile from tugging at my mouth. "I believe the term you're looking for is outperformed."

He didn't smile back, though something in his eyes suggested he wanted to. "You know my company have been after that contract from a while now."

"You had a proposal that arrived a week late and a projection that underestimated their growth by a factor of three." I leaned back, enjoying this far more than I probably should have. "I had a better pitch, Mr. Cross. That's all there is to it."

"There's always a next quarter."

"There's always a next quarter," I agreed. "And I intend to win that one too."

Nathaniel Cross has always stand out, he was sharp, relentless, and infuriatingly good at his job, and somewhere in all that competition between our companies, without either of us admitting it out loud, something had curdled into more than professional rivalry. If not for the contract that we always share between us, The Cross would have been the leading organization in the region by now.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Nathaniel said. His voice carrying that same dry, controlled amusement I remembered from every boardroom and gala we'd ever crossed paths in.

My gaze shot back to his, it seems this last few hours I have been getting lost in my thought a lot.

"I am so sorry for bumping into you," I replied, staring down at my stained shirt. "What are you doing here, Nathaniel?"

"Flying, same as you, apparently badly, given the circumstances." He glanced down at the coffee stain spreading across his shoe, then back up at me, something almost amused flickering across his face. "Though I suppose I should ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you'd disappeared off the map entirely. No industry events, no company listings under your name. I assumed you'd left the business world altogether."

"I did," I said. "I left a lot of things."

Something in my voice must have caught his attention because his expression shifted, the sharp edges of his usual composure softening just slightly.

"I heard about your father," he said, quieter now. "I'm sorry, Laura. I mean that."

Hearing him say my name after two years of Ms. Whitfield across conference tables, after everything sent an unfamiliar feeling down my spine catching me off guard more than I wanted it to.

"Thank you," I said, and for once, I didn't have a sharp comeback waiting behind it.

"Whatever else was between us," he continued, "I always respected him. He was a hard man to compete against, but a fair one. That's rarer than people think in this industry."

"He was," I agreed quietly, though even as I said it, I thought of the office, the denied leave, the last words he'd ever said to me ‘’you're better off without him’ and wondered whether "fair" was really the word I'd have chosen if Nathaniel had known the whole story.

We were still standing there, caught in that strange, charged silence, when the same woman from the check-in counter came hurrying over.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry to bother you again," she said, slightly out of breath, "but I wanted to confirm. We've checked every available option, and I'm afraid there's genuinely nothing except that there is a forty-eight-hour window. I know that's not what you wanted to hear, especially given the circumstances, but I didn't want you waiting at the gate for nothing."

"Forty-eight hours," I repeated, the words landing heavier the second time, now that they were being confirmed rather than just feared. "There's really nothing sooner? Not even standby?"

"I checked every flight on the board, ma'am. I'm very sorry." She hesitated, glancing briefly between me and Nathaniel, "If anything opens up, I'll call the number on your file immediately. I promise."

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out flat, all the fight draining out of me at once. She gave a small, apologetic nod and hurried back toward her counter, leaving me standing there with my bag at my feet and two full days suddenly stretched out in front of me like a wall I had no idea how to climb.

"Forty-eight hours," Nathaniel said quietly, watching me. "That's a long time to sit in an airport."

"I don't have forty-eight hours," I said, more to myself than to him, my voice starting to crack in a way I hated. "The funeral is in three days. If I lose two of them sitting here…"

"You won't," he said simply.

I looked up at him. "What?"

"You won't lose them. I have a plane." He said, "I am also about to leave and go back to New York within the hour. If you need to get to your father's funeral, I can have you there faster than any standby list this place is going to manage."

I hesitated, running through every reason this was a terrible idea the history between us, the company rivalry, the fact that two years of professional animosity didn't exactly evaporate because he'd offered me a favor at an airport gate. But then I thought about the funeral, about Luciana's cold, clipped text, about how much I needed to just get there and stop fighting every single piece of this trip.

"Fine," I said finally. "New York. But I'm not thanking you for this."

"Wouldn't dream of expecting it," Nathaniel said, already turning toward the exit, that same maddening half-smile still in place. "Come on, Ms. Whitfield. Let's get you home.”