Chapter Twenty-Four
LUKE
The kiss still breathed through me—mind, body, everything. I could taste her. Even after she tore out of the restaurant’s parking lot, engine screaming, as if it carried the same ache I did.
I followed behind her. Not close. Just enough to see her veer toward the coast.
The studio.
I took the next turn, forcing my hands to stay on the wheel instead of spinning it back around, pretending I hadn’t wanted to chase her down and finish what we started.
It didn’t matter.
But it did, because that kiss was burned into my skin—fast and rough and unforgiving. A hit I didn’t see coming but had taken straight to the chest. And now? I wanted to go after her.
But Elise’s voice echoed in my head: “Power shifts fast, Luke. You know that.” And there was the message from my mom that the family dinner had been moved to tonight. A weekend night. That didn’t happen unless something big was brewing.
And I didn’t believe in coincidence.
My phone buzzed. I didn’t check it. If it was Mila, I didn’t trust myself not to go to her. If it was Elise, I didn’t trust myself not to throw the damn phone into traffic.
The King estate sat perched on the north end of town, where the streets turned into private lanes, and the driveways were long enough to land a plane. Blackwood royalty, people said. They weren’t wrong.
The house came into view—stone and glass and architectural ego. Clean lines. Cold edges. It didn’t matter that I’d grown up there. It always made me feel as if I was visiting.
Inside, the house hummed with tension. Claire’s laugh drifted from the sitting room, too light to be relaxed. Mom’s heels clicked decisively against the hardwood as she entered the dining room with a bottle of red already opened.
“There you are,” she said, handing it to the server. “Decant that. He’s late.”
Not a question. Not a surprise. Just a statement about my father. The man was never early to family dinners. He made a show of walking in last.
Drew stood at the window, his back straight, posture military sharp. His club soda and lime stayed untouched on the credenza. Claire approached him, smoothing the lapel of his jacket lovingly. Her voice was quiet but not private. “You good?”
“Always.” Drew’s eyes remained on the window.
Bullshit. He only said that when things weren’t.
I stepped farther in. Claire looked over at me and smiled—pleasant and too polished, with her stylish dark-blond hair smoothed to perfection and falling just shy of her shoulders.
She did her best to look the part of my family but would never fully fit in with the sharks that we were; she was too nice.
“Luke.” She moved to kiss my cheek. Her perfume was light and expensive, fitting everything else about her.
“Claire.” I nodded but didn’t return the smile.
Dinner was served like a board meeting. Everyone took their seats by habit, not invitation. My mom at one end, my dad’s empty chair still commanding presence at the other. Drew sat beside Claire. I took the spot across from them, my body taut as it always was at these things.
Mom poured the wine then folded her napkin. “Well. Let’s begin.”
Dad entered just then, coat draped over his arm, tie loosened—but deliberate.
He was power incarnate—gray at the temples, sharp lines carved around his eyes, and a presence that made rooms hold their breath.
Mom was his contrast in every visual—blond hair twisted into a perfect French knot, diamonds flashing from ears, throat, fingers.
Pale-pink Chanel sleeveless sheath dress that clung to her like a secret she didn’t want exposed.
“Apologies,” he said. “Lorne needed a few things clarified before our next round of acquisitions.”
I didn’t miss the look Drew sent him. A flicker of something that might’ve been approval or irritation or both flashed across his face.
My father sat. “What’s so urgent it required rescheduling dinner?”
I leaned forward, fingers laced under the table, deciding to take point on this family get-together. “Elise said something concerning.”
My mom set down her fork. “She says a lot of things, dear.”
“She implied Dunn Industries is ready to make a move. Something about alliances. Power shifting. She wasn’t being subtle.”
Drew tilted his head. “She never is. What kind of move?”
“Didn’t say. But she offered security. Protection. Suggested when things go sideways for us, she and her father would be a better alliance.” I didn’t add that it was specifically about me; they could come to their own conclusions there.
My father’s expression didn’t flicker. But his fingers tapped once against his glass before going still. “Interesting.”
My mother’s gaze sharpened. “Sounds rehearsed.”
“It was,” I agreed. “Too clean. Like she’d practiced it.”
“She has,” Claire added smoothly. “As you know, I’m on good terms with several of the faculty at Blackwood academy. One of the advisors overheard Elise on a call last week. She was asking someone if the PR firm her dad uses could be hired on retainer.”
