Chapter 108

~ Clinton ~

The next day at work, the weight of yesterday’s chaos still lingered like a shadow across my desk. I leaned back in my leather chair, the city skyline stretching endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office, and dialed Trudy’s number.

The phone barely rang twice before she picked up, her familiar voice warm and steady as always.

"Guess who called me last night," I said, skipping the usual pleasantries.

"Your father?" she guessed, a hint of amusement threading through her tone.

"No, not him." I paused, letting the moment stretch. "It was Annie-bell."

"Oh...she called you?" Trudy’s surprise sounded genuine, but I could hear the undercurrent of satisfaction she tried to hide.

"Don’t act all surprised, Trudy. She told me you gave her my phone number." I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I pictured Annie’s face—younger, softer, the little sister I’d once protected with everything I had.

"Oh yes, I did," Trudy admitted lightly. "And I wasn’t surprised that she called you. I was just surprised she did it so quickly. Which is good, by the way. Really good."

"Okay." I stared at the stack of contracts on my desk, the words blurring for a second.

"I’m sure you both had a lot to catch up on." she said.

"Not really," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. "She said she’s graduating from her art school soon. Invited me to come to the ceremony."

"So will you go? Attend her graduation party?" Trudy asked, hope lifting her words.

"And leave everything here behind?" I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. The idea pulled at something deep inside—an old ache of family ties I’d let fray over the years. "No. I just told her I’d get her a graduation gift and congratulated her. That was enough."

"She must have sounded disappointed. Am I right?" Trudy sighed, the sound heavy with understanding.

"Yeah, but she understands," I told her, though the guilt twisted a little sharper in my chest. Annie had always been the dreamer, the one who chased colors and canvases while I chased deals and deadlines.

"It’s alright, Master Clinton."

"How’s the owner of the house doing?" I asked, shifting the subject before the silence grew too heavy.

"You mean your father?" Trudy asked, a touch of dryness in her voice.

"Yeah, who else?" I mumbled. The distant chatter of my staff filtered through the closed door, phones ringing incessantly like a constant reminder that the world didn’t stop for personal reckonings.

"Well, he’s fine," she said. "He goes out often—have I told you that before?"

"Yes, you have." I smiled faintly despite myself. Some things never changed.

"I’m just glad you and Annie spoke," Trudy added, warmth returning to her tone. "Yeah, me too," I mumbled, though the conversation had left me unsettled, like unfinished business hanging in the air.

"So after graduating from art school, what’s next for her?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"She was thinking of coming down here to New York," Trudy replied, excitement bubbling up. "Open a studio or a gallery—whatever you call it—to start her art business. You know how she loves drawing. Always has."

I sat up straighter, surprised. "Oh, she’ll be coming back to New York?"

"Yes! That’s great news, isn’t it? Her graduation is at the end of the month, so I need to fly down there before the due date. She’ll be thrilled to see me."

She was indeed happy—her voice glowed with it, the kind of pure joy only a mother could feel for her youngest daughter stepping into the world. I could picture Trudy already packing, her quiet efficiency hiding the years of quiet longing.

"I know she will," I said softly.

"I’ll stay with her for a few weeks there. I hope that’s okay with you."

"It’s definitely okay with me, Trudy. You even need more of a break to stay with her. And don’t worry — I’ll sponsor your transport fare."

"Oh, Master Clinton, it’s okay. You don’t have to..."

"Trudy?" I cut in gently but firmly. "I insist. You deserve more than that. Don’t argue with me. Before you leave, I’ll have wired the money."

"Thank you, Master Clinton. I appreciate it."

"It’s my pleasure." I hesitated, then added with a small smile, "And don’t you think it’s time you really called me by my first name? I’m not a little boy anymore where you’ll be calling me Master Clinton."

"I guess it’s because to me, you’re still the little boy I took care of," she sighed happily, the memory softening her voice.

"I know, but I’m a man now. It’s okay to call me by my first name, and I insist."

"Okay, I will start calling you by your first name."

"Starting now," I added, and she laughed—a light, genuine sound that eased something in my chest.

