Ping.

The seatbelt sign switching off was like a shot fired at the start of a race to New Yorkers. They sprang into action, readied in five seconds, and spent the next ten minutes rolling their eyes, huffing and puffing, checking the time until they actually got to deplane. This city was curious that way. That frenetic energy got passed along like a ball, zipping through the air until most felt in a rush to get somewhere, even when going nowhere in particular. Except for the bloody European tourists who strolled, not walked.

Dom rubbed his bloodshot eyes as he yawned his way through the terminal, trailing after his team of three. He'd hardly gotten any sleep, the knots in his gut sprouting gnarled roots by the time they landed. He managed to convince himself the plane food must not have been sitting well with his stomach on this particular day. It was business class prison food, after all.

The sight of the New York City skyline always, always, always made him think of Clara. Somewhere in this city that never sleeps, she was waking up and starting her day. And next to her lay a man that wasn't Dominic, who had the luxury of putting his arms around Clara and kissing her good morning, every morning. Did he know how fortunate he was, or did he take her for granted?

As their car entered the intestines of the congested city like a difficult-to-swallow pill, Dom couldn't help but wonder what Clara might do at the sight of him. He could imagine her grabbing the nearest heavy object and hurling it at his head, purely on reflex. One of those weighted staplers with the sand inside. He hadn't seen her since their chance encounter a month ago. And now, here he was, dressed in his sharpest suit, in a car headed to her office, where he was going to spend seven figures on real estate just to get some face time with her. He fiddled with the tie, Italian-made silk, wondering if he should have instead picked one of the other five he'd tried on before it.

"This traffic is a nightmare," said his young associate, Craig. "I don't know why you decided to put yourself through this, we could have handled it ourselves—not that it isn't great to have you here," he added quickly as he readjusted his collar and smoothed his over-gelled blonde hair for the fiftieth time.

Dom remembered that age when all you wanted to do was impress the boss and show what an adult you are. Except in Dom's case, he had been the brat working for his father so he didn't give two shits about what people thought of him—his family name had been on the door. Sadly, that had been the only name on the door by the time Dom joined the company. Uncle Jimmy had already moved to the States and taken Clara with him. There was nothing Dom could have done to change things then, but the first chance he got, he ventured on his own and cut ties with the family enterprise. He always said it was to prove that he could be successful without his father's money, but in truth, he nurtured a small hope that someday he'd be able to show Clara he was not like his father.

"We still have time to stop at the hotel first," said Craig.

"Not necessary," said Dom a little too quickly, rubbing his palms up and down his trousers. "Would you turn up the AC, please?" he said to the driver. He knew he shouldn't have worn a full suit. It was autumn, why was it so bloody warm in this car?

His stomach did a flip when they stopped. The river of vehicles carried on with barely a break in the current, underscoring their insignificance in this big machine of a city. To it, this was just another gray morning. To Dom, the five-second elevator ride was the longest five seconds of his life.

What am I doing?

He'd always been the act-first, think-later kind of guy—and this time was no exception—but it was certainly the peak of his foolishness. He felt like an elephant about to enter a chandelier shop. No matter how delicately he handled himself, he was bound to do some kind of damage. He tugged at his shirt collar as the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Quickly, he scanned the room, the pulse in his throat quickening.

Standing in the lobby was Ms. Sophie Sun, all five-foot-three of her (heels included), dressed in a sharp black suit accented with a seven-figure-smile on her face as she greeted them. "Welcome, welcome!" she said.

And there was Clara, walking over with a smile as well, looking for all the world like this was just another day in the office for her. Was it? Did she not recognize him?

"Mr. Cole, may I introduce you to my star associate, Clara Tosi," said Sophie.

"A pleasure, Mr. Cole," said Clara.

"Please, Dominic. Or Dom," he said pointedly, holding her palm in his for a moment, doing his best to ignore the electric current that radiated through his whole body.

She recognized him, he realized as she shook his hand with her slightly trembling one, but she was determined to keep up appearances. On some level, Dom was relieved. Nothing hard and heavy came at his head. Score one for Dominic. On a deeper level, however, panic was taking its own elevator ride up his gastrointestinal tract. He knew he had no right to ambush her this way. No right to show up in her life and turn things upside down. If that look she'd given him at the resort was anything to go by, she still hated him. That she pretended to not know him now confirmed it.

He tried to catch Clara's eye as they filed into a conference room, but she seemed determined to avoid his gaze and held hers fixed on a plant in the corner. What was so fascinating about that ficus? Come on, Clara. Give me a sign, something. He seated himself directly across from her and searched her face for something, anything that would tell him coming here hadn't been the biggest mistake of his life. She was the sun to his Icarus, and he would never recover if he got this close and got burned again. When she finally did meet his eyes, the ice there was enough to send chills down his spine. The sun had frozen over.

He had seen that look once before, and the memory of it made his heart stop cold.