Sixteen
ANGELO
C hristmas arrived a few days later, sooner than Angelo would have liked.
The weight of a million concerns kept him pacing in his office— because CEOs don’t do holidays . His thoughts churned, one after the other.
His father’s cryptic instructions from weeks ago, still too uncomfortable to voice aloud.
The board of directors, who seemed to thrive on naysaying—except, as it turned out, when it came to that fucking merger with Lockwood.
Talon’s call a few days prior, proclaiming he’d finally, finally found something, only for it to turn into yet another dead end. The interruption had cost Angelo a fleeting, precious moment with Allison for nothing.
Allison .
She was the one thought that dominated his mind, eclipsing everything else. Her defiance, the way she held her ground in front of her brother. The way she melted under his touch, her soft whimpers and shaky breaths still haunting him.
How he had trapped the most beautiful woman he knew against her car twice and still failed to kiss her was beyond him.
He exhaled sharply, halting his restless pacing to glance at his phone, which buzzed in his hand. His brows creased at the unknown number flashing on his screen, but he picked up anyway.
“Taylor speaking.”
The voice on the other end made him tense, though his fists, which had involuntarily tightened, relaxed. “This is Johnathan.”
Angelo straightened, wariness threading through his thoughts.
“Johnathan, hey,” he replied, keeping his tone casual, though his mind was already racing. Why was Johnathan calling? And how did he get this number?
From what Angelo knew, Johnathan was preparing to take the reins of Lockwood Inc., but they had only met at the lunch Allison had arranged. Fear prickled at the edge of his consciousness. Had something happened to Allison?
The silence on the other end stretched just long enough to make Angelo’s grip on his phone tighten.
“We need to talk,” Johnathan finally said, his voice firm, controlled. “About Allison.”
Angelo’s stomach twisted. He had braced himself for the worst, but the tension coiled tighter. “What? Is everything okay?” he exclaimed, rushing to where his suit jacket hung on his chair.
“I want to make sure we’re clear,” Johnathan said bluntly, cutting through the rising panic in Angelo’s chest. “She’s my sister, and I’m not going to let anyone mess with her.”
Angelo swallowed, drawing in a slow breath to steady himself and stop the impending heart attack. “I get that. Believe me, I don’t want to hurt her either.”
Johnathan was silent for a beat, and when he spoke again, there was a slight softening in his tone, though it still held an edge. “This isn’t where any of us thought we’d be, but here we are. I’m trying to wrap my head around it, and I’m sure you are too. We need to figure out how to make this work, for her sake.”
Angelo nodded, even though he knew Johnathan couldn’t see him. He appreciated the directness, uncomfortable as it was. “I agree. Whatever it takes.”
Johnathan seemed to weigh this, his tone cooling just a fraction. “How about we meet up for coffee? To talk things out. Maybe if we clear the air, it’ll make things easier for all of us.”
Angelo hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. When and where?”
“Next Wednesday, 10 a.m. at the café near your office,” Johnathan said, the decision already made.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” Angelo agreed. “And, Johnathan… thanks for reaching out.”
There was a pause, and when Johnathan spoke again, his voice was more neutral, acknowledging a temporary truce. “Just doing what’s best for her. See you tomorrow.”
The line went dead, leaving Angelo standing in the middle of his office, hand still outstretched towards his jacket, tension buzzing through his veins. The meeting wouldn’t be easy, but if it was for Allison, he’d face it head-on.
It wasn’t until the night of New Year’s Eve that Angelo realized his meeting with Johnathan was scheduled for New Year’s Day.
He had spent the entire day at the office, despite having cleared it out so everyone could spend time with their families over the holidays. He buried himself in paperwork, juggling between signing contracts and checking his phone, hoping for a message from either Talon or Allison.
But his thoughts kept circling back to that one insane, irrational idea he’d had weeks ago: moving in with Allison. He couldn’t shake it, constantly imagining how much easier it would be to ensure her well-being if they were living together.
And then, more sinful thoughts flashed through his mind—the thought of being close enough to touch her soft skin whenever he wanted, to breathe in that tantalizing scent that was driving him crazy.
Then his dick would wake up, he’d curse himself for the thoughts and dive back into work—only to check his phone again minutes later. It was a torturous, never-ending cycle, but he didn’t even try to break it. There was no point.
Allison consumed his entire being.
I really wish I could have kissed her when the fireworks went off.
