INICIAR SESIÓN
Susan
I adjusted my blazer and took a deep breath before walking into the boardroom. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for...no room for nerves, no room for mistakes. But the moment I stepped inside, my breath caught. Ten years. It had been ten long years since I last saw him, and yet, there he was...Elliot Prescott, sitting at the head of the boardroom table like a king on his throne. The universe had a twisted sense of humor, throwing me into his world when I was at my lowest. Jobless, desperate, and hanging onto the last thread of my self-respect, I'd walked into this meeting thinking it was just another pitch. But then his eyes...those same piercing green eyes...met mine, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. His piercing green eyes meeting mine the second I walked in. Time hadn't touched him, if anything, it had made him sharper, more composed. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy. "Ms. Hart," a man sitting beside him said, oblivious to the jolt of recognition between us. "This is Elliot Prescott, our CEO." CEO. Of course, he was. Elliot had always been destined for greatness, even back in college when he was just a guy with big dreams and a devil-may-care attitude. And me? I was the girl who thought I could be a part of those dreams. Until he chose a different path...a path that didn't include me.. My fingers tightened on the portfolio I was carrying, but I forced myself to nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said smoothly, as if I hadn't known him in every way that mattered years ago. He didn't flinch, didn't falter, just studied me with the same calm, detached demeanor he'd perfected years ago. "It's been a while," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. I wanted to laugh, scream, cry...anything to release the knot tightening in my chest. But I didn't. I wouldn't. "It has," I replied simply, refusing to let him see how much his presence shook me. He gestured to the chair across the table. "Please, take a seat." I walked over, my heels clicking against the polished floor, and sat down. The man beside him...a senior executive, perhaps...cleared his throat. "We've reviewed your initial proposal, and we're impressed," the executive began. "However, we'd like to hear more about your approach and execution plans." I opened my portfolio, flipping to the relevant pages. "Of course. My approach focuses on streamlining operations to reduce inefficiencies while enhancing productivity. Within the first three months, we'll see measurable results." I slid the document across the table. Elliot picked it up, his expression unreadable as he skimmed through it. "And your team?" he asked, finally looking up. "Will you be handling this alone, or do you have additional support?" "I have a network of consultants I can bring in as needed, but I'll personally oversee the entire project," I said firmly. "I've managed similar projects independently before and have no doubts about my ability to deliver." Elliot nodded, his face giving nothing away. "Confidence is important. But setbacks happen. How do you handle them?" "By seeing them for what they are...opportunities to reassess and refine the plan. I prioritize clear communication and quick decision-making to keep things on track." The executive beside him smiled in approval. "That's a solid approach." Elliot's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. "We'll need a week to finalize our decision. Be available for any follow-up questions." I nodded briskly. "Thank you for your time and consideration." As I left the room, my heart raced, but I didn't let it show. I'd gotten through the meeting without letting him see how much his presence shook me. One thing was clear... This wasn't about him. This was about me...getting this project, rebuilding my life, and proving to myself that I could stand on my own. But as the meeting unfolded, I realized something: This wasn't just business anymore. **** Elliot The moment she walked into the room, the air changed. Susan Hart. I hadn't heard that name in a decade, hadn't thought I'd see her again. But there she was, standing in my boardroom, her head held high and her gaze sharp as ever. She'd always been good at hiding her emotions, but I knew her too well. That flicker of hesitation when her eyes met mine? It was there, just for a second. Ten years. Ten damn years, and she looked the same...stunning, confident, and utterly poised, like she owned the room the second she stepped in. The only thing that gave her away was the slight pause in her step when her eyes landed on me. "Ms. Hart," Gerald, my COO, said as if the air hadn't just shifted. "This is Elliot Prescott, our CEO." Her eyes didn't waver. