Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 56Lawrence

Chapter Fifty-Six

Lawrence

The office door swings shut behind me with a soft click, the last echo of a day spent confined within decisions and fluorescent light. A cool evening breeze brushes against my face, carrying away the stale air of the office. My hand grazes the pocket of my suit jacket, feeling the outline of the speech for tomorrow's press conference—a heavy reminder of the crossroads I stand at.

The first steps into the parking lot feel like breaking free from shackles, yet there's an invisible chain tugging at the corner of my consciousness. It’s the decision—the one that could pivot my life’s course. With each step, the asphalt seems softer, more forgiving than the marble floors I've paced all day.

"Lawrence!" The voice slices through my reverie, sharp and insistent.

I halt and turn, finding Jason barreling toward me. His tie is askew, his brow glistening under the orange hue of the streetlights. There's something in his eyes that speaks of more than just end-of-day fatigue—it's alarm, it's disbelief.

He comes to a stop, chest heaving, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. "I—I talked to Emily," he manages between gulps of air. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that has nothing to do with the physical exertion of his sprint. "She told me about your plan."

My nod is slow, almost contemplative. "Yeah, what about it?" I watch as frustration carves deeper lines into Jason's already furrowed brow.

"Lawrence, you can't do this," he implores, the urgency in his voice clashing with the soft chirping of crickets from the nearby grass. He steps closer, shadows playing across his face, making him look more haggard than I've ever seen him. "Think about everything we've put into this project. Years of our lives, man."

The words are meant to sting, to shake the resolve that’s carried me out of the office and into this cool, open space. And yet, they don't. There's a steady beat in my chest, a pulse of certainty that drowns out the clamor of his concern.

"Jason," I say, my voice surprisingly even, "there are more important things than work and money." The sentence hangs between us, stark and irrefutable.

He stares at me, searching my eyes for the fiery colleague he's known—a man easily baited into heated debates over deadlines and bottom lines. But that version of me is absent, replaced by this stillness, an inner tranquility that feels foreign yet fitting.

"You're saying that now?" Jason's voice cracks slightly as he struggles to grasp the concept. "After all this?"

"Hopefully," I reply gently, "you'll meet someone someday who teaches you that." There's a softness to my words, an open wish for him, even as I stand firm in my decision.

"Lawrence, no!" The protest bursts from him as he steps into my path, arms animated. "You're making a huge mistake! You're throwing away everything we've built together—our dreams, our plans." His hands slice through the evening air, carving his frustration into the space between us.

I observe the desperation flickering in his gaze, the way his jaw clenches with each word he spits out. Yet, inside me, there's no echo of his panic, no sympathetic tremor. Only the deep-rooted knowledge that what I'm doing transcends the empire of effort we erected.

"Think about the team, Lawrence," he continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper, thick with emotion. "Think about the sacrifices we've made. The long nights, the missed holidays. We've bled for this project. I've invested my own money into this deal, as have so many others."

"I have thought about it," I reply, my tone unwavering. "And I’m certain—this is the right thing for me to do."

A vein throbs in Jason's temple as he processes my unwavering stance. He opens his mouth, perhaps to argue further, to lay another guilt trip or brandish a veiled threat, but nothing comes. The futility finally dawns on him, and his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"Jason," I begin, my tone imbued with a quiet finality, "my mind is made up."

His eyes search mine, seeking an ally in the familiar battleground of our shared ambitions, but only finding the reflection of his own disillusionment. With a shake of his head, he steps aside, muttering under his breath, "You’re going to regret this, Lawrence. Mark my words."

I watch him for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his disappointment, but not letting it alter my course. "Maybe," I say softly, "but it's a chance I have to take."

Turning away from him, I stride toward my car, feeling each step lighten as I distance myself from the confrontation. There's a harmony in my heartbeat, a gentle affirmation that whispers through the evening breeze. The parking lot lights cast long shadows that stretch out behind me, symbolic of the path I'm leaving behind.

I get into my car and close the door with a soft click, enveloped by silence. It wraps around me, a comforting embrace. And in this cocoon of resolve, I feel it—the profound peace of a man who has chosen his course with clarity.

I sit there for a moment, letting the day's events wash over me. The confrontation with Jason, the weight of tomorrow's press conference, and the undeniable certainty that has settled in my chest. I start the engine, the soft hum a backdrop to my thoughts, and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the city lights that promise a new beginning.

As I drive, the streets blur into a tapestry of memories and possibilities. The familiar routes take on a new significance, each turn a metaphor for the choices I've made. My phone buzzes in the passenger seat, and I glance at the screen to see Emily's name.

I answer, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. "Lawrence, are you okay? Jason just left the office looking... distraught."

"I'm fine, Emily," I assure her. "We talked. He'll come around eventually."

"I hope you're right," she sighs. "This isn't easy for any of us."

"I know," I reply, my voice firm yet understanding. "But it's necessary."

There's a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear the gears turning in Emily's mind. "You're really committed to this, aren't you?"

"I am," I confirm. "Tomorrow's press conference is just the beginning. We need to be honest, to take responsibility."

Emily's silence speaks volumes, but when she finally responds, her tone is resolute. "Then we'll make it work. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, Emily," I say, feeling a surge of gratitude. "For everything."

"Goodnight, Lawrence," she replies before the line goes dead.

I continue driving, the city lights growing brighter as I approach my destination. The roads are quieter now, the rush hour frenzy having subsided. I pull into my driveway. I can see the calm waters of the Chesapeake Bay from here. They feel so at odds with the turmoil of my day.

Inside, the space feels both comforting and isolating. I set my briefcase on the kitchen counter, the speech peeking out from the edge. The words I've written carry the weight of truth, a beacon for the path I've chosen.

I pour myself a glass of water and take a seat by the window, looking out at the city skyline. The lights twinkle like stars, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is always a glimmer of hope.

The press conference looms on the horizon, but for now, I allow myself a moment of calm. I think of the journey ahead, the challenges and the triumphs that await. And in that stillness, I find a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happens, I've made the right choice.

And I hope that Willow thinks so too.