8. Unfinished Business

Up until the moment I step out of the car, my heart pounds in my chest with uncertainty. What if I can’t pull this off? What if all of this is a mistake, and I end up doing more harm to myself than to Mike? What's the point of any of this? 

My phone buzzes again, lighting up with an incoming call from Mike, and I scoff. The man who has dodged me like the plague ever since I exposed him has been incessantly calling me for the last two days, since my dad left my penthouse. His texts insist on “discussing what to say to the interviewers,” but there's no mention of an apology. Not even a hint, no. I guess Mike has fully morphed into his businessman persona, where the only thing that matters is what’s good for his image. Emotions and feelings? They don’t exist in his world.

I was his wife, wasn’t I? I still am, legally speaking—he hasn’t even signed the divorce papers yet. How foolish of me to believe, even up until three weeks ago, that this could be fixed. That we could be fixed. I had convinced myself it was just a rough patch, a temporary phase. We'd make it through because wasn’t that what marriages did? Sometimes the flame burns low, but it always reignites. But no. Mike doesn't want that. He doesn’t want me. His actions—and more so, his silence up until two days ago—have made that crystal clear.

I silence the phone, stepping out of the car as Matt, the driver, opens the door for me. The second I breathe in the evening air, I’m reminded that I’m not alone. Meera lets out a loud sigh beside me, her gaze fixed on the red carpet unfurled before us. “Nat,” she murmurs, “what exactly are you planning to do?”

Her eyes flick to the press already gathering, cameras poised, waiting for the parade of industry titans and celebrities. People who will walk this red carpet because they have to, not because they want to. I shake my head. Being rich and famous sucks.

I glance at the banners and standees bearing the title of tonight’s event in bright, extravagant lettering: The Visionary Leadership Summit 2024: Shaping Tomorrow’s Legacy.

Legacy. The word stirs something painful deep inside me, knocking on a door I’ve kept sealed tight. Dad has been obsessed with that word and the idea of it—legacy—more than he ever has been with me. Since my brother Neil’s death, I’ve heard him talk about it even more. 

“You’re not planning to apologize, are you?” Meera asks, louder now, her voice tinged with worry.

I turn to her, offering a dry smile. “Did you just figure that out?”

Meera throws her hands on her hips, sighing again. “Look, I know I can’t stop you from doing what you’re going to do. But as your PA, could you at least give me a heads-up so I can prepare for the fallout? Maybe start drafting a damage-control plan?”

I smirk, adjusting the hem of my gown. “Come on, Meera. It’s just a summit. You look professional. I look… great. My stylist outdid herself, again. Let’s smile for the cameras, soak up the attention. Besides, we’re probably too early. When the questions come, I’ll figure it out.”

Meera raises a skeptical brow. “You're telling me you haven't rehearsed an entire monologue in front of the mirror? Not even once?”

“You know me too well,” I wink at her, but my focus is already shifting to the grand entrance ahead. I spot my father instantly, busy and frazzled as always before these events, pacing, making sure everything runs smoothly. But there’s something different this time. Standing next to him, looking effortlessly composed, is Ric.

It’s like he senses me the moment I step into view. His head turns sharply in our direction as if he’s been waiting for our arrival. Or, more specifically, waiting for me.

The look in his eyes instantly takes me back to my penthouse and I shudder, recalling how he had his hands on my bare skin, his lips on my neck. We didn’t continue after my Dad left, and while it seemed fair back then, now I have regrets. 

Ric’s gaze locks on mine for a beat too long. He looks devastating in his tailored suit, the dark fabric clinging to every angle of his body. 

“There’s your daughter,” I hear him tell my father as I close the last remaining distance between us. My father’s head snaps towards me, and I acknowledge the chaos reigning on his face. He doesn’t want to talk to me right now. He has too much on his mind. 

“Natalie. Oh, you’re here. Good. Speak to Mike! And Ric, brief her about the event,” he says in a hurry, barely registering me, before he turns his attention to another person in a suit on the other side of the hallway. I watch him go, knowing Ric’s eyes have been on me this entire time. 

If only everything else around us could disappear and we could pick off right where we left two days ago. 

“Natalie Jones,” Ric’s voice is smooth, teasingly formal as he steps closer, extending his hand. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

Instead of a handshake, he draws my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. The gesture sends a spark of heat through me, and I’m acutely aware of Meera standing nearby, undoubtedly watching the exchange with wide eyes.

She won’t be asking any questions now. They’ll be piled up until we’re both alone in the car again and then I’ll have to answer them. With justifications.

“Likewise, Mr. Steward,” I reply, my voice steady, though my heart flutters against my chest.

Ric’s lips curl into a smile, his eyes lingering on mine as if daring me to break the tension. But I don’t. Not yet.

“Come with me,” Ric murmurs, his voice low and laced with intent. His hand brushes the small of my back, guiding me toward the hallway leading away from the main event area. 

Meera, who has been standing silently, looks momentarily flustered. Her eyes dart between Ric and me, confusion clear in her gaze. She opens her mouth, then closes it, seemingly unsure whether to intervene. Instead, she gives a small nod of acknowledgment, stepping back to allow us to pass.

As Ric leads me through a series of corridors toward the greenroom, the distant hum of the summit fades behind us. My heels click on the polished floor, the only sound to counter the pounding of my heart. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but his expression is unreadable — calm, composed, like this is something he does everyday.

The door to the greenroom clicks shut behind us, and in the same breath, Ric turns. He pushes me against the door with a sudden urgency, his body pressing into mine, his hands framing my face. His lips hover dangerously close, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. 

“Natalie,” he breathes, his voice a low rasp that sends a shiver down my spine.

My hands instinctively find the lapels of his jacket, gripping the expensive fabric as his lips hover, so close to mine I can feel the heat radiating from him. Every logical thought about the event, about my father, about Mike, disintegrates under the weight of his touch.

“What are you doing, Ric?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I don’t stop him. I can’t. My body is already betraying me, aching for the contact we’ve danced around since the evening in my penthouse.

His thumb brushes along my jaw, his eyes dark and hungry. “Finishing what we started,” he says softly, before his lips crash into mine.

The kiss is searing, his mouth hot and demanding as it claims mine. His hands slide down my body, pulling me closer, and I melt against him, my own need taking over. The rational part of me screams that this is reckless, that this isn’t the time or place, but I don’t care. In this moment, there’s only him — the way he feels against me, the way he’s making me forget everything else.

Ric pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb tracing the outline of my lower lip. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, though there’s no sign that he intends to. His gaze is intense, his control hanging by a thread.

I don’t want him to stop. But I have to tell him. 

“Wait, wait. Stop,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as if wanting to comply with my body's needs.