Hearts Like Ours

Part two of two. This is a direct continuation ofPart 1. A driven bank executive finds herself off-balance when love arrives in the form of a florist with a smile too bright to ignore. My most sincere gratitude toTHBGato, my fearless beta-reader, who helped me out from beginning to end.

Chapter 9: Clear Blue Skies

Chapter 9: Clear Blue Skies

Riley Vaughn existed in a kind of limbo. In the days since the breakup she hadn't been fully present. Not at work, not in meetings, and certainly not in herself. Her calendar still ruled her time, the inbox still dictated her mornings, and Mr. Jensen Ackerman, CEO of the bank and frequent source of migraines, demanded the best of her.

But Riley's mind was somewhere else. Somewhere floral.

Sarah.

The sweet twenty five year old runningRoses & Reveriehad imprinted herself like pollen on Riley's lungs, every breath thick with her memory. And Riley, for all her control and precision, hadn't figured out how to properly breathe since.

It was godawful early, not even six when she stepped into the company lobby. The gym lived in the cellar, very scarcely used at this hour. A run, some core, a shower and then up to ten.

The building was still half-asleep when she came back, hair damp, suit jacket slung over her arm. She cut through the side hallway that ran past the bullpen lockers.

She wasn't expecting anyone else. Which is why she stopped cold when she spotted Tiffany, crouched in front of Ava's locker. Not just passing by, but elbow-deep inside. Riley didn't say a word at first. She let the silence hang until Tiffany stiffened, glancing over her shoulder and realizing she'd been caught.

"You're exhausting, you know that?" Riley said flatly.

"It was open," Tiffany tried with zero conviction.

Riley gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Sure it was. And when you spiked Ava's cup, that was by accident?" She tilted her head. "What was it? Vodka? Gin?"

Tiffany froze. "How did you—"

"Please. There's zero tolerance for alcohol in the bullpen. You think you're the first to try that trick? Slip some booze into coffee, submit a whistleblower report and suddenly Ava's on review for misconduct. An HR report gets filed, there's an investigation, and then embarrassment all around. Cute. Real original."

She straightened, spun her own locker open. "What I don't get is why. What's your problem with her?"

Tiffany gave a short and bitter laugh. "I don't report to you."

"You report to Mr. Ackerman. Everyone does. Tess from HR is already involved and she already wants you gone." Riley turned, eyes narrowing. "I told her to wait. I said you might actually make Ackerman money if you stopped being a liability. If Tess gets her way you'll be radioactive. No financial institution in this city, or the next, will touch you."

That landed. Tiffany shifted, uncomfortable, then lifted her chin. "I can't stand her. I can't stand Ava."

Riley rolled her eyes. "You don't say. Because?"

It became quiet.

"Project Orion was supposed to be mine."

Riley narrowed her eyes. "Our sustainability initiative?"

"Uh-huh. Curtis promised it to me. I put in two years, and then he gets fired, Moreno takes over, and suddenly Ava gets it. Just like that. Handed to her on a silver platter. How is that fair?"

Riley clicked her tongue. "Jesus, Tiffany. That's petty. Ava didn't steal it. She got assigned, she delivered. And your grand response is trying to tank her career?"

Tiffany looked away, jaw tight.

"That's not ambition. That's self-sabotage."

The silence stretched between them.

"Here's where we're at," Riley continued, stepping closer. "Either bury the hatchet, or pack your bags. What's it going to be?"

For a long moment Tiffany said nothing. Finally, her voice was but a whisper: "I want to stay."

"Good." Riley grabbed her gym bag, ready to leave. She glanced back once more. "Oh. And take the weed out of Ava's locker."

Tiffany froze again, then slowly pulled out a little plastic bag, shoulders sagging.

Riley snorted. "Weed. Christ. Like Ava would touch it."

On the way to the elevator Riley told herself it was mercy, what she'd given Tiffany. A leash, not a pardon. But mercy wasn't something Riley Vaughn was known for. Not at work. Not in life. She stepped into the elevator, its brushed steel walls gleaming with that impersonal, institutional polish. The lighting was soft overhead, but it didn't flatter. Especially not today.

Her reflection caught in the mirrored panel. The bobcut was sharp as ever, tucked cleanly behind one ear. Her navy pantsuit was tailored within a millimeter of its life, shoulders smooth, waist cinched. The kind of garment that whisperedunfuckable. Beneath the jacket she wore a muted ivory blouse with a collar so crisp it might cut glass. One button undone. Getting dressed, she'd debated two.