New Year’s Day arrived, despite Angelo wishing otherwise. He had reluctantly donned his best black sweater—because, as much as he preferred his usual shirts, even he had to admit it was sweater weather—and paired it with matching slacks. All for this stupid coffee meeting with Johnathan.
Okay, not stupid , he corrected himself. The man had a point, after all.
Angelo scoffed at his own thoughts, glancing at his watch with a practiced motion. Sure enough, Johnathan Green Lockwood—he had learned the middle name from Allison—was officially ten minutes late.
He exhaled loudly, wiping at some imaginary lint on his pants, just as the door swung open, ushering in a rush of cold air and, finally, the man of the hour.
It didn’t take long for Johnathan to spot him—Angelo’s all-black attire stood out like a sore thumb amidst the explosion of Christmas cheer that filled the café. It wasn’t that Angelo had anything against the holiday itself; it was the crowds and the excessive colors that irked him. And Christmas, unfortunately, was the season for both of his pet peeves.
A couple of minutes later, Johnathan settled into the chair across from him, having ordered his drink at the counter. Angelo watched him, half-expecting the man to come back with something absurdly sweet.
Probably a caramel mocha or something equally offensive to the concept of coffee , Angelo thought with a smirk. In contrast, his own drink was a double espresso. Black. Straight to the point, just like he preferred.
“You’re late,” Angelo said flatly as Johnathan sat down.
Johnathan shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. “Traffic,” was all he offered in response, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of his chair.
Angelo hummed noncommittally, and the silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. The awkwardness was palpable, so much so that Angelo could almost feel the eyes of the other patrons on them.
“Well,” Johnathan began after a beat, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them, “happy New Year, I guess?”
Angelo quirked an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is it?”
Johnathan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, fair point. Not exactly the most festive start, huh?”
“You could say that,” Angelo replied, taking a sip of his espresso. The bitterness was welcome, grounding him in the midst of the awkward tension. “But we’re here. Let’s get this over with.”
“Always the optimist,” Johnathan shot back, but there was a hint of a grin on his face. He took a sip of his own drink—Angelo was mildly surprised to see that it was just a regular coffee, no caramel or whipped cream in sight.
The conversation faltered again, and for a moment, they both just stared at each other, as if trying to figure out what to say next. The silence was almost comical, the two of them looking like they were engaged in some kind of high-stakes staring contest.
Angelo was struck by how much Johnathan resembled Allison. Their eyes and hair weren’t exactly the same shade, but close enough to be noticeable. Their noses and face shapes were nearly identical, subtle reflections of one another. But what stood out most was the air of confidence Johnathan exuded—the same quiet assurance that Allison had, as if both of them were certain they could command a room with just their presence.
Angelo hadn’t noticed it before—probably because the similarities were so subtle, and because he’d been too preoccupied with either glaring at Johnathan or being completely absorbed in admiring Allison.
At the memory of their lunch together, Angelo finally broke the silence. “Look, Johnathan, I’m not exactly the best at… this.” He gestured vaguely between them. “Talking, getting along, whatever this is supposed to be.”
Johnathan snorted. “No kidding. But you’re trying, right?”
Angelo nodded. “I am. For Allison.”
Johnathan’s expression softened at that, and he took another sip of his coffee before speaking. “Same here. She means the world to me, and I don’t want to mess things up for her. If that means sitting here with you and trying to figure out how to be civil, then so be it.”
Angelo couldn’t help but appreciate the man’s straightforwardness. It was refreshing, even if it was wrapped in awkwardness. “I can respect that,” he said, nodding slightly.
“Good,” Johnathan replied, a bit more relaxed now. “Because whether we like it or not, we’re in this together. So, how about we call a truce? At least until the next awkward family gathering.”
Angelo actually chuckled at that, surprising himself. “Deal. But if you show up late again, I’m ordering you a caramel mocha. With extra whipped cream.”
Johnathan laughed, the tension between them finally starting to ease. “Now that’s just cruel.”
For the first time, Angelo allowed himself to relax, feeling the beginning of something that might, with time, actually resemble friendship. It was awkward, sure, but it was a start. And for Allison’s sake, that was good enough.
For the next few weeks, all Angelo could think was: What the fuck was I thinking?
He spent countless hours cursing himself, tossing and turning in bed, or pacing in his office—his new favorite pastime—haunted by the memory of that absolutely horrifying phone call with Allison.
