Chapter 8 - The Resignation
Three weeks later, Penelope placed an envelope on Larkin's desk.
He looked at it.
"No."
"You haven't opened it."
"It's your resignation."
"How do you know?"
"You used cream stationery."
Penelope sat.
"That is a bizarre conclusion."
"Is it your resignation?"
"Yes."
"No."
"You cannot reject a resignation."
"I just did."
"Larkin."
"Penelope."
She fought a smile.
Things had changed.
Nathaniel was awaiting trial.
Grant had entered a cooperation agreement.
Several of the syndicate's most violent operations had fractured after Nathaniel's network collapsed.
And Larkin had made a decision nobody expected.
He wanted out.
Not instantly.
Empires built on crime did not become legitimate businesses because their owner experienced personal growth.
But he had begun dismantling the worst operations.
No trafficking.
No narcotics.
No extortion.
The legitimate companies would remain.
The rest would be cut loose.
It had made him enemies.
It had also made Penelope respect him in a way attraction alone never could.
Still, she needed to leave.
"I cannot become something real to you while collecting a paycheck from you."
Larkin went silent.
"Is that what this is about?"
"It's part of it."
"And the other part?"
"I spent years making myself invisible."
She looked through the glass wall toward her old desk.
"I don't want to disappear into your shadow now that I've finally remembered how to exist."
Larkin absorbed that.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
She blinked.
"Okay?"
"I accept."
"That was unexpectedly mature."
"I hate every second of it."
"Better."
Penelope stood.
Larkin did too.
"What will you do?"
"I have an offer."
His expression hardened.
"From whom?"
"Isabella Cruz."
"Absolutely not."
"You accepted my resignation thirty seconds ago."
"I withdraw my acceptance."
Penelope laughed.
Isabella's offer was legitimate.
Chief financial strategist for her hotel group.
Twice Penelope's current salary.
Equity.
An office with windows.
And, according to Isabella, "significantly fewer idiots."
Penelope accepted.
Her final day at Steves Holdings was strangely emotional.
Employees who had barely noticed her for years came to say goodbye.
Thomas gave her an engraved calculator.
She stared at it.
"This is the worst gift I've ever received."
"It cost twelve hundred dollars."
"That makes it worse."
At 6:00, she packed the final box.
Larkin waited by the elevator.
No security.
No suit jacket.
Just him.
"Can I take you to dinner?"
Penelope looked suspicious.
"Is it mandatory?"
"No."
"Are you planning to laugh at my clothes?"
"Never again."
"Are there assassins?"
"I can't guarantee that."
She smiled.
"Then yes."
He took her somewhere tiny.
No chandeliers.
No criminal royalty.
Just a neighborhood Italian restaurant with red-checkered tablecloths and a waiter who called everyone sweetheart.
They talked for three hours.
Not about money.
Not about murder.
About childhood.
Books.
Terrible movies.
Penelope discovered Larkin hated olives and secretly loved old jazz records.
Larkin discovered Penelope had wanted to become an architect before debt changed her plans.
Outside her apartment, he stopped.
"Can I kiss you?"
The question surprised her.
Not because she didn't want him to.
Because Larkin Steves was finally asking.
Penelope stepped closer.
"Yes."
The kiss was slow.
Gentle.
Nothing like the desperate one after the rail terminal.
When they separated, Larkin rested his forehead against hers.
"How long do I have to earn it?"
She smiled.
May you like
"As long as it takes."
For once, he didn't negotiate.
