2. Reece
Reece
I t's been a long day. A really fucking long day. I didn't come here to be noticed. Didn't come to socialize or talk or drink anything that wasn't strong enough to cut through the headache that's been building since noon.
I came because this place is quiet, anonymous, and comfortably tucked away from the rest of my life. A bar that feels more like an afterthought than a destination. Perfect for a man who doesn't want to be seen.
But then I see her.
I don't register it at first. Just a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision, a laugh that rises above the hum of conversation. Blond hair, slightly familiar posture. I catch her looking at me first, but I don’t think she realizes that I see her.
She’s focused on whatever her friend is saying, allowing me a few seconds to take her in between her stolen glances my way.
Her long hair is pulled back, exposing a long slender neck that disappears beneath a hoodie. She leans slightly forward on her stool, just enough that I drop my eyes and catch the curve of the underside of her ass in those skintight leggings she’s wearing.
I turn away, reminding myself that I don’t have time for stuff like this, especially not when I’m pretty damn confident she’s probably far too young for me. I bring my glass to my lips and take another long sip before glancing back over toward her one last time.
She’s still facing away from me, leaning over the table as she whispers something to her friend, but then she turns her head and I catch her profile. And I know exactly who it is.
It can’t be.
I glance away, then back toward her because there’s no way in hell I was just admiring the delicious curve of my son’s ex-girlfriend’s ass. But it is… it’s her.
Skye fucking Rhodes.
I haven't seen her in probably a decade, but I remember her.
The girl Archer dated in high school and into college.
Bright-eyed, quick-tongued. Always had something to say and rarely hesitated to say it.
I remember her showing up at the house with a crooked smile and bare face, her confidence bigger than the quiet rooms she stepped into.
I remember the way Archer used to look at her and talk about her.
She was just a kid back then. Sixteen the first time they came home from school together.
Always polite. Always quick with a joke.
I never knew her well. Hell, I was rarely home enough to try, but she was a presence.
Someone I noticed in the way a father notices the people orbiting his son, hoping he’s making the right choices and surrounding himself with people who would uplift him.
When she stands up and starts walking toward me, drink in hand, I tell myself I'm imagining it. That she's not actually headed my way. Until she stops beside me.
"Hey, Mr. Blackwood."
The corner of my mouth lifts and I’m pleasantly surprised she even remembers me. Her voice is softer than I remember, more mature, but still edged with that lightness I always associated with her.
There's a beat of silence before I gesture to the bar. "Can I buy you a drink?"
The words come out more casual than they should, and the second they're spoken, I feel it. The weight of them. The shift beneath the surface. I regret it almost instantly.
She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes flick to the table where she'd been sitting, then back to me. "I-I'm here with a friend. Maya."
She glances over her shoulder again, and I follow her line of sight to the woman watching us from across the room. "She sort of pointed you out like a casting call.”
“I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Really?” She blushes, looking down at her feet. “I wasn’t sure at first, but when I saw your profile, I recognized you immediately.”
“And what gave me away?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious.
She blushes again, darker this time, and the warmth that’s settled in my chest from the bourbon gently spreads down my stomach.
“I— Maya told me I'd be an idiot if I didn't come say hi."
I nod once, noticing how she ignored my question. "And you agreed?"
"Eventually. First, I said no. Then yes. Then no again. Then she started making faces and motioning dramatically across the table like I was going to miss my one shot at something scandalous."
That pulls a low laugh from me even though her cheeks are now so red she looks like she just ran around the block half a dozen times. She clearly didn’t mean to say that last part or maybe she did and I’m just taking it the wrong way. "Sounds persistent."
"She's relentless. And kind of terrifying."
I gesture toward her drink. "So how many of those did it take to wear you down?"
"Two vodka cranberries, a crappy week, and one minor existential crisis."
My brows lift. "That bad?"
She gives a one-shouldered shrug accompanied by a tight little smile that doesn't quite land. "I got laid off. And dumped. Within a few weeks of each other. So, you know. Big month for me."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. And I mean it.
"It's fine. I'm fine." She waves a hand, brushing it all away like it's nothing. "Embracing the chaos. Making reckless choices. Reintroducing myself to ghosts from my past."
The music overhead suddenly feels too loud, the bass line thumping with a rhythm that catches my attention. It's unfamiliar, but there's something hypnotic about it. Something that makes the air between us feel heavier.
"Good beat," I say, nodding toward the speakers, mostly to fill the silence that's suddenly stretched too long between us.
Her eyes widen slightly, and she lets out a small laugh. "Oh, that's 'Love on the Brain' by Rihanna. I was just telling Maya I've been hearing it everywhere lately." She pauses, her cheeks flushing pink. "Sorry, that was random. I'm being nervous—er, I’m nervous."
I watch the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers fidget with her glass. "You don't seem nervous."
"I'm an excellent actress when the situation calls for it."
