Janie Harrelson walks in.
The woman I left in a tangle of sheets five years ago. The one I swore I’d never touch again.
Her charcoal suit hugs curves I already know too well, curves that have only ripened with time. Her hair’s pulled back in a sleek bun, cheekbones sharper, confidence radiating from every step.
God, she's gorgeous.
The thought crashes through me before I can stop it.Her eyes sweep the room. She's confident, professional, and unflappable. Until they land on me.
Recognition flashes. Her step falters for a microsecond.
Christ, that night.
My pen cracks between my fingers. Ink bleeds onto my palm, black as the guilt flooding through me.
"Janie brings impressive credentials from Northwestern Memorial," Caleb continues, oblivious to the bomb he's just dropped in my chest. "She'll be spearheading our new initiative to expand pediatric care access in underserved communities in and around Palm Beach."
She smiles at the room. Not at me.
"Thank you, Mr. Vance." Her voice is steady, commanding. "I'm excited to bring my experience from Chicago to help CHG fulfill its commitment to community care."
I force myself to look down, using notebook paper to dry up some of the ink on my hand while she presents slides on community need assessments and implementation timelines. Every word lands with precision. Every board member leans forward with captivated attention.
What happened to the girl who stumbled over her valedictorian speech? Who blushed when attention turned her way?
Five years have transformed her into someone I both recognize and don't.
"Questions for Ms. Harrelson?" Caleb asks.
I keep my mouth shut, my eyes down.
"Excellent presentation," says someone to my right. "Ambitious scope."
Caleb stands. "Before we break, I want to announce committee assignments for the coming quarter."
I glance up despite myself. Janie's eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. Then she looks away.
"Warren Carter will chair the board committee for the community initiative, working directly with Ms. Harrelson to establish operational frameworks and compliance protocols."
He lists other committee assignments, but he might as well be whispering into a can. I don't hear a word he says.
My pulse spikes. The room is suddenly airless.
After a marathon two-hour meeting, the boardroom empties like water circling a drain. Expensive leather shoes squeak against marble tiles. Voices bounce off the walls in animated discussions about quarterly reports and potential donors.
I hang back, straightening papers that don't need straightening, capping and uncapping my new pen after destroying the first one. Anything to avoid looking up. My shirt collar is suddenly two sizes too small.
Janie glides past my chair, the scent of something citrusy and expensive trailing behind her. I force myself to my feet.
Act normal. For God's sake, just act normal.
The hallway outside is all glass and chrome, sunlight slicing through massive windows. I fall into step beside her, not quite intentionally. My legs just move that way.
"Warren." Her voice is crisp, professional. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "It's been a while."
"Five years." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Her gaze flickers to mine, then away. "Five years, two months."