But the woman in the mirror looked... wrong. Like she'd shown up to play herself and missed the mark by just enough for the performance to fall apart.

She wasn't lost, but if someone had stopped the elevator and asked who she was, Riley Vaughn might have struggled to answer. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, she thought grimly, adjusting the drape of her jacket. And kissing Eric? A masterclass in stupidity... yet the moment had somehow called for it.

She exhaled.Enough thinking.As if on cue, the elevator pinged. Tenth floor. She stepped out, nodding to the handful of early risers she passed. Her heels struck the polished floor with a rhythm too purposeful for someone whose thoughts were so elsewhere.

"Morning, Ms. Vaughn," called Gabby, her assistant already at her desk, chewing gum with an intensity like it might unlock national security secrets.

"Morning," Riley replied, offering a tight smile.

She unlocked her office, stepped inside, and shut the door behind her. Hung her coat. Crossed to her desk. Sat.

"Good morning, Issy," she said dryly, nodding at the bonsai. "How's Woody treating you?"

The little jumping spider perched near the base of the miniature tree looked back at her with those ridiculous eyes which were too large, too cartoonishly earnest.

"Good talk," she muttered, leaning back in her chair and gazing up at the ceiling. "So, it's been five days since my fuck-up... I'm going to fix this, I'm just not sure how."

Another glance at Issy. Still staring.

"Right. I should talk with her. Good thinking. Send a message?"

Issy ran behind a leaf.

"Agree. We're not fifteen. Texting would be pathetic." She drummed her fingers against the desk. "But showing up at her apartment unannounced? Worse?"

Her eyes drifted toward the umbrella, the one Sarah had handed her outsideRoses & Reverieweeks ago. It leaned in the corner, still folded. Still unreturned.

She stared at it.

Maybe Gabby could return it for her? Or Tess?

Tess would do it with grace, sure. But Tess would also ask questions. The kind of questions Riley wasn't ready to answer. The kind that would come with that warm smile, that gentle touch on the wrist, and the patient tone that made you feel like a child about to confess to stealing cookies.

And Riley had stolen more than cookies. She'd stolen something fragile from Sarah: trust and safety. With a groan, she planted her face on the desk, not even fully registering the voices outside.

"Is she in?"

"Yes, sir."

The door opened.

"What are you doing?" asked Jensen, his tone somewhere between amusement and disapproval.

Riley looked up like a deer caught in the headlights. "Nothing, sir."

He stepped in, shut the door behind him, and raised a hand. "Let's skip the part where you say 'nothing,' I say 'there must be something,' you look for an excuse, and I pretend to buy it. Neither of us wins."

Riley exhaled. Sat up. Adjusted a cuff. "I managed to fuck things up with Sarah."

Jensen didn't react immediately. He crossed to the guest chair and lowered himself into it. "Really? That's not like you."

"No," she agreed, "it's not."

He looked at the bonsai. "That's new."

"Woody," Riley said. "Trying to bring some life to the place."

He nodded. "Suits you." His eyes shifted to the ornate glass bowl beside it. Riley lifted it, offering him a taste.

"Chocolate-dipped coffee beans," she said. "She gave them to me."

"Aren't you fancy," he murmured, helping himself.

"She was sweet," Riley added, quietly.

He chewed thoughtfully. "So what'd you do?"

Riley stared at the wall. "I kissed my ex."

"Brilliant," Jensen said dryly. "And what part of you thought that was a good idea?"

She shot him a look that would've withered lesser men.

He raised his hands. "Hey. You brought it up."

They sat in silence for a beat. Jensen leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Right. So that's where your mind's been."

She nodded.

"So... How are you going to fix it?"

"I don't know."

"Need a hand?"

She frowned.

"Ah," he said, sitting back. "Pride and prejudice. You've got both, and they're not helping."

That got a snort from her.

"I tried," he said with a shrug. "I only care about you."

"You only care about results, sir."

"Tomato, tomahto," he replied with a grin, standing up. "There's a thing tomorrow. Mary's Pub. Celebrating the successful closure of the most recent audit."

"I know."

"Thought maybe you should go."

"I'll think about it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do more than think. Go. You need a night out, a normal one." He turned to go, but paused at the door. "She made you softer, you know. In a good way."

Riley said nothing, and soon the door clicked shut behind him as he left. She sat there for a while, fingers laced in front of her. The office felt too still. Too quiet.

