We talk for another hour, dissecting every interaction with Dylan over the past three months. The way he always walks me to my car when we work late. How he remembers every case I've mentioned, asking follow-up questions weeks later. The way his hand hovers at the small of my back when we walk through doorways, never quite touching but always there.
After she leaves, I pour myself another glass of the wine and curl up in my reading chair. The city sparkles beyond my windows, and somewhere out there, Dylan's probably still at the office, working on the Miller acquisition. I know because I checked the shared calendar earlier, a habit I've been unable to break.
My phone buzzes. Another text from Dylan:I know you said you're fine, but if you need anything this weekend, even just someone to talk to, I'm here.
I stare at the message, my heart hammers in my chest. He's being everything Oliver never was.
I type back:Thank you. That means more than you think.
Three dots appear immediately:You never have to thank me for caring about you, Avery.
The words sink into my chest, warming places that have been left cold after Oliver. I let myself imagine what it might be like tolet someone see all of me again, with all my scars and fears and hopes. My carefully constructed walls are crumbling.
And the terrifying truth is that maybe Jessica's right. Maybe I don't want to rebuild them.
Security has Oliver's photo now. He won't bother you at work again. Sweet dreams, Avery. You're safe.
I can feel the smile spreading across my face again. I think about Monday morning, walking into the office knowing Oliver can't follow. Knowing Dylan made sure of it. The feeling is heady, dangerous in its sweetness.
I finish my wine and head to bed, but sleep doesn't come easily. Every time I close my eyes, I see gray eyes dark with protective fury. I hear that growl in his voice when he said Oliver made a mistake.
I'm not sure I'd survive Dylan Vance doing the same… And yet, lying here in the dark, rereading his messages over and over again, I'm starting to think he might be worth the risk.
Chapter three
Dylan
Saturday morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my father's Pacific Heights home office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where he reviews quarterly reports with the same meticulous attention he's given to every business document for forty years.
I sit across from him in the leather chair that's been mine since I was sixteen, when he first started teaching me about running a company, nursing a cup of coffee that's gone lukewarm while my mind replays yesterday on an endless loop.
I didn't plan to come here this weekend.
I have contracts to review, the Miller acquisition to finalize, and a dozen fires that need putting out at the office. But after watching Avery yesterday, and feeling that surge of protective fury that nearly sent me hunting down whoever put that look of panic in her eyes, I found myself driving here.
My father hasn't said anything yet about my unexpected arrival at his doorstep at eight in the morning, but I can feel him watching me over his reading glasses, cataloging every tell I'm trying to hide.
"Your mother's at her book club," he says finally, setting down the reports with deliberate slowness. "She'll be sorry she missed you."
"I'll stop by next week," I reply automatically, though we both know I came specifically when she wouldn't be here. My mother, brilliant as she is, has a way of seeing straight through to the heart of things I'm not ready to examine.
My father removes his reading glasses, folding them with the same precision he brings to everything he does. "So. Want to tell me what's really on your mind?"
The question hangs between us, deceptively casual. This is how he's always been: patient, observant, waiting for me to come to him rather than pushing.
He did the same after everything with Elena—when I found her with someone else and stopped believing in the kind of loyalty I thought I’d built my life around. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about Avery, because even without knowing the details, I can sense she’s been through the same kind of hurt. I saw it yesterday, in the panic she tried to swallow down, and the way her whole body shook when she ran into my office.
I take another sip of cold coffee, buying time. "The Miller acquisition is moving faster than expected. We should close by the end of the month."
"Good." He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking slightly. "And?"
"Revenue's up eighteen percent from last quarter."
"I read the reports, Dylan."
"Jake's been doing well with the Singapore expansion."
My father's mouth quirks slightly at the mention of my younger brother. "He called me yesterday, by the way. Said you had a security escort someone from the office building."