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Her tone was calm, professional, almost dismissive. Of course it was. Susan always had a way of keeping her cool, even when she wanted to scream. "It's been a while," I said evenly, watching her for the slightest crack. "It has," she replied, her voice steady, matching mine. I gestured toward the chair across from me. "Please, take a seat." She didn't hesitate, striding over like she had everything under control. I leaned back, letting Gerald take the lead. "We've reviewed your proposal, and we're impressed," he started. "But we'd like to hear more about your execution strategy." She opened her portfolio, flipping through it with practiced ease. "Of course. My approach focuses on reducing inefficiencies and enhancing productivity. Within the first three months, we'll see measurable results." She slid a document across the table. I picked it up, keeping my expression neutral as I read through her plan. It was solid, no question about it. But Susan wasn't just competing for a project. She was standing here, in my world now, and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. "And your team?" I asked, looking up. "Will you be handling this alone, or do you have support?" Her voice didn't waver. "I have a network of consultants I can bring in as needed, but I'll oversee everything personally. I've managed similar projects independently before and delivered results." That confidence. It was one of the things I'd admired about her...and one of the things that had driven me crazy. "Confidence is important," I said, keeping my tone businesslike. "But setbacks happen. How do you handle them?" She leaned forward slightly, clasping her hands. "Setbacks are opportunities to reassess and refine the plan. I prioritize clear communication and quick decision-making to keep things on track." Gerald nodded, clearly impressed. "That's a solid approach." I didn't respond immediately, letting my gaze linger on her. She didn't flinch, meeting my eyes as if daring me to say more. Finally, I set the document down. "We'll need a week to finalize our decision. Be available for follow-up questions." She nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity." I watched her gather her things and leave the room without a single backward glance. As the door clicked shut, Gerald turned to me. "She's sharp. I think she's the right fit for this." I didn't reply. All I could think about was how Susan Hart had just walked back into my life like a storm I wasn't ready to face. I should've been focused on the proposal she was presenting, on the business at hand. But all I could think about was how Susan had walked out of my life ten years ago, and now, without warning, she was back. And she was still stunning. I hated how easily my mind went there. This was just business, nothing more. But as she spoke...her voice confident, her answers sharp...I found myself wondering: What the hell was she doing here?SusanThree years laterThe dog got to the door first.He always did. He was enormous, ridiculous, and the color of old wheat, and he had never once in his life been taught that a door was something you opened rather than something you flung yourself against. By the time I'd set down my bag and slipped off my shoes, he was already prancing in circles in the hall, tail beating the wall like a drum."Yes," I said. "Hello. I missed you too.""Mama!"The word came from somewhere around knee level, followed by the thunder of very small feet. I turned just in time to catch him, two and a half years old, damp from the bath, wearing one sock and a pair of pajamas decorated with cartoon boats, running full tilt down the hall as though he'd been shot from a cannon.I scooped him up. He smelled of soap and warm skin and, faintly, of toast."Hi, Julian," I said, into his hair. "Did you have a good day?""Gerald came.""Did he?""He brought a book." He pulled back, serious, and held up two small f
ElliotBy late spring, the third center was finished.I had watched it rise from the ground in stages, as one watches a child grow in photographs...a bare lot in winter, a skeleton of beams by February, a roof by April. I had walked the site only twice, both times at Susan's invitation, and both times I had kept my hands in my pockets and my questions to a minimum.It wasn't my project. I had learned that lesson, finally, and I had learned it well.But on the morning of the opening, standing at the edge of the crowd in a plain dark suit, I felt something swell in my chest that had nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with pride.The building was low and bright, with a wide front porch and a bank of tall windows that caught the sun. A banner hung above the door, hand-lettered by the children who would use the center in the fall. A hundred folding chairs stood in rows on the lawn, and most of them were already full...staff and volunteers, families from the district, neighbo
