Like a possibility.
I smile, already hearing Jake's teasing and my mother's thousand questions. But more than that, I'm imagining Avery at our family table, seeing her laugh at Jake's terrible jokes, watching her match wits with my mother, showing her that family can be chosen, can be safe, can be worth the risk.
The driver will be at your place at six,I type.
I can drive myself.
Didn’t doubt it. Just wanted to make sure you actually show up.
A pause, then:I will.
I pull up the family dinner guest list on my phone. Before I can second-guess myself, I add Avery's name.
In fifteen minutes, my phone buzzes. Jake, because of course it is.
Did you add someone to Mom's dinner list?
I type back:Don't make a big deal of it.
Too late. Hope your mystery woman likes Italian.
She's not my woman.
Yet.
I don't respond to that, but Jake's right. Theyethangs there, full of possibility and terror in equal measure. Three years of carefully maintained walls, three years of keeping everyone at professional distance, and Avery Cole walked into my life and made me want to tear them all down.
I finish my scotch and head to my home office, supposedly to work on the Miller acquisition. But really, I spend the next hour thinking about Avery.
My father's words echo:Love isn't about never getting hurt. It's about finding someone worth the risk.
Looking out at the city below, I realize I've already made my choice. Avery Cole is worth the risk.
Chapter four
Avery
Aweek after Oliver showed up at work, I stand outside the Vance family home in Pacific Heights on a Saturday evening, wondering if I’m reading too much into this invitation.
Is it more than professional courtesy? More than friendly interest?
The house rises before me, all warm brick and glowing windows, elegant but somehow inviting in a way that makes my chest tight with longing I don't want to examine. This is Dylan Vance opening a door I'm not sure I'm ready to walk through.
My hands smooth down the front of my dress for the third time. I chose something simple but nice, navy blue that Jessica says brings out my eyes, professional enough to maintain the colleague fiction but soft enough to acknowledge this isn't just a business meeting.
The past week has been an exercise in careful avoidance dressed up as professionalism. I arrived at the office before Dylan, left after him, kept our interactions focused on the Miller acquisition and nothing else. But the tension has been building anyway, crackling in the space between us during meetings,burning where our hands brush when passing documents, thickening the air during those late nights when we're the only ones left on the executive floor.
I check my phone. Five fifty-eight. I could still leave. Could text Dylan with an excuse about sudden illness. Could maintain the walls that keep me safe, but also keep me alone.
My car keys feel heavy in my purse—an escape route I'm already calculating.
Before I can move, the front door opens, and Dylan is there.
"You came," he says, and oh my gosh, that damn gorgeous smile of his.
How could anyone smile so stunningly?
The relief in his voice stops me short. He wasn't sure I would appear. This matters to him in a way that makes my pulse race.
