Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sawyer
By mid-morning the next day, I’ve read the same email four times.
I still couldn’t tell you what it says.
Jordan is sitting across from my desk, walking me through numbers for a potential acquisition, and normally, I’d be interrupting him every thirty seconds with questions.
Instead, I’m staring out the window behind him.
The Manhattan skyline looks the same as it always does. Sharp, ordered, and predictable—exactly the way I like things.
Except my brain refuses to cooperate. Rather than focusing on work, I keep going back to last night—to that restaurant.
The table full of loud voices and overlapping conversations, and the smell of garlic and tomato sauce filling the entire place, and Kayla sitting across from me. Laughing with my sisters like she’d known them for years.
Brooklyn asking her questions about writing. Hudson leaning over to make some dry comment that made her laugh again. Even my father watching the two of us like he was trying to figure something out.
I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d sat at that table. And somehow, Kayla had walked into that room like she belonged there.
Which was … unsettling.
For the first time in a long time, sitting there didn’t feel like being dragged back into something I’d spent years distancing myself from.
For a few minutes, it almost felt … normal. Then Dad mentioned Tony.
My jaw tightens slightly at the memory.
Just hearing his name was enough to send everything in my head spiraling again.
The noise of the restaurant fading into the background. That familiar pressure building in my chest.
The one that usually means I should leave before the memories start pushing their way in.
Except, this time, I didn’t leave. This time, I had something else waiting for me.
Kayla.
The thought sends a strange, restless energy through my body
The second we got home, everything that had been building all night snapped.
The kiss … the way she looked at me like she knew exactly what she was doing.
She always manages to pull me out of my own head before things get too far.
For the first time in years, the memories didn’t follow me into the night.
Jordan clears his throat. “Do you want me to keep going?”
I blink rapidly. Right … work.
“Yeah,” I say, sitting up straighter.
He starts explaining something about projected revenue again.
I try to focus, but another memory cuts through the numbers.
Kayla’s face last night. Not during the sex.
After.
When she realized I wanted her to leave the bed.
I shift slightly in my chair.
That look stuck with me.
Confusion, mixed with a flicker of hurt she tried to hide. The kind of reaction I’d seen a hundred times before.
Women don’t like being asked to leave, which is why I normally avoid the conversation entirely and end up at their place. And if I had to ask them to leave my hotel room, I never brought them home. I never lost sleep over it.
Not once … until now.
Jordan stops talking. “You’re not listening again.”
“I am.”
“You’re definitely not.”
I exhale slowly. “Reschedule the meeting with Klein.”
Jordan stares at me. “You’ve been waiting three weeks for that meeting.”
“I know.”
He studies me for a second, then nods slowly. “All right.”
When he leaves the office, the silence settles in again.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.
There’s a question sitting in the back of my mind that I can’t seem to shake.
Why does it bother me now?
Kayla knew what this was. We never pretended it was anything else.
And yet the look on her face when she slipped out of the bed last night keeps replaying in my head.
A wave of something uncomfortable settles in the pit of my stomach
Guilt.
Followed immediately by something worse.
Shame.
I drag a hand down my face. The truth is simple.
For years, I’ve made sure no one stays long enough to see the nights.
No one close enough to ask questions or hear the things that still drag me out of sleep. But Kayla is already closer than anyone has been in a long time.
And if she keeps looking at me the way she did last night, eventually, she’s going to start asking questions.
Questions I’ve spent most of my life making sure no one asks.
* * *
By the time I leave the office, the sky over Manhattan has already started to darken. Traffic crawls through Midtown while I sit behind the wheel, barely paying attention to the road.
My phone lights up on the dashboard. Cole’s name flashing across the screen.
I consider letting it go to voicemail but decide to answer. “What?”
Cole snorts immediately. “Good to hear from you too.”
“I’m driving.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
A few seconds of silence stretch between us before he speaks again.
“You didn’t stay your usual amount of time last night.”
“I stayed for two hours.”
“You usually stay for thirty minutes.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Congratulations. You’re tracking my family attendance now?”
“Someone has to.”
I exhale slowly. “What do you want, Cole?”
His tone shifts slightly from joking to something more serious. “Mom liked Kayla.”
“That’s great.”
