Open At Your Own Risk Chapter 10
The showcase came together faster than I expected.
With Sean gone, business dev worked directly with the sponsors. Design didn’t waste hours on Zoe’s “development plan.” Everyone was buried in work.
And weirdly, everyone was in a better mood.
Diane said, “When Sean was here, I felt like an extra in a bad CEO drama every day. Now we’re finally a real company.”
The whole office cracked up. I laughed at my desk too.
The night of the show, the venue was blazing with light.
I stood backstage and watched a model clasp the last sapphire necklace at her throat. The best piece I’d made in six months.
Leo was in the front row. Black suit, tie perfectly straight. The second he saw me, he snuck me a little heart with his fingers.
I didn’t react. He wasn’t offended. He dropped his head and started dutifully photographing the runway.
The show was a hit.
At the after-party, clients came by to congratulate me.
Mrs. Ashford squeezed my hand. “Jenna. You should’ve been up front a long time ago.”
I thanked her.
When I turned, I saw Sean standing a few yards away.
He looked thinner. Stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. Dark circles. None of that old “Sean Archer, Co-Founder” swagger left in him.
Leo was working through a small tart when he saw. He set the plate down immediately. He looked at me without any of the usual clinging.
“Do you want me to give you space?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Sean came over. He glanced at Leo — something complicated in his eyes, but he didn’t lose it this time. “Jen. Can I have a minute?”
“Go ahead.”
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You won’t even give me privacy anymore.”
I didn’t answer.
He looked down. His voice was rough.
“The show was beautiful. I used to think you couldn’t do it without me. Turns out I’m the one who’s nothing without you.”
Sincere-sounding, actually.
Just didn’t matter to me anymore.
“I tried to reach out to some of the old clients. They all said they only care about your work.
“I started scoping out a new studio. And I realized I don’t actually understand any of it — location scouting, supply chain, pricing, aftercare. None of it. I never really did.
“Jenna. These seven years. I was arrogant.”
His eyes welled up.
“I shouldn’t have treated your work like it was mine to take credit for. I shouldn’t have brought Zoe in front of you. I shouldn’t have proposed an open relationship. I know I was wrong. I really do.”
The people around us had gone quiet.
Leo, for once, was quiet too.
I asked, “So?”
Sean looked up. “Can we—”
“No.”
I said it too fast. He flinched like I’d hit him.
“You regret it because you lost. Not because you learned respect. If I’d swallowed it that night — if the studio really were yours — would you think you did anything wrong?”
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
I laughed a little. “See. You still can’t answer that.”
The tears finally spilled over. “Jenna. Seven years. You don’t miss any of it?”
I was quiet for a moment.
To say I missed none of it would be a lie. Seven years is not seven days. The nights we scraped by together, the promises we made — those don’t just vanish because he turned into someone unworthy of them.
But remembering isn’t the same as going back.
I looked at him.
“You gave up first.”
His face went bloodless.
I didn’t look at him again. I turned and went to clink glasses with the next client.
…
That night I drank half a glass of champagne. Buzzed, but clear-headed.
Leo walked me to my car. He kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something.
I spoke first. “Leo.”
He straightened up. “Yeah.”
“Thank you. For all of it.”
Something flickered behind his eyes.
“Babe, you’re being so formal. It’s kind of scaring me.”
I smiled. “Don’t be scared.”
“I want to build Wynn & Star into everything it should be. I want to take back all the things I gave away.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.
“I know. I can wait.”
I shook my head.
“Don’t spend your life waiting on anyone. Go live yours.”
He stared at his shoes for a long moment. Finally, softly:
“Can I still apply to intern? Just a regular intern.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Depends on your portfolio.”
He perked up immediately. “I’ll redo it by tomorrow. PDF. Behance page. LinkedIn. The whole package.”
“The pay isn’t great.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“The hours are brutal.”
“I can handle it.”
I opened the car door.
A cool wind moved through the street. Early autumn in the city.
Leo didn’t ask again whether I’d pick him. I didn’t make any promises.
That felt right.
Life isn’t running out of one man’s arms and straight into another’s.
I’ve already spent too many years trying to prove I deserved to be loved.
I always did. And I always deserved to stand in the light.