Good terms was one way of putting it. Between donations and discreet favors, half the faculty owed us something. And now I knew how Claire was carving out her place in the game.
“Why would she need PR?” Drew asked.
Claire smiled faintly. “Because she’s planning to attach herself publicly to Luke. She wants the optics lined up.”
My jaw clenched. I looked at my dad. “What’s Dunn Industries doing?”
He considered. “They’ve been buying up permits. Mostly in the south district. Quiet moves. Nothing flashy. But the volume is… notable.”
“Is Lorne involved?” I asked. It seemed if something was going down, he was already in the thick of it. Even though he was a partner, he was more enforcer.
“Not yet,” Dad hedged. “But he’s aware. And keeping Dunn close.”
The door opened then, and Lorne stepped inside as if he’d heard his name. Probably had. The man had a sixth sense for power shifts.
His hair was black with subtle caramel highlights. Tall, with broad shoulders, his presence dwarfed the room in a brutish manner that everyone in his vicinity noted. His custom-tailored suit failed to contain the ruthlessness he wore as a second skin.
He paused at my father’s side, whispering something in his ear. My father nodded once.
Lorne moved to Drew next, clapping a hand on his shoulder in passing. The gesture looked casual. But Drew stilled as if someone had pressed pause on his spine.
I watched that touch, memorized it. That was Lorne’s version of affection. A hand on your shoulder, heavy enough to mean something, light enough to leave you worrying what. I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant Drew had redeemed himself and was moving up in Lorne’s eyes in regard to the company.
Lorne stepped back after the shoulder touch and gave a quick nod toward my father.
“Just wanted to pass along that information, Grant. I’m off to that client dinner,” he addressed to Dad, voice smooth but efficient.
“Eleanor. Always good to see you. I’ll head out—don’t let the first course get cold. ”
No one laughed, but my mom offered a tight smile.
My dad stood long enough to walk him out.
Their voices were low, blurred by the thick walls and heavy doors this house was built for.
When he returned, he paused behind his chair, scanning the table, taking stock—of us, of the silence, of whatever came next.
Then he sat, smooth and unbothered, as if nothing had shifted at all. Dinner resumed.
Discussion swirled around permits and council votes. My mom asked about a gala. Claire responded with a planned guest list and seating charts. Drew stayed mostly silent, which was never a good sign.
My father caught my eye near the end of the meal. “You’re handling Elise?”
“Yes.” It was subtle but permission nonetheless to release me from the constraints of his “be nice to Elise” mandate.
Not that I was following it anyway. I needed to lock things down with the guys soon—tighten the ranks.
Get ahead of whatever storm Dunn was planning to send our way, using his daughter.
His nod was final. “Good.”
Mom didn’t move on so easily. Her gaze flicked to me, intensity flanked by the glint of her diamond earrings. “Speaking of unexpected returns… I heard Mila Callahan is back in town?”
The entire table shifted. Claire froze, caught mid-motion, her wine glass suspended mid-air. A muscle twitching near Drew’s temple. My father had already warned me about Mila. In the silence, he didn’t speak—he just observed, calculating. That was when he was most dangerous.
My mom’s voice was deceptively casual. “You were close to that girl before, weren’t you?”
I didn’t answer right away. That would’ve given too much away. “I’ve seen her around,” I said finally. “We’ve talked.”
“More than once?” she asked, as though she already knew the answer. As if the question were a test.
“Once or twice.” I kept my tone flat.
She nodded, not pleased but not surprised either. “Be careful. Her mother caused… issues, the last time they were in town. That’s why she was fired.”
Claire didn’t look up. Drew’s stare was locked on the plate in front of him. My father’s fingers tapped once then stopped.
“The problem wasn’t just what she did—it was who she did it to. The wrong people remember, Luke. And they don’t forget. Stay away from Mila, she’ll only bring trouble to our doorstep.”
I didn’t ask what she meant. Her tone already told me. This wasn’t a warning—it was a command. And if I didn’t obey, the fallout wouldn’t land on just me. It would hit everyone. That was the promise. And if Mila didn’t see it yet… she would.
But inside, I wasn’t good. Because Mila’s kiss was still there. And while the rest of the table talked about threats and positioning and public perception, all I could think about was the girl who tasted of salt and storm and home.
The one I couldn’t stay away from. And the one I couldn’t afford to chase. Not if I wanted to survive what was coming.