SusanThe first thing I noticed about the foundation, on my first morning back, was that the receptionist stood up.She had done it before, on the Monday the news first spread. But that had been tentative, the half-rise of a woman unsure of the protocol. This time she was on her feet before I reached the door, with a bright, nervous smile and a small folded card in her hand."Welcome back, Mrs. Prescott," she said.I stopped.It was an ordinary greeting. It was, I understood perfectly well, meant with nothing but kindness. But the name landed on me like a coat I hadn't tried on yet, too new, too stiff, a little too big across the shoulders.I smiled at her anyway."Good morning," I said. "And thank you. But honestly, you can call me Susan.""Oh." She flushed. "I didn't want to presume...""You're not presuming. I'd like it." I took the card from her hand. "Everyone here has been calling me Susan for a long time. I'd hate for that to change."She nodded, relieved and a little amazed, a
SusanOn the last night, we didn't go anywhere.There was no dinner reservation, no long walk, no plan. Elliot lit the fire in the old stone hearth, and I opened every window in the house to let the sea air through, and together we cooked something that was neither dinner nor a disaster. We ate it on the porch with our feet propped on the rail, watching the tide draw out across the sand in long silver sheets.Ten days had gone by like a single long afternoon.I hadn't opened my laptop once. I hadn't checked a message, or a calendar, or a board report. I had slept until I woke, eaten when I was hungry, and talked until the words ran out and then kept talking in the silence. I had stopped counting hours somewhere around the third day, and I had never felt so rested in my life.And tomorrow, we were going home."You're quiet," Elliot said."I'm saying goodbye.""To the house?""To the ten days." I turned my head against the back of the chair. "I know we'll go back to our real life. I'm l
Elliot The morning after the storm, the whole world looked rinsed.I woke to a sky so blue it hurt, and sunlight pouring through the curtains in long, bright bars, and the smell of wet earth and salt drifting in through the open window. The air had a crispness to it, a new washed clarity, as though the night had cleaned the edges off everything.The other side of the bed was empty.I lay still for a moment, listening. And then I heard it, a clatter from the kitchen, a muffled curse, and the unmistakable sound of a woman trying very hard to be quiet and failing.I was smiling before I'd even opened my eyes."Do not come in," Susan said, when I reached the kitchen doorway.I stopped.She stood at the counter in one of my old shirts, her hair piled messily on top of her head, a streak of flour across her cheekbone and a wooden spoon clutched in one fist like a weapon. Every surface behind her was covered in bowls. A pan sat smoking gently on the stove. Something that might once have bee
SusanThe rain came on the fifth day.It arrived without warning, rolling in off the sea in a long gray wall, and by midmorning the whole world beyond the windows had dissolved into water and wind. The waves heaved against the shore. The porch boards drummed. The shutters rattled in their frames, and somewhere under the eaves a loose piece of tin tapped out a ragged, patient rhythm.I loved it at once."It's a proper storm," Elliot said, standing at the window with a mug of coffee, his hair still rumpled from sleep. "I should have checked the forecast.""You really shouldn't have," I said from the couch, tucking my feet beneath a blanket. "This is perfect.""It's the end of our beach days.""It's the beginning of our inside days." I patted the cushion beside me. "Come here."He came. He sat down, and I leaned against him, and he pulled the blanket over both of us. The fire he'd lit in the old stone hearth crackled low and golden. Outside, the storm wailed and battered at the glass, an
ElliotHer words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs. I sat across from Susan, my hands frozen around the glass of wine I hadn’t even tasted.“You gave me an ultimatum,” she had said, her voice steady, but the weight of her emotions bled through every syllable.The memory
SusanI didn’t go home. I couldn’t.Instead, I found myself in a familiar spot...Meera’s apartment.The moment she opened the door, her sharp eyes scanned my face, instantly sensing something was wrong. Without a word, she stepped aside, letting me in.“Okay, something's definitely wrong.” she said
Susan I had no idea why I agreed to this dinner. Maybe it was Elliot’s insistence, or maybe it was my own need to prove I wasn’t afraid of his mother. Either way, I found myself seated across from Mrs. Prescott in an exclusive restaurant, the air thick with tension. She was as intimidating as I r
ElliotI parked the car in front of Susan’s apartment building, checking my watch. 6:58 PM. Perfect timing.It wasn’t lost on me how uncharacteristic this entire situation was. I wasn’t the type to pick someone up personally, much less for dinner, but here I was, gripping the steering wheel and won







