I’d pushed my flight to New York. The HR head of the Manhattan firm had been firm about my Monday morning start date, giving me a final weekend to close the chapter on my life in Boston.
I chose to spend two of them here.
"More wine, Evelyn?" Victoria asked.
"I'm fine," I said.
We sat at a corner table inside the Italian restaurant on Newbury Street. The dim lighting hid the exhaustion under my eyes.
"Will was just telling me about this place," Victoria said. She leaned into his shoulder. "You two have history."
"A bit," I said.
"He brought her here for his eighteenth birthday," William said smoothly. He didn't look at me. He kept his focus on the wine list.
"That was six years ago," I said.
"Did you guys date?" Victoria asked, her tone entirely innocent.
"No," William answered before I could open my mouth. "Just friends."
"He gave me his Harvard class ring at this exact table," I said. I tapped the wood between us.
William flipped a page of the menu. "A joke, Eve."
"You slid it onto my finger," I said. "You told me if we were thirty and single, you'd marry me."
Victoria laughed, a bright, melodic sound. "Good thing he met me at twenty-four, then."
William finally smiled. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Victoria's ear. He didn't offer a rebuttal to my statement. He just let her erase six years of my hope with a single laugh.
The waiter arrived and set a massive seafood platter between us. Steam rose from the garlic butter and roasted lemons.
"Oh, these look amazing," Victoria said. She picked up a linen napkin. "But I hate peeling them. It ruins my manicure."
William reached across the table. "Let me."
"You?" I asked.
William didn't even hand Victoria a menu. He simply told the waiter, "She’ll have the Wagyu, medium-rare, and the 2015 Barolo," as if her own voice were redundant.
He spent the rest of the meal guiding the conversation like a conductor, ensuring Victoria was dazzled while I was effectively silenced.
William picked up his napkin. He wiped a drop of sauce from her chin with his thumb.
Then he looked straight at me.
His expression carried no guilt. He wanted me to witness this. He wanted to prove that his refusal last year wasn't about the mess or the suit. It was about me. I simply wasn't worth the effort.
My chest didn't tighten. The tears I expected didn't come. Instead, a strange, hollow calm settled over me.
I lifted my wine glass.
"You two look good together," I said.
The crystal clinked against the wood as I set it down.
William's hand froze. The smugness drained from his features. "What did you say?"
"You heard me," I said. "You make a great couple."
His jaw clamped shut. He threw the soiled napkin onto his plate. "Stop acting like a martyr, Eve."
"I'm just agreeing with you, Will."
"You're trying to make me feel guilty," he snapped. "I told you we were just friends."
"And I accepted it," I said. "Eat your dinner."
Loud cheers erupted from the booth to our right, cutting off his reply. Four guys sat around an empty pitcher of beer.
"You lost the bet, Calloway," a blonde guy yelled. "Truth or dare."
"Dare," a deep voice answered.
"I dare you to ask the prettiest girl in this place for a drink."
William rolled his eyes. "Townies. They shouldn't let them in here."
A chair scraped loudly against the floorboards.
A young man walked toward our section. He wore a faded leather jacket and dark jeans.
Victoria adjusted her posture. She smoothed her dress, ready with a polite rejection.
The man walked right past her.
He stopped beside my chair.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.
I looked up. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. A silver stud caught the candlelight in his left ear.
"Me?" I asked.
"You're the prettiest girl in the room," he said. "A bet's a bet, but I'd have asked you anyway."
Victoria scoffed quietly into her wine glass.
"I'm Ethan," he said. "Ethan Calloway."
He rested his hand on the back of the empty chair next to me. Black motor oil stained the creases of his knuckles. He didn't try to hide his rough hands.
"She's busy," William barked.
Ethan didn't even blink at William. He kept his dark eyes fixed on my face. "I work down at the Somerville auto shop as an apprentice. Figured I'd try my luck before my shift tomorrow."
"She doesn't drink with mechanics," William said. He tossed his fork onto his plate. "Go back to your table before I call the manager."
Ethan finally shifted his gaze to William. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face. "I asked the lady, not her dad."
William's face flushed a deep, ugly red. He hated being mocked. He hated losing control of his environment. He looked at me, expecting me to dismiss Ethan and fall back into my silent, supportive role.
"Tell him to leave, Eve," William commanded.
I looked at Ethan's grease-stained hands. They were dirty from real work. William's hands were only clean because he made everyone else clean up his messes.
I stood up.
I grabbed my wool coat from the back of the chair.
"Actually," I said to Ethan. "You can buy me pancakes."
Ethan let out a sharp laugh. "I know a diner."
"Eve," William warned.
I slipped my arms into my coat sleeves. "Enjoy your dinner, Victoria."
I took a step toward the aisle.
William shot out of his seat. His hand clamped around my left wrist. His fingers dug directly into my burn scar.
"Sit down," he ordered.
I stared at his clean, manicured fingers pressing into my damaged skin.
"Take your hand off me," I said.
"You are making a scene over nothing," William hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself."
Ethan stepped closer. The relaxed slope of his shoulders vanished. "She told you to back off, man."
William glared at the mechanic. "Stay out of this. She's my assistant."
"I quit," I said.
William snapped his attention back to me. "What?"
"I quit the foundation. I'm leaving."
"You're just throwing a tantrum because I brought Victoria here," he said, his grip tightening. "You'll be at the office on Monday."
I yanked my arm forward. His fingers slipped off my wrist.
"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore," I said.
I turned my back on William Ashford. I didn't check to see his reaction. I didn't wait for Victoria to say goodbye.
I walked toward the exit.
Ethan fell into step beside me. He pushed the heavy glass door open, letting the cold Boston air rush in.
"So," Ethan said as we hit the sidewalk. "Blueberry or chocolate chip?"
"Chocolate chip," I said.
A black town car idled at the curb. The rear window rolled down.
"Ms. Bennett," a voice called out from the dark interior.
I stopped walking. It was the same voice from the phone this morning. My new supervisor.
"Ms. Bennett, the firm's car is here," the driver said, checking his watch. "The relocation package covers your flight tonight. It's time to go."
