I accepted a new position.

Not at Pierce Global.

A private investment firm offered me a senior operations role with actual authority, sane hours, and a boss who seemed familiar with the concept of weekends.

I should have felt finished.

Instead, Jackson kept appearing at the edges of my life.

Never uninvited.

Never demanding.

A congratulatory message when I accepted the offer.

A card when Sophie returned from her honeymoon.

No flowers.

He had apparently learned flowers were dangerous.

Then one rainy Thursday, I walked into a Midtown restaurant and found Jackson at the bar.

He saw me.

“Elena.”

“Jackson.”

Neither of us moved.

Then he gestured toward the empty seat beside him.

“May I buy you dinner?”

“I thought powerful men just ordered people to sit.”

His mouth tightened.

“I deserved that.”

“Yes.”

“Dinner?”

I considered him.

“One hour.”

“Agreed.”

He kept it.

No business.

No Harrington.

No Pierce Global.

For the first time, Jackson told me about himself.

His father had built Pierce Global from a legitimate logistics company and a network of family businesses that had never entirely separated from New York’s darker circles.

Jackson had spent most of his adult life making those businesses clean.

“I wanted control,” he said.

“That part I noticed.”

He almost smiled.

“I thought control meant nothing unexpected could happen.”

“And how’s that working?”

“You quit.”

“Fired.”

“There it is.”

I laughed.

He looked at me for a second too long.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Jackson.”

“You never laughed around me.”

“That should tell you something.”

“It does.”

The waiter brought dessert menus.

Jackson declined his.

I ordered cheesecake.

He looked offended.

“What?”

“You always ordered fruit at company dinners.”

“Because you scheduled dinner meetings at seven and expected the deck revised by nine.”

“So you actually like cheesecake?”

“I love cheesecake.”

Jackson stared at me as if he had discovered corporate fraud.

“Three years.”

“Three years.”

“I didn't know that.”

“You didn’t know Sophie’s name.”

“That remains worse.”

“Yes.”

After dinner, rain covered Manhattan.

Jackson opened an umbrella.

We walked toward my subway station.

A black SUV waited nearby, but he didn’t steer me toward it.

“You’re taking the subway?”

“Yes.”

“At eleven?”

“Millions survive it daily.”

“Elena.”

I stopped.

There it was.

The old tone.

He heard it too.

His jaw tightened.

“Sorry.”

I waited.

“Would you prefer a ride?”

“No.”

“All right.”

That simple response did something strange to me.

We continued walking.

At the station entrance, Jackson said, “Can I see you again?”

“Why?”

His eyebrows rose.

“That question generally has an obvious answer.”

“I want to hear yours.”

He looked at me.

“Because I like being around you.”

No corporate language.

No negotiation.

No command.

I folded my arms.

“And if I say no?”

“I go home.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I respect it.”

“And if I say maybe?”

“Then I wait until you decide.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Saturday.”

Jackson blinked.

“Saturday?”

“Dinner.”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll make the reservation.”

“No.”

He stopped.

“My choice.”

Another tiny battle with himself.

Then he nodded.

“Your choice.”

I stepped onto the stairs.

“Elena.”

I looked back.

Jackson stood beneath the umbrella.

No security men beside him.

No intimidating boardroom.

No authority that mattered down here.

Just a man waiting for my answer.

“Seven,” I repeated.

This time, his smile was unmistakable.

“Seven.”