Chapter 1

When Charles Reed's mother, Sarah Reed, slid a check for two million dollars across the table toward me, the barrage of comments lost its mind.

[Emma, don't take it. This is an insult. What you want is love, not money.]

Sophia Grant sat beside her, eyes rimmed red. "Ms. Wynn, please don't make things hard for Charlie."

I looked down at the check. Two million dollars.

There was also an apartment, a formal job offer, and the freedom to stop waiting for a man who wouldn't even go public with me.

Excuse me? This counted as an insult? Had everyone in the barrage lost the plot?

Because from where I sat, this was the universe finally cutting my paycheck after three years of running alongside him for free.

They wanted me to walk away from the money, the apartment, the job, and a clean start, all so I could hopelessly love a man who couldn't even show up to his own breakup?

Sorry. My brain works fine.

*****

When Sarah pushed the two-million-dollar check in front of me, the barrage was still crying at me to refuse it.

[Emma, don't take it.]

[That's a breakup payout. Cash it and three years with Charles Reed are gone for good.]

[What you want is love, not money.]

I studied the zeros on that check. One, two, three, four, five, six. Two million dollars.

Next to it sat an agreement, with a year's use of a downtown apartment and a formal offer at a Reed Group subsidiary. The role was spelled out plainly: product operations in the Cold-Start Product Group, at a salary forty percent above mine.

I stayed quiet for three seconds.

Across from me, Sarah lifted her cup without any hurry.

She wore a cream suit today, and the small pearl drops at her ears were dim things that still managed to glare.

"Emma, I don't like talking in circles. You and Charlie don't suit each other," she said.

"He's at the most critical stretch of his life right now, since the board only just agreed to let him take over the new business. The person beside him needs to be someone who can help him hold everything steady."

She nudged the agreement forward. "You're a good girl. But good doesn't mean right for the Reed family."

Sophia sat at her side, one finger resting lightly on the rim of her cup, as though the scene scalded her and yet she couldn't bring herself to leave.

"Mrs. Reed, please don't put it that way," she murmured. "You'll hurt Ms. Wynn's feelings."

Then she looked up at me, and her eyes reddened fast.

"Ms. Wynn, I know you and Charlie have history together," she said. "But he's genuinely worn out lately. The board, the funding, the product-line changes, all of it is sitting on his shoulders. He hasn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time."

She paused, and her voice dropped softer. "Stop making things hard for him, okay?"

The barrage erupted again.

[Fake little saint. How does she have the nerve to sit there?]

[Where's Charles Reed? Where is he? Let him come break up with her himself.]

[Emma, get out of there. But whatever you do, don't take the money. Take it, and you'll prove you're a gold digger.]

I looked down at the check again. Gold digger. What a handy little phrase.

As if one ordinary girl accepting money once in a relationship could erase every late night she'd endured, every swallowed hurt, every hour and every ounce of heart she'd poured in.

Three years ago, Charles's first startup failed. The office rent was two months overdue, the landlord showed up at the door with a crew, and three core team members handed in their resignations that same day.

He sat in the stairwell with his tie yanked loose, his eyes threaded with red.

I'd only been working two years then, with thirty thousand dollars saved in my bank account.

When I transferred it to the landlord, Charles gripped my hand and said, "Emma, once I get through this, I'll make sure everyone knows who you are."

He got through it, eventually.

At his first product launch, I sat backstage reworking his slides until four in the morning.

Before he went on, he draped his suit jacket over my shoulders and said, "Sit in the back row for now, I know it's a lot to ask. The investors are here today. Next time, I'll introduce you properly."

Next time, and then the next.

When his stomach ulcer flared, I flagged a cab at three in the morning and took him to the hospital. I stayed through the IV drip until dawn, and the first thing he said when he woke was, "Don't tell my mom. She'll worry."

Sarah found out anyway. She sent over a pot of soup and praised Sophia for being so thoughtful, because the note taped to the lid that day was Sophia's.

Meanwhile, the back of my hand still carried the bruise from the door that caught it during Charles's ER run.

Sophia seemed to notice me drifting. She called to me gently. "Ms. Wynn?"

I came back to myself and looked at her. Her makeup was soft today, and a moonstone necklace hung against the pale line of her neck.

I'd seen Charles buy that necklace. He'd said it was a birthday gift for an important client's daughter.

So the client's daughter was named Sophia Grant.

Sarah set down her cup. "Emma, you're a smart woman. Two million isn't shortchanging you. The apartment is ready, close to where you'll be working, and the key is in the folder. As for Charlie, I'll handle him."