He wasn't a person to her. He was a function. Cold air in summer, warm air in winter, the lights coming on when you flipped the switch. He was the man who made the invisible machinery of her empire keep running. And the whole point of a man like that was that you never had to think about him.
Except except he'd seen things, little things, things nobody else bothered to see because nobody else was ever there when she thought she was alone. He'd seen her eat lunch by herself in that big glass office every single day. No matter who was in town, no matter what deal was on the table, just her and a salad and the skyline, he'd seen her stay after everyone else had gone home working under a single lamp at 9 at 10 at 11:00 while the cleaning crew moved around her like she was a piece of the building. And once, just once, he'd been on a ladder in the corner of a conference room fixing a vent forgotten invisible. And he'd watched her walk in after a brutal meeting, closed the door, sit down, and put her face in her hands.
Her shoulders had shaken, just for a minute. Then she'd wiped her eyes, straightened her jacket, and walked back out into her life like nothing had happened. Nathan had never told a soul. It hadn't felt like his to tell. The red awning came up on his right.
He pulled to the curb, killed the engine, and was out of the truck before the door had finished swinging. She was inside in the far corner, exactly where she'd said. And for a moment, he almost didn't recognize her. Victoria Harrington always looked like she'd been assembled by a team. Every hair in place, every line of her clothing sharp enough to cut.
A woman built like a fortress. The woman in the corner had makeup running down her face. Her hair had come loose on one side. Her suit jacket was off, folded on the chair beside her, and she was gripping a water glass with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her upright. There was a half- empty bottle of wine in front of her, and a check nobody had picked up.
The restaurant was nearly empty. A waiter hovered near the kitchen door, clearly not sure what to do with the powerful woman who'd been crying in his section for 2 hours. Nathan crossed the room. She looked up when his shadow fell over the table and something moved across her face. Relief and shame and something he didn't have a word for.
You came, she said. I said I would. People say things. I'm not people, he said, and he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. You okay?
She let out a broken little laugh and looked at the ceiling. You keep asking me that. I'll keep asking till you tell me the truth. Her eyes came back down to him, bloodshot, wet, but underneath it sharp the same eyes that had stared down half the boardrooms in the country. "No, Mr.
Walker," she said. "I'm not okay. Is that what you want to hear? I don't want to hear anything," he said. "I want to get you home. " He signaled the waiter quietly asked for the check.
And when the young man brought it, Nathan reached for his own wallet because that's who he was. He'd have paid it and figured out the rest later. But Victoria's hand shot out and caught his wrist. "Don't you dare," she said. "Don't you dare pay for my dinner.