The Billionaire Who Waited While He Drowned

2: 2

I rented a one-bedroom near the office.

Sandra came to help on moving day.

I didn't have much, so we had it all sorted out in a single afternoon.

Sandra looked around the freshly set-up little place and sighed. "This is nice. You're finally rid of that piece of trash."

I smiled and poured her a glass of water.

"Oh, right." Something occurred to Sandra. "That project proposal you put together for Ferris? He's been asking everyone about it."

That proposal had cost me several all-nighters.

I'd meant it as a surprise, a birthday gift for him.

"Let him look," I said. "He won't find it."

The draft, the digital file, all of it, I'd deleted clean.

I didn't want a single thread tying me to that man anymore.

My new life settled into a rhythm.

I threw all my energy into work.

Overtime, meetings, business trips.

I packed every hour full so there was no room left to think.

A month later, I got promoted.

The youngest department head we had.

At the celebration dinner, my coworkers came up one after another to toast me.

"Ms. Dudley, young and already going places!"

"Right, you'll have to show us the ropes from now on."

I smiled and answered each of them.

A few rounds in, someone suggested karaoke.

I begged off, said I wasn't feeling well, and left early.

Outside the restaurant, the night wind hit my face, a little cold.

I pulled my coat tighter and got ready to catch a cab home.

A car I knew was parked at the curb.

The window rolled down, and there was Ferris's worn-out face.

He'd gotten thinner, dark circles heavy under his eyes.

"Fee." His voice was hoarse.

I acted like I hadn't seen him and walked straight for the curb.

He got out at once, caught up in a few strides, and blocked my way.

"Let's talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." I stepped around him.

He moved in front of me again, his eyes going red. "Just five minutes, okay?"

A thick wave of alcohol hit me.

I frowned. "You've been drinking?"

"A little." He grabbed my wrist, gripping hard. "Fee, I was wrong. Come back, please?"

His hand was burning hot, hot enough to set me on edge.

"Ferris. Let go."

"I won't!" He stared at me, stubborn. "Come home with me. I'll cut Sybilla off completely. We can go back to how we were."

Back to how we were?

Like I'd just heard the biggest joke in the world.

"Ferris, did you forget? You're the one who told me, to my face, that being with me felt like suffocating."

His body went rigid.

"I was talking nonsense! At the time I was just... just under too much pressure!"

"So being under pressure means you get to go find another woman to breathe with?" I shook his hand off and stepped back. "When you were catching your breath with Sybilla, did you ever once think of me?"

His face went pale, his lips moving, but not one word came out.

"Don't come looking for me again." My voice was cold. "We're over."

I flagged down a cab and left without looking back.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Ferris still standing where I'd left him.

Like a statue somebody had thrown away.

There wasn't a shred of satisfaction in me, only an endless tiredness.

Back home, I took a shower, trying to wash off the smell of alcohol on me and every trace of him.

But lying in bed, the memories rose up anyway, past my control.

I remembered when we first got together, how he picked me up from work every day, rain or shine.

I remembered him clumsily learning to cook for me and turning the whole kitchen into a disaster.

I remembered him holding me, swearing he'd love me for the rest of his life.

All those sweet times had turned into knives lodged in my chest.

I thought I'd healed.

Turned out it was only a thin scab.

One light touch, and it still bled and bled.

The company took on a new project, partnering with Gilbert Group.

The lead was a man named Godfrey Gilbert, young and accomplished.

At the first meeting he wore a well-cut suit, steady and sharp.

Through the project discussion, his logic was clear, his takes were original, and I found myself really admiring him.

After the meeting ended, he was the one who reached out his hand.

"Ms. Dudley, looking forward to working with you."

"Mr. Gilbert, likewise." I shook his hand.

His palm was warm and dry, there and gone.

To make communication easier, we added each other on our phones.

Outside of work, we'd occasionally chat about other things too.

I found he was a genuinely interesting person, into photography, loved to travel, could even play guitar.

Talking with him was easy, and my nerves, wound tight for so long, seemed to ease a little.

One afternoon I was making coffee in the break room when Godfrey walked in too.

"Ms. Dudley likes pour-over as well?"

I nodded. "Keeps me awake."

"I just got in some Blue Mountain beans. Want to give them a try?"

"Sure."

I followed him to his office.

He ground the beans and brewed with practiced ease, and before long a cup of fragrant coffee was set in front of me.

"Try it."

I took a sip, the rich taste melting across my tongue.

"It's good."

"If you like it, I'll give you some."

"I couldn't."

"Consider it a thank-you, in advance, for all the work you'll put into this project." His smile was gentle.

I didn't refuse again.