Part 20:

The valet brought the Jaguar around, and Ethan tipped him with the last of his cash before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Where, too?” he asked. “Anywhere but here.” He drove aimlessly through Seattle’s downtown streets, the city lights reflecting off rain sllicked pavement. Viven had kicked off her heels and was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “I’m thinking about about how you just humiliated Marcus Wellington in front of half of Seattle’s business elite using a car metaphor. Was that bad? I probably shouldn’t have. It was perfect. She reached over and took his hand. Nobody’s ever stood up for me like that before. Really? You’re Viven Hart.

You have lawyers and bodyguards, and I have people who protect my business interests. That’s different from someone protecting me. She squeezed his hand. Marcus was right about one thing. I do choose work over relationships. I have for years. It’s easier than risking getting hurt. Ethan pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking Elliot Bay, killed the engine, and turned to face her.

What changed? You did, showing up on that rainy road, fixing my car without wanting anything, looking at me like I’m just Vivien, not Heart Industries. She unbuckled her seat belt and shifted closer. I’m terrified of this, Ethan. Of us, because if I let myself care about you and it doesn’t work out, I don’t know how to come back from that. Join the club.

I’m terrified, too. Of what? That Marcus is right. That you’re going to wake up one day and realize you can do better than a broke mechanic who can barely keep his shop open. Is that what you think? That this is about charity? Isn’t it? You’re offering me contracts, buying me suits, loaning you money for a suit, and the contract is business, not charity? Morrison would have told me if your shop couldn’t handle the work.

She cupped his face with both hands. I’m not trying to fix you, Ethan. I’m trying to be with you. There’s a difference. What if I screw this up? What if I’m not enough? Then we’ll deal with it. But I’m tired of being afraid of what might happen. I want to try with you. He kissed her then, tasting champagne and lipstick and the kind of honesty that only came from people who’d stopped pretending.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Viven was smiling. “Take me home,” she said. Your place or mine? Mine. I want you to see where I actually live, not just where I work. She directed him to a high-rise in Belltown, one of those glass and steel towers that scraped the Seattle sky. The parking garage was all concrete and security cameras, and Ethan felt distinctly out of place parking the Jaguar between a Tesla and a Porsche.

The elevator required a key card to access the penthouse level. They rode up in silence, Vivien leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. Fair warning, she said as the doors opened directly into her apartment. “It’s not exactly homey.” “That was an understatement. The penthouse was all floor toseeiling windows and modern furniture that looked expensive and uncomfortable.

The view of Seattle’s skyline was stunning, but the space felt cold, unlived in.” “You’re right,” Ethan said. “This isn’t homey. I’m never here long enough to make it homey. I sleep, shower, change clothes, and go back to work. She walked to the windows, looking out at the city. I bought it because my realtor said it was a good investment.

I’ve lived here 3 years, and I still don’t know my neighbors. Ethan joined her at the window. That’s depressing. I know. You should get plants or something. Art on the walls. Maybe some photos. I have art. It came with the staging when I bought the place. That doesn’t count as art. That’s just expensive wallpaper. She laughed. You sound like Sophie.

Sophie’s smart. They stood at the window looking out at the city lights and Ethan wrapped his arm around her waist. She leaned into him and for a moment everything was quiet except the distant hum of traffic far below. “I don’t want this,” Vivian said quietly. “The apartment, this life, working 80 hours a week, coming home to empty rooms, measuring success by quarterly earnings.” She turned to face him.

I want what you have. Sophie waiting for you at home. Your sister checking in. A life that’s messy and real and actually matters. My life is barely held together by good intentions and duct tape. I know, but at least it’s a life. This is just existing. Ethan pulled her close, feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

So change it. It’s not that simple. Why not? Because the company needs me. the board, the employees, the shareholders. What about what you need? She didn’t answer, just buried her face against his shoulder. They stood like that for a long time. Two people from completely different worlds trying to figure out if the space between them could ever actually close.

Stay tonight, Vivien said finally. Please. I don’t want to be alone. Okay. She led him to the bedroom, which was just as sterile as the rest of the apartment. They kicked off their shoes and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, too tired to do anything except hold each other. This isn’t what I expected, Ethan said.

What did you expect? I don’t know. Something more dramatic. Passionate speech, grand gesture, that kind of thing. Real life is messier than movies. Yeah, it really is. They fell asleep like that. Still in their formal clothes, Vivien’s head on his chest and his arm around her waist. When Ethan woke up a few hours later, he found her already awake, watching him in the dim light from the windows.

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