I lose the entire day on Wednesday to feeling like shit, but when I wake up on Thursday, all the remaining alcohol and hangover bullshit has cleared itself from my system.

I’m a new man—all except for the dull ache at the pit of my gut. I try to ease it by ordering my chef to come in early and cook an enormous breakfast—bacon perfectly crisp, scrambled eggs fluffed to perfection, toast with a hint of cinnamon sugar—but it doesn’t have much of an effect. Vivienne would like this breakfast, and every bite I take, I can’t help picturing what she’d look like wearing one of my shirts, sitting across the table from me, enjoying the hell out of it after a night of—

I push those thoughts right out of my head. They’re not going to do me any good now.

A full half-hour early, I call Craig to bring the car around. In comparison to yesterday, I feel unbelievably alive and ready to tackle the day, to make Wilder Enterprises the center of my life again.

Like it should be.

Even if my stomach turns over at the thought that a love affair with a company might be the best I can do, after Vivienne.

On the way into the office, I call an emergency meeting with my executive team. Half of them won’t be in yet, but the ones who aren’t will be rushing to get here as soon as they get my email. I start sorting through the messages from yesterday, firing off terse responses and generally reminding everyone that, yes, I am still in charge, despite yesterday’s sudden disappearance. When Craig pulls up to the curb, I sign off on the last one marked “urgent,” and square my shoulders. Not even Vivienne Davis is going to derail me.

Not for more than one day.

It feels like everyone in the lobby is staring at me, which can’t possibly be the case, because large portions of the building are rented out to companies that have nothing to do with Wilder Enterprises and hence nothing to do with me.

It’s not until I get to my office that I realize it’s not some kind of delusion, because even Emily’s expression seems off.

“Good morning, Emily.”

She gets up from her seat behind her desk and picks a tray from her desk, her eyes lingering on me longer than usual. “Good morning, Mr. Wilder.” She presses her lips together, watches me walk past her to my inner office, and then follows me in. “I hope—I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”

I take a seat behind my desk and look at her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Emily tries to give me a half innocent shrug, but she’s clearly uncomfortable. “You were out sick yesterday, so I was—”

“You know what? It’s fine.” Something’s up, and it’s above Emily’s pay grade, and grilling her on it like this is a dick move. If Vivienne walked in right now, she’d think—

No. No. I just got here. I can’t let her consume me within the first five minutes.

But I can’t help it. Vivienne trusted me, trusted me to take her places she’d never been before, and she trusted me to know when it was time for the power games she loved, and when it was time for us to be equals in bed. She’d expect the same kind of thoughtfulness everywhere else. She’d expect me to know when I was using my power against someone who didn’t deserve it and refrain, for God’s sake.

“It’s fine,” I repeat, and Emily’s shoulders relax. She steps forward, setting the tray on my desk, and I make a determined effort to appreciate the sparkling water. “I’m sure you saw the email about the executive meeting.”

“Yes.” She nods firmly, obviously relieved to be back on solid ground. “I didn’t put together an agenda—I assumed you’d want to lead the meeting yourself—but there’s still time, if you’d like me to.”

“No, I don’t think this will take long enough for a formal agenda.”

“Anything else, Mr. Wilder?”

“Not right now. Thank you, Emily.”

I hear the little sigh she lets out as she crosses the threshold.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m striding into the meeting room down the hall from my office. Every pair of eyes turns to me, as they always do when I come into the room, but there’s something strained in their expressions.

I close the door behind me with a click, then take my place at the head of the table. “Have a seat.”

There’s a general rustling as chairs are pulled out all around the table and people settle in.

“First item on the agenda,” I begin, sitting casually in my chair like I’m completely at ease. “One of you is going to tell me what the hell has you all acting like I’m a glass figurine.”

It’s Childs, with his lazy drawl, who breaks the ringing silence with a little laugh. “Mr. Wilder, we were all pretty concerned about you when the news broke yesterday.”

“News?” A cold trickle of anxiety moves from my neck down my spine. What news is he talking about?

He must see the tension in my face, because he waves both hands in the air. “Gossip blogs. Some idiot with a camera saw you staggering out of your building yesterday afternoon and thought it was worth putting on the internet. Doesn’t seem to have any major effect yet, but it’s not like we’re filing for an IPO.” He laughs again—a risky move—but everyone else is stone-cold silent. “Did you stay out too late for the first time in a decade? What was that, son?”

It’s so quiet I can hear everyone breathing, and I know a lot of shit hinges on this moment. The next several days hinge on this moment. The next several weeks.

So I laugh along with Childs. “You know what? That’s exactly what I did.” A few others around the table join in when they realize it’s not a trick, I’m not goading them into anything. “I’m not a saint.”

Childs lets his eyes go wide. “You’re not?”

I give him a look paired with a half-smile, and everybody else laughs, too. I let them ride it out, and then, as it’s settling, I put both hands on the table.

“Enough of this. Status updates, everybody. I want to get back on track, and I want to start right now.”

They launch into their updates, and I settle back in my seat, trying to focus.

This might have been a narrowly avoided disaster, but it proves that Vivienne wasn’t the problem. Losing her was far more devastating.

Far more.