Thanks. The woman you're seeing? Yeah. What happened? I screwed up.
Jennifer studied him for a moment, then surprised him by saying, Whatever you did, fix it. You look happier than I've seen you in years. Don't let that go. Even if she doesn't want to be fixed? Especially then.
The good ones are worth fighting for. It was possibly the nicest thing his ex-wife had said to him since the divorce. Ethan drove home thinking about what Jake had said. Sorry was just words. He had to fix what he'd broken.
But how do you fix broken trust? The answer came to him Monday morning while he was reviewing architectural plans for a new development. Clara had asked him who he really was. Maybe it was time to actually show her. He pulled out his phone and typed a message.
Can we talk? I want to show you something. The response came 20 minutes later. I'm busy. When are you not busy?
That's not the point. Please. 1 hour. That's all I'm asking. A long pause.
Then, fine. Thursday evening. Lilly has art class, but I but I'm not promising anything. I'm not asking you to. Just give me a chance to explain.
No response to that. Ethan spent the next 3 days planning. Not with money. Money was what had gotten him into this mess. With something that actually mattered.
Thursday evening, he picked Clara up from her apartment at 6:00. She looked exhausted, dressed in the same paint-splattered jeans she'd been wearing the first time he showed up at her door. Where are we going? She asked, sliding into the passenger seat without looking at him. You'll see.
They drove in silence through the city, past the downtown core, into the industrial district. Clara watched the warehouses roll by, her expression unreadable. Ethan, if this is some kind of grand gesture, it's not. Just trust me. One more minute.
He pulled up in front of a massive warehouse, one of his company's main distribution centers. The sign read Mercer Home Industries in letters 10-ft tall. Clara stared at it. This is yours? Yeah.
He led her inside past loading docks and forklifts and pallets of building materials. Workers called out greetings. Ethan waved back, Clara walking silently beside him. In the back corner, behind stacks of lumber and drywall, was his office. Not the executive suite downtown where he held board meetings.
This one. The one he actually used. It was small, cluttered with blueprints and material samples. A battered desk, two chairs, a coffee maker that looked older than Clara. Photos on the wall, Jake at various ages, Rachel's family, his parents before they died.
And on the desk, spread out like a map, were plans. Detailed architectural drawings for an apartment renovation. Clara's apartment. What is this? She asked quietly.
Plans for fixing your building, new pipes, foundation work, proper insulation, windows that actually seal. Everything that's wrong with that place. Ethan I'm not doing it, he said quickly. I'm showing you that I could, that I've been thinking about it since the first time I walked into your apartment and saw how bad the water pressure was. But I'm not doing it because that's not what you need from me.
Clara moved closer to the desk, studying the plans. They were detailed, professional, clearly expensive to create. You had these drawn up? I drew them up. I used to do this before I got stuck behind a desk.
Design work, renovation planning. It's what I actually like doing. These are really good. Thanks. She turned to face him.
Why are you showing me this? Because you You who I really am, and this is who I am. Not the guy in the suit at board meetings, not the billionaire whose name is on buildings. This. The guy who likes solving problems with his hands, who sees a broken foundation and wants to fix it.
Clara's eyes were shiny. You can't fix this with blueprints, Ethan. I know. That's why I'm not trying. I'm just I'm showing you that I see you.
All of it. The broken pipes, the too small apartment, the struggle to make rent. I see it. And I want to help. Not because you're a project, but because I care about you.
You lied to me. I didn't tell you everything. There's a difference. Not to me there isn't. Okay, that's fair.
Ethan sat on the edge of the desk. You want complete honesty? Here it is. I'm a billionaire. I inherited a company worth $3 billion that I never asked for and don't know what to do with half the time.
I hate almost everything about my life except my son and the work I do in this warehouse when no one's looking. And then I met you and for the first time in years, I felt like maybe I could have something real. Something that wasn't about money or status or what I could do for someone. Just me. Just us.
Clara wiped her eyes. That's not fair. What's not fair? Being all honest and vulnerable. It makes it hard to stay mad at you.
Good. I don't want you to be mad at me. Too bad. I'm still mad. Okay.
That's fair, too. They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by building materials and the distant sound of forklifts moving pallets. Sarah says the adoption should go through smoothly, Clara said finally. Your money's going to make Lily my daughter, legally, forever. That's what matters.
Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I'm taking advantage of you. You're not. How do you know? Because if you were, you would have said yes to all my offers the first time.