Chapter Twenty-Three: The Gala

Daniel had spent most of the weekend hauling boxes, sorting through drawers, and reconciling with the fact that he and Samantha were now technically on a break.

All right, there was no technically about it. He and Sam were officially on a break.

Which was still a strange sentence to say aloud. And it was stranger to live through.

He’d spent so long being with her. since their early twenties, when they met in New York, both of them still scrappy and wide-eyed, thinking grad school would be the hardest thing they’d face. She’d moved back to LA with him after graduation, when he still thought a legal aid career was going to be his lifelong calling. Then they’d returned to New York, more jaded, more polished, and he pivoted to a career in corporate law. For her … it was always for her.

They’d weathered bar exams, bad landlords, fertility appointments. They’d built a life from the bones of ambition and late-night takeout and sleepy morning kisses. He’d spent almost a decade thinking in we. Now it was just him.

He’d come back to work, thinking he could bury himself in paperwork. A messy tech acquisition, some late-stage due diligence, a couple of overpaid founders having a slap fight over control clauses. It should’ve been enough to drown the silence out.

But of course it wasn’t.

The silence followed him. It sat beside him in meetings, stared at him from his inbox, lingered on the empty side of the bed in the apartment he now rented alone.

He was buried in spreadsheets when his secretary, an intern who was studying at his old alma mater, stepped in. Tori Chen, she was mid-twenties, sharper than most of the associates, unapologetically gorgeous in a way that was somehow both classic and intimidating. Her heels clicked with intention.

“Mr. Reyes?”

He looked up.

She was wearing a black high waisted trousers and a tighter blouse than was perhaps appropriate. Dark green that hugged her frame and contrasted against her sharp winged eyeliner and sleek ponytail. She looked like someone who always dressed like they had plans after the office—and probably did.

Tori had that look—like she was always one move away from either seducing you or eviscerating you with a perfectly timed remark.

She held up the garment bag with a smirk. “Dry cleaners just dropped off your tux.”

Daniel blinked. “Tux?”

She groaned, dramatically pressing a hand to her forehead. “Yes. The Keller Foundation Gala? You know, the one this firm’s been funding since the Bush administration?”

He still looked blank.

She clicked her tongue. “It’s honestly a miracle you remember to breathe. Good thing you’re hot, or you’d be useless otherwise.”

Daniel stood, taking the tux from her with a raised brow. “A. Rude. And B. Not exactly the most professional way to speak to your boss.”

She clicked her tongue. “Please, we both know old dudes like you love it,” she said.

“I’m not old.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve definitely got old man energy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Every day I think, ‘Today’s the day I reassign her to HR’s filing dungeon.’”

And every day you remember I’m the only one in this office who can decipher your calendar, your mood, and your coffee order without needing a flowchart.”

She wasn’t wrong. Tori had been running his life with surgical precision since week one—an intern in title only. Smart, stylish, and entirely unbothered by the corporate ladder she was already halfway up.

“Cocktails at six. Dancing starts at seven. The foundation head loves a good schmooze, so be charming, or fake it. I don’t care. Just don’t sulk.”

“I don’t sulk.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “You sulk. Like a hot widower in a Netflix miniseries.”

He blinked. “That feels oddly specific.”

“Because it is.”

She gave his tie one final tug and patted his chest like she was satisfied with her work. “Now go shave. And do something about your hair. You’re not starring in a tortured lawyer noir.”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Yeah, try not to embarrass me.”

Daniel called after her, “You’re the worst.”

“You’re welcome!” she called back.

And with that, she vanished, her heels echoing down the hall like punctuation.

Daniel stared after her, then looked down at the tux in his hands.

It was going to be a long night.

——

The Gala was being held in a place that reminded him too much of the Arcadia. Another one of those old hotels from a bygone era. All high ceilings and luxury that screamed old wealth.

It was the kind of place built for appearances. For carefully managed smiles, tailored tuxedos, whispered hedge fund deals and polite lies over champagne.

Since making senior partner a year ago, Daniel had found himself in rooms like this more often than not. Rooms that looked impressive on the outside but felt hollow at the center. Like him, lately.

He sat at the bar, not quite drinking, nursing his beer with his back to the party. He was doing everything Tori had told him not to do. But truth be told he was all peopled out.

“Well, now isn’t that a sad sight,” a voice said. “I’d heard you were here, and I expected better, counselor.”

Daniela recognized that voice.