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Her fingers curl around the phone before she tucks it into her bag. “I won’t give him that satisfaction.”

I believe she means every word.

What she doesn’t see is what I’ve spent half my life watching unfold.

Men like Spencer mistake silence for permission, distance for surrender, and every unanswered message for an invitation to push harder.

He thinks he’s wearing her down.

He’s about to discover she’s no longer standing alone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emma

APRIL 4TH

His mouth meets mine before my brain catches up. My fingers clutch the front of his jacket as I lean into him, giving up whatever fight I’d been having with myself all evening.

His hand settles at my waist, firm enough to send a shiver through me, and I press against him until there’s no distance left to close.

My hand glides up his chest, over his shoulder, then into the soft hair at the back of his neck, and his breath catches against my lips in a way that makes my heart kick hard enough to hurt.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of us moves very far. I keep hold of his jacket while he rests his forehead against mine, laughing under his breath as though he can’t quite believe either of us actually did that.

“Well…”

I smile. “That’s one way to end a conversation.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be much use at this party anymore.” I laugh, and he smiles with me before his expression softens. “I’d really like to leave.”

“The party?”

“With you.”

The way he says it catches me off guard. He isn’t assuming I’ll follow him. He’s checking, giving me every chance to say no if that’s what I want.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

His smile widens just enough for me to notice before he slips his hand into mine and leads me back across the rooftop.

The celebration carries on without us.

Finance have abandoned any concern for personal dignity. Marketing are enthusiastically encouraging them.

Theo is somehow entertaining two investors while balancing a champagne flute that looks suspiciously close to empty.

Lena spots us before we reach the lifts.

Her gaze drops to our joined hands, flicks to my face, then settles on Bane before a deeply satisfied smile spreads across her face.

She lifts one eyebrow. I narrow my eyes, and she answers with the tiniest thumbs up I’ve ever seen.

Our joined hands swing between us as we cross the street, the pavement still slick from the rain. Every few steps I catch myself smiling for no reason beyond the fact that he’s still holding on.

He leads me through the underground car park, weaving between rows of cars until he stops beside a dark gray Aston Martin and unlocks it with a chirp.

I look from the badge to him. “You drive an Aston? Is that a mid-life crisis thing?”