I keep my expression neutral as I reach for my coffee. If Jake’s heard about it, then everyone else in the building must’ve heardby now. "Just someone who didn't have clearance to be there. Nothing worth discussing."
"Jake believes this has something to do with a woman. He said there's someone who has you, and I quote, 'completely wrapped around her finger without even knowing it, even if everyone can see it.'"
Heat creeps up my neck. Of course, Jake noticed. My brother has always been too perceptive for his own good, seeing through facades with an ease that's both annoying and impressive. He's been relentless lately, dropping hints about meeting "the mysterious Avery" who apparently has me checking my phone during family conversations.
"Jake doesn't know what he's talking about," I mutter.
"Mm-hmm." Dad picks up his coffee mug and takes a measured sip.
The silence stretches between us—expectant in that infuriating way that always made me spill everything as a kid, like I was twelve again, trying to be casual about the girl who sat next to me in math class.
"Her name is Avery," I hear myself say. "Avery Cole. She's our outside counsel from Collins & Associates."
My father waits, that infinite patience that used to drive me crazy as a kid, but now feels like permission to continue.
"She's brilliant." The words are coming easier now. "Sharp. Challenging. She catches details everyone else misses, argues with me in meetings when she thinks I'm wrong. She doesn't defer to me because of who I am or what I've built. She just sees the work, sees what needs to be done, and does it better than anyone I've ever worked with."
"Sounds like she reallyisbrilliant."
I set down my mug, running a hand through my hair. "Some guy showed up with flowers yesterday. Scared her, obviously. She burst into my office. I've never seen her so pale before."
"So you threw him away?"
I think about how natural it felt to protect her, how right it felt when she chose my office as her sanctuary.
"I've kept my distance because she deserves better than being another workplace complication," I continue quietly. "But when I saw her yesterday, her fear… I wanted to destroy him. So bad. Whoever he was, whatever he did to her, I wanted to tear him apart for putting that look on her face."
The admission sits heavily between us. My dad is quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes, before speaking.
"You know," he says finally, "when I met your mother, I had just been betrayed by my business partner. Lost half my first company—nearly lost everything. I swore I'd never trust anyone that deeply again."
I've heard pieces of this story before, but never like this, never with this weight behind it.
"Your mother was vivid, fierce, and also completely unimpressed by my success. Or my failures, which mattered even more." A quiet laugh escapes him, and I find myself smiling. It's rare to see him like this, unguarded. "She saw me."
He falls silent, and I wait—the same patient silence he'd given me moments before. I watch the memories move behind his eyes, decades of them shifting like shadows.
"And that terrified me more than any business deal ever had."
"So what did you do?"
He exhales softly, looking past me for a moment as if remembering a different lifetime. "Your mother didn’t grow up trusting easily either. She'd been let down by people who should've protected her. When we first met, she kept me at arm's length for months."
He taps his folded glasses against his palm. "I didn't break through with some grand gesture. I just gave her space. I wasalways there when she needed me, showing that she could trust me. And one day she just… showed up. Not to confess or ask anything. She just needed someone to sit with her while she figured out her life. And she chose me. That was the moment I knew."
"Knew what?"
He meets my eyes. "That love isn't about flawless timing or never getting hurt. It's about finding someone worth the risk.It's about showing up. It's about who you trust to hold the pieces when you can't hold them yourself."
I think about Avery's sharp wit, the way she doesn't just challenge me but makes me better. The way she stayed late last week, not because she had to, but because she loved the intellectual puzzle we were solving together. The way she laughs when she catches a mistake in my logic, not cruel but delighted, like she's genuinely happy to have found someone who can keep up with her.
"Avery has walls," I say. "She's running from something, and I don't want to be just her escape route."
"Then don't be," Dad says simply. "Just keep showing up."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the morning sun climbing higher, warming the room.
"Your mother wants to meet her," Dad says casually, though there's nothing casual about it. "She's been asking why you haven't brought anyone to family dinner in three years."
