Chapter 22: The Goodbye
“I have meetings all day tomorrow,” Jordan said.
Hating how the words sounded. Professional. Distant. Everything they’d moved beyond in Paris.
“But I was thinking we could have dinner somewhere quiet. We could talk.”
“I’m having dinner with Marcus tomorrow,” Martina interrupted softly.
“He asked me before we left for Paris. I promised I’d give him an answer about the job offer.”
Jordan’s hands clenched on his thighs.
“And have you decided?”
She turned to look at him. In the dim light of the car, her eyes were unreadable.
“I’m considering it seriously. It’s a good offer, Jordan. Better than good. It’s everything I’ve worked for. Director of operations. A team of fifteen people. Real responsibility. Real recognition.”
“I can give you that,” Jordan said immediately, desperately.
“I can promote you. Make you VP of—”
“Stop.”
The word cut through his panic like a knife.
“Please stop. Don’t make this about competing with Marcus. Don’t make this about what you can give me to keep me. That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
Jordan asked, and he hated how his voice broke on the question.
“I want to know if Paris was real,” she said, her eyes searching his face.
“I want to know if you actually see me, or if you just don’t want to lose to Marcus Ashford.”
“I want to know if you love me, Jordan. Or if you love the idea of me. The perfect assistant who knows your coffee order and makes your life easier.”
“Because I can’t be that person anymore. I won’t be that person anymore.”
“I’m choosing myself now. Finally. After five years of choosing you.”
The car pulled up in front of a modest brownstone in Brooklyn.
Martina’s apartment. Jordan had seen the address on countless expense reports and tax forms. But he’d never actually been here. Never asked to see where she lived.
Never cared to know the details of her life outside his office.
“This is me,” she said unnecessarily, gathering her bag.
“Martina, wait—”
“I need time to think,” she said gently, placing her hand over his.
The touch was warm and familiar and felt like goodbye.
“I need to figure out what I want. Not what you want. Not what Marcus wants. What I want.”
“And I need to do that without you trying to fix it or compete for it or buy it.”
“Can you give me that?”
Jordan wanted to say no.
Wanted to follow her into that brownstone and spend the night proving that Paris was real. Wanted to lock her in his apartment and refuse to let Marcus Ashford anywhere near her.
Wanted to throw money and promises and desperate pleas until she agreed to stay.
But that was the old Jordan.
The man who solved problems with power and persistence and the sheer force of his will.
And that man had lost her five years ago without even knowing he was losing her.
“Okay,” he said, the word costing him everything.
“Take the time you need.”
“But Martina—yes, Paris was real. Every second of it. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I’m going to prove it. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”
She smiled sadly, leaned over, and kissed his cheek.
Then she was gone.
Disappearing into the brownstone without looking back.
Leaving Jordan alone in a car that suddenly felt as empty as his apartment, his office, his entire carefully constructed life.
His phone buzzed.
A text from Marcus.
She’s meeting me tomorrow night. I’m going to offer her the world, Jordan. Everything you were too proud to give her. Thanks for the assist in Paris. I’m sure the romantic setting made her realize exactly what she’s been missing all these years.
Jordan stared at the message.
Rage boiling in his veins.
Marcus knew. Of course he knew. Marcus Ashford had probably had someone watching them in Paris. Had probably known about every kiss, every confession, every moment of vulnerability Jordan had displayed.
And he was going to use it.
“Take me home,” Jordan said to the driver, his voice hollow.
But as the car pulled away from Martina’s brownstone, he knew the truth.
Home was wherever Martina was.
And he was about to lose his home forever.