I nod toward the empty stool beside me. "Well, I apologize if I’m making you nervous. If you're in the mood to keep making questionable decisions, feel free to sit."
She arches an eyebrow, considering, then lowers herself into the seat. "That depends. You planning to bite?"
"Not unless provoked."
She smirks. "No promises."
I shake my head, lips twitching despite the fact that this suddenly feels laden with innuendo. "Still quick with the comebacks."
"Still avoiding my feelings with humor. Some things never change."
There's a moment of silence between us, then she exhales and glances down into her glass. "Sorry. I think I've had too much. I'm talking too much. I should probably shut up."
"You're fine," I say. And I mean that too.
She lifts her eyes to mine. "It's really good to see you again, Reece."
The way she says my name knocks something loose, but I shove it down.
She shifts in her seat and crosses her legs, and my gaze falls for just a second too long.
The leggings are plain black, nothing remarkable—but the way they hug her thighs is unmistakable.
The kind of thing any man with working eyes would notice.
But I'm not just any man and I sure as shit shouldn’t be noticing anything about her.
I drag my eyes back to her face, my jaw tightening.
Jesus. What the hell am I doing?
This is Skye. My son's ex-girlfriend. A girl I last saw in high school hallways and family photos. It doesn't matter that she's not a girl anymore. It doesn't matter that we're in a bar and she walked over to me. I know better than to entertain whatever stray thought just flickered through my head.
I reach for my drink, sip slow, and keep my voice level.
"You too," I say quietly.
And I hold her gaze. Just long enough to feel the shift. Just short enough not to make it obvious. Even though I know I shouldn't.
She clears her throat softly, fingers toying with her glass. "Well… I should probably get back to Maya before she starts a search party. Or decides to come over here and embarrass me in front of the guy she swears is giving alpha billionaire in hiding energy."
I huff a quiet laugh. "Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?"
She stands slowly, the moment stretching between us, a thin thread of something I don't have the right to name.
"It was good seeing you, Reece," she says again, more tentative this time.
"You too, Skye."
I watch her retreat to her table, where her friend immediately leans in, whispering something that makes Skye roll her eyes and laugh. I turn back to my drink, the last swallow of bourbon untouched, warming in my palm.
I sit for another few minutes, listening to the soft clink of ice, the muted rumble of conversation. I tell myself to get up. To let it go. But my hand drifts to the inside pocket of my blazer anyway.
I pull out a business card. Matte black. Clean gold lettering.
I shouldn't. She's my son's ex. This is wildly inappropriate. She's vulnerable. On edge. Probably still reeling. But I need a temp.
My assistant Leann goes on maternity leave any minute, and I’ve done shit to go through the stack of résumés on my desk. Skye's sharp. Quick. She was always smart. And she's not a stranger, not really.
I don't let myself overthink it. I down the last of my drink, slide a tip beneath the glass, and push to my feet.
She sees me approaching before I speak. Her eyes widen slightly, lips parting like she doesn't know what I could possibly have left to say.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” I nod toward Skye. “But you want to hear something funny?”
“Sure,” she says, eyes curiously wide.
“My assistant is about to head out on maternity leave for the next four months or so and I figured I might as well take the opportunity.” I hand her the card. Her fingers brush mine, and we both hesitate. Just a second. Just long enough to notice.
"I've been interviewing temps to cover while she's out. No one's been the right fit," I lie, keeping my voice even and professional.
She glances down at the card, then back at me. “You’re a billionaire and your assistant only gets four months off for maternity leave?”
“Skye.” Maya elbows her but she doesn’t seem fazed.
“What? It’s an honest question.”
“You’re right,” I reply, noticing that sharp tongue of hers still working overtime. “And I agree. I offered Leann the entire year off if she wanted it, fully paid, but she loves her job and I make sure I pay her enough that her husband is able to stay home full-time with their children.”
“Oh, that’s amazing.” She blinks, still processing. "So are you… offering me a job?"
"I am," I say simply. "Temporary, full-time, but with competitive pay and full benefits. Mostly calendar management, travel coordination, and client meetings. It's demanding, but it's straightforward. You said you're between jobs and I could really use someone capable."
Her mouth opens, then closes again. I can see the disbelief in her eyes. The question of whether I'm serious.
"Actually—" I say, and without thinking, I take the card back from her hand. The contact is brief but electric. I reach into the inside pocket of my blazer, pull out a pen, uncap it, and scrawl my personal cell number on the back of the card.
"There," I say as I hand it back, watching the way her eyes track the movement. "Now you don't have to go through anyone else."
She takes it with both hands this time, her gaze flicking to the number, then back to me.
"Give me a call," I whisper, just low enough for her to hear. Then I wink—quick, subtle, and probably a mistake.
Her fingers curl around the card, still clearly stunned. "Okay. Um… thank you."
I give a small nod, then glance once more at her friend, who's gaping like she's just witnessed a plot twist in a movie, and turn to leave. I make it to the door before I feel her eyes on me again, but I don't look back.