Riley stood and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk. She let her hands slip into her pockets as her eyes swept over the open atrium and down into the bullpen below. Ten floors down, the analysts moved in patterns she knew by heart.

There was Ava, small, efficient and focused, tapping away at her keyboard like the world depended on it. And a few rows over, Michelle, equally absorbed but with a touch more uncertainty in her posture. A little stiff.

And then Tiffany and Mia. The idiot duo were working, or at least performing the appearance of it. She'd caught them red-handed a few weeks ago, childish cruelty at its worst, thinly veiled in office politics. She kept her eye on that floor. Workplace bullying had no place here, not under Jensen's rule. She lingered a moment longer, watching Michelle's head tilt as she read something closely, her brows pulling in thought. Then, quietly, Riley returned to her desk and got on with her day.

❀

❀

Down in the bullpen, Michelle sat at her desk, her eyes flicking now and then toward Ava. It had been weeks since the incident with Tiffany, weeks since Riley Vaughn had told all three of them off.

And then there was that incident where Tiffany had poured something into Ava's cup. Ever since then, Michelle had made it a point to watch Ava. Not to monitor her, not exactly. More like... protect her. Silently. From a distance.

She hated herself for how it had started. For joining Tiffany and Mia in their casual cruelty. It had been easy. Too easy. She hadn't known Ava, but that didn't matter. She'd been scared. She'd wanted to fit in. And if someone else was the target, well, at least it wasn't her.

But now, every time she saw Ava walking across the floor, headphones in, careful and competent, something twisted in Michelle's chest. She wanted to apologize. Had wanted to for weeks, but time passed, almost awkwardly... And now it felt too late.

Except she knew it wasn't. It's never too late to apologize.

So when the office thinned out and the clock crept past five, Michelle stayed. She hadn't planned to. But she was onto something, a small case she didn't want to lose momentum on. And staying late felt like the kind of thing the ambitious did. The ones who worked past dinner weren't trying to be seen. They were hungry. Focused..

And Ava was still here too. Something clicked.

Michelle stood. She grabbed a set of printouts from her desk, took a quiet breath, and walked toward Ava's workstation.

She tapped Ava gently on the shoulder.

Ava turned, surprised. "Hi?"

"Hey," Michelle said, offering a sheepish smile. "Sorry to bother you."

Ava glanced past her, reflexively, maybe, probably looking for Tiffany or Mia. Michelle caught it.

"Oh. I'm... I'm not with them," she added quickly. "Not anymore."

Ava's eyes met hers again, cautious and curious at the same time. Michelle swallowed. This was it. Now or never.

"Hey, um... can we talk? Or is this a bad time?"

Ava paused, then shook her head slowly. "No, it's fine. What's up?"

Michelle sat down in an empty chair beside her, just close enough to talk, but careful not to crowd.

"I wanted to apologize."

"About...?"

Michelle let out a breath. "About being an asshole." She offered a small, wry smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "I was insecure. Trying too hard to fit in. I thought if I stayed close to the loud ones, I wouldn't get eaten alive."

She looked down at her hands. Her thumb curled the corner of the printout she'd brought.

"It's okay if you don't accept it. I just... I wanted to say it anyway."

There was a pause before Ava spoke. "You're not with Tiffany anymore?"

Michelle shook her head. "No. I'm done with that."

Another beat passed and then Ava nodded once. "Okay. I accept your apology."

The relief was immediate. Michelle's shoulders dropped and breath left her in a quiet exhale.

"Thanks," she said, barely above a whisper.

A silence settled between them.

"I should... let you get back to work," Michelle finished, starting to rise. "Sorry for the ambush."

She stood up and turned to leave, but before she could take a step, a hand reached into her peripheral vision and snatched the paper from her hand. Michelle turned, startled.

Ava skimmed it, her eyes narrowing in focus. "This is from Financial Crime Intelligence & Analytics."

"Yeah," Michelle said, "I'm part of Transaction Monitoring."

Ava nodded slowly, still reading. "You guys deal with suspicious transactions like money laundering, tax evasion and terrorist financing."

Michelle nodded. "Exactly."

Ava sat back. "Looks normal at first glance. But the amounts are off. Low, all rounded. Recipients too."

Michelle pulled out another sheet, circled a handful of company names. "These belong to a holding company registered offshore. And these," more circles, "have an asterisk."

"I recognise some of them." She looked up at Michelle. "I have—We're investing in them."