“So did Dad.”
Something tightens in my chest. “Good for them.”
“That’s not the point.”
I stop at a red light. The city hums around me.
“What is the point?”
Cole sighs. “The point is, Dad noticed something.”
Of course he did. My father notices everything.
“He said you actually looked like you were enjoying yourself for a while.”
I stare straight ahead at the traffic light. Green. Cars begin moving again.
“That’s a problem?”
“No,” Cole says quietly. “It’s the opposite.”
I don’t respond.
Cole continues, “You know it kills him, right?”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t start.”
“You barely come around anymore, unless it’s the mandatory Sunday dinner.”
“I’m busy.”
“Everyone’s busy.” The frustration in his voice is starting to rise. “You built an entire life outside the family. Outside the restaurant. Outside everything.”
“That was the point.”
“I know,” he says. “But it still hurts him.”
I pull into the garage beneath my building. The engine idles.
“He already went through enough with you walking away from the business.”
The words land heavier than I’d have expected. My father has never said anything like that out loud.
Not once.
Cole lowers his voice. “He thought you’d take over one day.”
“He never said that.”
“He didn’t think he had to.”
Silence fills the car.
Cole finally exhales. “Look, I’m not trying to guilt you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m just saying … last night was the first time in years he’s seen you sit at that table without looking like you wanted to escape.”
I rub my thumb along the steering wheel. “And?”
“And it mattered.”
Another pause, and then Cole adds casually, “And Kayla definitely noticed you freezing up when Uncle Tony came up.”
My stomach tightens. “She didn’t say anything.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Cole says. “People see things, Sawyer.”
I lean my head back against the seat. The garage lights flicker across the windshield.
“Are we done here?”
“Yeah,” Cole says. Then his voice softens slightly. “For what it’s worth … Mom asked if you’re bringing Kayla back next Sunday.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “You’re assuming she’ll still be around.”
Cole chuckles. “Something tells me she will.”
The line goes dead. I sit in the quiet car for another moment before shutting the engine off.
Because the truth is, for the first time in years, I’m not entirely sure I know what I want.
* * *
When I step inside the penthouse, the first thing I hear is soft music. The second thing I see nearly stops me in my tracks.
Kayla is in the middle of the living room floor, balanced on a yoga mat in a position that looks physically impossible.
She’s wearing a sports bra and spandex shorts that leave very little to the imagination, and one leg is hooked behind her while she leans forward, arms stretched out in front of her.
For a second, I forget about the phone call, the restaurant … everything.
A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Well,” I say casually as I walk farther into the room, “this is new.”
Kayla doesn’t move right away. She shifts slightly, adjusting the pose before finally turning her head to look at me through her arms. Her ponytail swings with the motion.
“What’s with the face?” she asks.
I drop onto the couch, stretching my arm across the back like I just discovered the best show in Manhattan.
“I think you’re crazy,” I tell her. “But I’m enjoying the view.”
She snorts, and then she pushes up into another pose, lifting her hips higher as she straightens her legs.
My smile widens. “Especially that part.”
Kayla freezes mid-movement, slowly turning her head again. “You’re unbelievable.”
I shrug. “You’re the one who put your—”
She hops off the mat and marches over before I can finish the sentence, swatting my leg. “Stop staring.”
I catch her wrist before she can pull away. The movement surprises both of us. One second, she’s standing over me, and the next, she’s pulled forward, landing squarely in my lap, straddling me.
For a moment, neither of us moves. My hand is still wrapped around her wrist. Her hair has fallen loose around her shoulders from the yoga poses. And my heartbeat kicks harder than it should.
Her breath catches.
“You did that on purpose,” she says quietly.
I lean back against the couch, studying her. “Maybe.”
Her knees press against my hips. I can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shorts.
And suddenly, the entire room feels a lot smaller.
My thumb slides slowly along the inside of her wrist.
“Careful,” I murmur.
Her eyes flicker to mine. “Why?”
My voice drops. “Because you keep climbing on top of me like that, and eventually, I’m going to stop pretending I have any self-control.”
Her lips part slightly. For a second, neither of us breathes.
She glances down at herself and wrinkles her nose. “I’m sweaty.”
I laugh quietly. That sound alone seems to break the tension.