"Anyway," she continued after a beat, "how’s that friend of yours, Octavia, doing? Have you heard from her?"

I felt the shift like a sudden drop in temperature. "I’m sure she’ll be making progress. I haven’t seen her since that day I rushed to the hospital to see her."

"She will wake up soon. Don’t worry about that," Trudy assured me, her tone steady and kind, the way it had been through every childhood scraped knee and teenage heartbreak.

"Yeah, I hope so," I sighed, the uncertainty gnawing at me more than I wanted to admit.

My assistant knocked sharply on the door and poked his head in, eyebrows raised in that urgent way that meant business couldn’t wait.

"Oh, um, I’ve got to go, Trudy. Duty calls."

"Okay, have a nice day at work, Clinton."

"See? It wasn’t hard for you to call me by my first name," I chuckled.

She joined in, the shared laughter brief but real.

"Have a nice day too, Trudy."

"Bye."

"Bye," she said, and I ended the call, the phone feeling heavier in my hand.

"Yes?" I looked up at my assistant.

"Miranda Lawson from JeffTech is on the line for you."

"Put her through," I nodded. He disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.

Seconds later, the call clicked through.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington," Miranda’s voice came through—smooth, composed, and straight to the point, as always.

"Miranda," I replied, leaning back in my swivel chair. "I assume the reason you’re calling is about the Bronx project."

"It is," she confirmed. "But first, I would like to thank you. Bella Washington briefed me on your visit."

I felt a flicker of satisfaction. "And?"

"She said you were thorough, detailed, and—most importantly—she mentioned you approved the next phase of funding." There was a small, appreciative pause. "That’s not something you do lightly."

"It’s not," I said simply, "but your team delivered." 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"I’m glad to hear that. This project means a great deal to us."

"Which brings me to the reason for my call," she continued, all business again. "We need to go over the next stage in person."

I raised a brow. "In person?"

"Yes. The day trip with Bella was just the beginning. There are technical and financial details we need to align on—timelines, scaling, security protocols. I would need you to come to JeffTech, preferably today or tomorrow."

I glanced at my wristwatch, the seconds ticking louder in my head. "Well, I can make time."

"Good. I would rather we handle this directly than go back and forth over calls."

"I agree with you."

There was a brief silence—subtle, but noticeable, like the calm before a shift in the wind.

"By the way," she added, her tone softening just a fraction, "I heard about Octavia Herman—one of my employees from the team."

I stilled, my grip on the phone tightening. The name hit like a live wire.

"What about her?" I asked, my voice carefully controlled.

"She’s awake."

Everything inside me paused. The office noise faded to a dull hum.

"What?" I said quietly, a rush of hope surging through me so fast it left me breathless.

"She regained consciousness. I thought you might want to know, since she was working with you on the project."

I stood up without realizing it, heart pounding. "How do... how do you know?"

"I spoke with Franklin Flemington, her husband. I called to check on her condition. He said she’s awake and stable." The words echoed louder than anything else she had said, drowning out the contracts, the city, the careful walls I’d built around my feelings for Octavia.

"She’s... okay?" I asked, quieter now, the hope warring with a thousand unanswered questions.

"As far as I was told, yes. Though she’s still recovering, of course."

I ran a hand through my hair, already reaching for my jacket draped over the chair. "I see."

"Mr. Harrington?" Miranda’s voice pulled me back. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," I replied quickly. But my mind wasn’t. It was already racing ahead—to the hospital, to her room, to whatever version of Octavia waited on the other side of that door.

"I’ll have to get back to you on the meeting," I said abruptly.

There was a pause. "Is everything okay?"

"Something just came up." I was already heading for the door, pulse thrumming. "I’ll call you later to confirm."

"Okay... well, till then."

"Yeah." I ended the call.

Even if Franklin was there—and I knew he would be—I had already decided. No matter what tension waited between us, no matter the history or the guarded looks, I needed to see her. Especially now that she was awake. The pull was undeniable, a quiet storm I couldn’t ignore any longer. I stepped out of the office, the city waiting below, and for the first time in days, something like purpose steadied my steps.