He had tried to push it to the back of his mind, burying his head in the sand and refusing to let his thoughts wander. But now, as he prepared to pick Allison up from her house, the memory of that night came rushing back, replaying in his mind like a recurring nightmare.
The whole experience had been mortifying. He’d rambled about how inappropriate his behavior had been, which only made him feel like he was losing control—a sensation he couldn’t handle, whether inside or outside the boardroom. In his frustration, he’d acted like a growling, petulant puppy, and, to top it off, he’d actually uttered the phrase, “good girl”—to the mother of his child.
What the fuck was I thinking?
No wonder she hung up without saying goodbye.
Angelo huffed as he buttoned his perfectly ironed black shirt. He was putting on his brave face, determined to look composed no matter the turmoil in his mind, as if appearance alone might somehow redeem him from his humiliation.
It wasn’t so much the phrase itself that bothered him. In fact, he’d actually liked it and had used it during their one night together. He couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that filled him whenever he imagined Allison on her knees, taking him in her mouth while he showered her with compliments and praise.
What troubled him was the context in which he’d used it—how completely out of place and inappropriate it had been in that moment. And the fact that she wasn’t even his. He’d just thrown that at her with no warning, no permission—just his horny self, thinking with the smaller of his two heads.
Christ, I’m not going to survive this.
Angelo sighed, checking himself in the mirror one last time and decided his appearance was satisfactory.
It was time to face the music.
Thirty minutes later, Angelo found himself parked outside an impressive apartment building. As he texted Allison to let her know he had arrived, he debated how best to wait for her.
Inside or outside of the car?
Maybe leaning against it? Not that’s too cocky.
Just standing? Too stiff.
On the hood is out of the question.
Inside it is.
He noticed the glass doors opening out of the corner of his eye and turned instinctively. His breath was taken away, as it always was when he saw her.
Allison emerged dressed comfortably in black leggings, a pink sweater dress, and knee-high boots. Her hair flowed loosely down her back, with half of it tied up, framing her heart-shaped face. A thick coat draped over her shoulders, and she carried a pink bag—naturally.
She was so breathtakingly gorgeous that Angelo had to remind himself she was real.
It took tremendous effort to look away before she opened the passenger door, and he exhaled slowly, only to quickly suck in his breath again as he felt the effects of watching Allison’s little catwalk.
“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” she said as she slid into the car.
Angelo rolled his eyes at her insistence, even after all these weeks. “Good morning to you too, Pinkie.” His voice was deeper than he intended, still affected by the private show.
Allison blushed furiously, looking suddenly bashful, and Angelo found himself wanting to see more of that pretty pink on her cheeks. She was like a walking embodiment of the color.
“I’m sorry,” she said, fastening her seatbelt, which accentuated her small bump. “That was unnecessarily rude. I think the pregnancy hormones are starting to get to me. This nausea is really kicking my ass.”
Angelo offered a sympathetic smile, secretly savoring the fact that she had shared that detail with him. It made him feel more involved, as if he were genuinely part of the experience rather than just a bystander.
He started the car, the engine purring and filling him with a satisfying sense of control. There was something deeply gratifying about driving—the way a slight adjustment of the gas pedal could change his speed, or how the engine roared as he cruised down an open highway. It was a perfect blend of freedom and mastery.
In short, he loved cars.
“I’m just teasing, sweet girl. Hopefully, the sickness will pass soon.”
She blushed furiously, and he found himself curious about just how far down that lovely red hue traveled.
Get your head out of the gutter, Angelo.
She cleared her throat softly, then admitted, “I’m nervous.”
The confession pulled him out of his tangled thoughts. He grew concerned that his behavior might be making her uncomfortable—something he definitely didn’t want. He was about to launch into another apology ramble when she spoke again.
“What if the baby isn’t okay?” Allison asked, her voice almost swallowed by the hum of Seattle’s morning bustle.
He understood the deeper meaning behind her question— ‘What if I did something wrong?’
Without thinking, he moved his hand from the gear shift and reached for hers, resting on her thigh. A sense of calm settled over him as he gently squeezed her smaller fingers with his.
“The baby will be just fine, Allison,” he said softly. “You’ve done everything right.”
She seemed to draw strength from his words—or from his touch. It didn’t matter which. What mattered was that the anxious look had faded from her face and she had stopped nibbling on her lower lip.
He kept his hand on hers for the rest of the ride.
She didn’t pull away either.