He’d chosen a different building entirely — not the penthouse terrace where the drone had found us months earlier, not the boardroom, not anywhere the last several months had already claimed for themselves — a small rooftop garden above a restaurant in the neighborhood where my mother had raised me, string lights strung between two crooked trees, a single table set simply enough that I understood immediately this had nothing to do with Marcus or optics or anything except the two of us.
“You picked here on purpose,” I said, once we were seated, the city humming softer at this height than it had ever felt from the penthouse.
“I picked here because I wanted to ask you this in a place that belonged to neither of our old lives. Not the beach house, not the office, not anywhere Ethan or Vivian