Michelle nodded again. "Yeah."

Ava looked up. "So we're investing in a fund that's funneling money into companies flagged for financial crime."

"Basically."

"What's your question?"

Michelle hesitated. "What do you think I should do now?"

Ava raised a brow. "Why ask me? Don't you have a team? A supervisor?"

Michelle looked down at her paper. "I'm new on the team, and I've never caught us investing in something like this before." She gave a quick glance towards Ava. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Ava studied her before giving the paper back.

"Okay. Here's what I'd do. Document everything and take it to your supervisor first thing tomorrow. If you're working late tonight, start pulling transaction histories for the last twelve months. They'll ask you for it tomorrow anyway, so might as well get ahead of it. Show initiative. Come prepared and only say what you can back up. Be the first to draw the line between our investment trail and the flagged accounts."

"And you?"

"There'll be questions, but my paperwork's all there. We did our due diligence. I'll be fine."

Michelle nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Ava offered a faint smile. "Good luck."

On the way back to her chair, Michelle looked down at the paper in her hands. Still the same paper, but it felt different now.

And so did she.

❀

❀

It was just past three the next day, and Jensen was preparing an early exit.

He wouldn't join the rest who were heading to Mary's, for he rarely did join those types of excursions. As he locked his office for the day, he slung his light summer jacket over one arm and let a whistle drift between his teeth. It was an old jazz tune that followed him down the marble corridor and out into the early evening. He walked with the easy stride of a man who'd long ago stopped rushing. Pride was stitched into the set of his shoulders for this was a man who had built things: companies, careers, lives... and still found joy in the smallest details, like the late-day breeze coming at him through the city's heat.

He rounded the corner and slowed his pace outside a little flower shop. The bell over the door chimed as he stepped inside, and the scent of roses and lilacs and something green and grounding met him instantly.

"Hello!" a bright voice called from the back.

Sarah Hoff appeared a moment later, smiling on instinct, though the smile faltered slightly when she recognized him. There was a hint of shyness now, as though she wasn't entirely sure why Riley's manager was standing among her buckets of tulips and carnations.

"Ms. Hoff," Jensen said warmly, removing his sunglasses. "Good afternoon."

"Jensen, right?" she asked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Indeed. How are you?"

"I'm okay," she answered, and it sounded almost convincing.

He hummed softly, wandering between displays, fingers brushing lightly over wrapped stems. "Need something for the missus," he said, tilting his head at a spray of pale lilies. "What am I looking at here?"

Sarah stepped forward, explaining the blooms and their meanings with a practiced ease. Jensen listened, nodding occasionally, though his eyes lingered on her face more than the flowers.

"How is she?" Sarah asked finally, voice quieter now.

"Who?" he asked, playing dumb.

"Riley."

"Ah." He pursed his lips, considering. "Looks well enough on the outside. A little troubled on the inside, perhaps." He glanced sideways at her. "Sound familiar?"

Sarah's gaze dropped to a bloom she wasn't really seeing. Her fingers traced the curve of a petal. "Maybe something like that."

"First fight?" Jensen asked gently.

Sarah didn't answer, but she didn't need to; Jensen already knew the story.

He let it sit for a beat before clearing his throat. "You know, when life knots itself up like this, sometimes it helps to change the scenery. Mary's, the pub down on Seventh, tends to be lively this time of week. Good wine, decent company, never too loud. Even a quick glass and a chat with a stranger can shift one's perspective."

Her mouth quirked. "A bit out of my comfort zone."

"Which is precisely why you should go," Jensen said, smiling. "We grow on the edges of comfort. And someone as charming as you? I'd wager you'd have no shortage of people willing to talk on your terms."

"You think so?"

He chuckled. "I know so. But don't do anything that feels wrong. Sometimes, though, a small step is all it takes to start moving forward."

He chose a bouquet of soft yellows and whites, paid, and watched as Sarah wrapped it in crisp brown paper. She was quick and efficient, yet did it with a care that made the result feel like a gift rather than a transaction.

"Thank you," he said, tucking the flowers under his arm. As he turned to leave, he caught the distant look in her eyes: the faint, unguarded glance toward the direction of Mary's, and knew the seed had taken root.

Outside, the city hummed with the low, contented noise of the day winding into evening. Jensen paused on the sidewalk, the faintest trace of guilt tugging at him. It wasn't manipulation, he told himself, just a nudge. Sometimes, two people only needed a little help finding the same place at the same time.