I study his face, this man who sees all my sharp edges and wants me anyway. Who celebrates my ambition instead of trying to contain it. Who's been patient not as strategy but as kindness.
"Okay," I breathe out, letting go of all the pent-up tension.
Dylan's smile could light up the whole city. He helps me down from the table, then starts gathering the scattered contracts with endearing sheepishness.
"We should probably—"
"Leave these for tomorrow?" I suggest, surprising myself. "Maybe get dinner instead?"
"Dinner." He says it like I've offered him something precious. "I know a place. Quiet, discreet, makes fantastic pasta."
Twenty minutes later, we're in a small Italian restaurant tucked away in a neighborhood I've never explored, sitting in a corner booth like a secret. Dylan's hand finds mine across the table, and I don't pull away—I even link our fingers together.
I tell him about growing up feeling like I had to earn love through achievement, nearly burning out in my first year of law school, trying to be perfect for my dreams of being a corporate lawyer. About Jessica being the only person who loved me as messy and imperfect as I am.
Dylan listens without interrupting, his thumb tracing circles on my palm, and when I finish, he tells me his own truths. About taking over a failing company at thirty-two. About his ex who cheated because he worked too much and blamed him forchoosing the business over her. About building walls so high he thought no one would ever scale them.
"But you did," he adds quietly.
We talk until the restaurant starts closing, and then Dylan drives me home. He walks me to my building's entrance, and under the glow of the entry lights, he gives me a goodnight kiss—soft, sure, and full of promise.
"Thank you," he says against my lips.
"For what?"
"For taking the risk. For running toward me."
I kiss him once more, then head inside before I lose my nerve and invite him up.
As the elevator rises to my floor, I catch my reflection in the mirrored doors. There's color in my cheeks, a light in my eyes I haven't seen in months as I wear the smile he put on my face, and for the first time in so long, I'm not afraid of letting someone see all my broken pieces and sharp edges. Because Dylan Vance doesn't want to fix me or change me or make me smaller.
He just wants…
Me.
And maybe that's enough.
Chapter seven
Dylan
The gossip starts spreading through Vance Enterprises like wildfire.
I didn’t notice it at first, with most people giving me a wide berth as CEO, but after Jake’s comments got more pointed, I kept my eyes peeled.
It started with small sparks. The guard at the lobby giving us pointed glances as we enter the building together after morning coffee outside. (Avery insisted after a co-worker kept asking her why I bought her java every morning.) The whispers from workers as Avery and I continue our (completely professional) late-night brainstorming sessions. The frowns from the board members when they see us so much as breathe in the same room together.
Case in point, I sit in a board meeting trying to focus on quarterly projections while watching Avery present the legal analysis for our acquisition deal.
She commands the room with quiet authority, breaking down complex liability structures into digestible pieces, her voicesteady and sure. This is Avery at her best—brilliant, prepared, untouchable.
But I notice the tight set of her shoulders, the way her fingers grip the presentation remote just a little too hard. Half the room watches her with barely concealed speculation instead of listening to her expertise, and my jaw clenches with each whispered comment that floats across the conference table.
"...the indemnification clause in section twelve provides adequate protection against potential IP claims," Avery continues, clicking to the next slide. Her eyes meet mine briefly—professional, distant, exactly as we agreed—before moving on.
Two men from accounting lean together, and I catch fragments of their conversation. "...convenient timing..." and "...fast track..." and something that sounds suspiciously like "...sleeping her way..."
My hands curl into fists under the table. These people have worked with Avery for about four months now. They've seen her stay until midnight reviewing contracts, watched her catch errors that saved us millions, witnessed her go toe-to-toe with opposing counsel and win.
