Chapter Twelve
Bella
Vermont
It was absurd to let someone else handle my movements, but logic had won out over my need for control. After the diner, I drove back to New York to pack while he headed for Boston to do the same.
We were in the air by late afternoon. I’d expected a new-money flex—something with too much gold trim and a logo the size of a billboard.
But Drew didn’t do theater. His company plane was utilitarian: brushed steel, dark leather, high-speed Wi-Fi.
It was a tool designed for work, not a trophy for vanity.
Oddly, that made it easier to trust him with the transport. It allowed me the quiet I needed to clear my schedule with Elena and pretend I was just a passenger and not a woman chasing a fire.
When the plane touched down at the small private airport tucked against the Vermont peaks, the sun was already beginning its slow slide toward the mountains.
By the time we reached the resort, my nerves were a jagged mess. Drew, sensing the atmospheric pressure of my anxiety, guided me to a lounge.
We were seated behind a massive, architectural fern in an elevated gallery, looking down onto the main lobby. It was the perfect spy’s perch. High enough to see everything, hidden enough to pretend we weren’t doing exactly what we were doing.
Below us, a sprawling stone fireplace acted as the heart of the room. People drifted in and out of its orbit like moths drawn to warm light.
“Drink,” Drew said, sliding a martini toward me. “If you don’t relax, your anxiety is going to walk down there and introduce itself.”
“I am not anxious,” I said, though my fingers were already tracing the condensation ring on the table nervously.
Drew’s mouth twitched. He knew.
I stared at the martini. Clear. Elegant. Dangerous. A drink that pretended it was harmless by arriving in a pretty glass. The first one went down like a necessity and made me lightheaded. I hadn’t eaten since the diner, but now that we were here, my nerves required the gin. I ordered a second.
Drew leaned back in his chair with an ease that didn’t fit the situation.
I took long sip. The second martini went down like a mistake I was going to pretend I’d made on purpose. Somewhere between the second and third, the edges of the room went soft and fuzzy, and I finally began to relax.
“Look,” Drew whispered, leaning into my space.
Below, a group of students spilled into the firelight. I saw Brady first. My chest loosened on instinct as I scanned their hands before their faces.
He looked happy. He was laughing, animatedly describing something to Nora and a few others. Stace, Chris, and Theo, if Drew’s intel was right. They clustered around the fireplace looking like they didn’t have a care in the world.
“No drinks,” I murmured, my voice sounding farther away than usual. “They’re just laughing. Like this is normal.”
Drew’s gaze stayed on the lobby. He watched Brady for a long beat, his expression unreadable. “For them it might be,” he said at last, as if the thought surprised him. He glanced at me. “By their age, I was already working at my father’s company.”
“Me too,” I said.
The words settled between us, quiet and strange. Oddly similar.
We’d never been their age.
I huffed, the sound dangerously close to a giggle. “Sloane and Jax would find this hilarious. Me, the professional fixer, getting buzzed while stalking my baby brother.”
Drew’s brows rose. “Jax . . . as in Jax from Firebrook Valley?”
“The very same,” I said, making a vague gesture that felt graceful in my head and probably wasn’t. “She’s an amazing metal sculptor in the city now. And one of my best friends.”
“I’d heard she was doing well,” Drew said, his voice dropping into a register that made my skin itch in the best way.
“It’s always nice to see someone from Firebrook Valley get out and do well.
” He paused, like he hadn’t meant to add the next part.
“It’s hard to picture the two of you being friends. ”
“She’s brilliant,” I insisted, leaning closer before I could stop myself. Close enough to smell him—sharp and clean and unmistakably male. Coming here was a bad idea. What am I doing?
“From what I remember of her work, I agree.” He gave me a long look. “Still, I’m wondering what you have in common.”
“You think I’m not brilliant?” It was an incredibly not-like-me thing to ask, and I inwardly cringed.
A slow smile stretched across his lips and his eyes lit with a fire I wasn’t sure I was ready for. “I know you’re brilliant. And beautiful. And brave. And protective of your family. Everything I admire in a person.”
Heat climbed my neck. I pulled back as if I’d touched a live wire. “We’re not having sex,” I announced, pointing a finger at his chest. “Not on this trip. Not ever.”
Drew blinked once. Then he laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated straight through me. “Bella,” he said, amused, “I got a house with ten bedrooms. I’m fully aware of your boundaries.”
Between gritted teeth, I said, “Don’t mock me.”
Drew’s eyes dragged over my face, slow enough to feel like a caress. “There’s a difference between enjoying someone and mocking them. Sometimes you say things that make me laugh, but that doesn’t mean I’m laughing at you.”
With my proclamation that we were not going to have sex echoing in my head, the difference felt negligible. “And I wasn’t fishing for empty compliments.”
“And I don’t say anything I don’t mean.” He tipped his head to the side. “I like you, Bella. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” I whispered, and even I could hear the shift in my voice. The truth leaking through the cracks. “Because I don’t know how I feel about you yet.” I gulped down the rest of my drink.
The silence that followed was thick with static. He didn’t pounce. He didn’t push. He just watched me.
Below, Nora and the others began to peel away, drifting toward the elevators. They were still laughing. Still not touching in any obvious way. Still not giving me anything to worry about.
Brady said something that made Nora shove him lightly, and she laughed. Bright. Easy. Then they were gone.
“Time to go,” Drew said. He stood first, then offered me his arm.
I tried to rise with my usual Holliston grace, but my knees decided they were jelly. I wobbled, and Drew’s hand was there instantly, catching my waist.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly.
Those words. They echoed in the hollow parts of me, reminding me of the warehouse. The mist. The strange yearning I’d been trying to drown in root beer barrels and spreadsheets.
“I don’t need your help,” I grumbled, even as I clung to him.
“I know,” he said, his voice amused and tender. “But you’re a little wobbly. For the next hundred feet, just lean on me.”
It was probably the alcohol loosening my tongue, but I said, “To do that, I’d have to trust you wouldn’t let me fall.”
His breath hitched like he hadn’t expected that. “We’ll get there,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. I didn’t know if he meant across the room or to a place where I could trust him. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask.
We slipped out through the back exit and into the waiting car.
The rental house was a mountain fortress of wood and glass, tucked into a private slope like it had been carved directly into the landscape.
A concierge met us at the door, ensuring the lights were on and the pantry was stocked before vanishing into the night.
It was the quiet, invisible service of the elite.
Usually, I would have cataloged every detail. Tonight, I only saw Drew.
Inside, the house was vast. Hotel vast. It wasn’t cozy. It was strategic. Space to separate, space to breathe, space to avoid each other if we needed to.
I tried to step away, but the room tilted. Drew’s arm stayed around me, guided by a protective instinct that felt . . . good. Too good.
I looked up at him, my vision slightly blurred, my heart pounding against my ribs. I leaned in, more instinct than decision, fully prepared to be a very memorable mistake.
“Bella,” Drew said.
His voice was low. Rough. He put his hands on my shoulders, firm but gentle, creating space. And for one split second, his grip tightened like he was steadying himself too. “You’ve had a few too many,” he said. “Let’s get you to a room very far away from mine.”
He looked at me with a heat that promised everything and a discipline that gave me nothing. “In the morning,” he said, slower, like he was choosing each word carefully, “when you’re sober . . . if you want to look at me that way again, we’ll talk.”
“I do hate you,” I snapped, because frustration was easier than vulnerability. “Even if anything happened between us it would just be a . . . a . . .”
“Mistake?” he supplied, not at all offended.
“Exactly. No matter how good it was, we’d regret it.”
Drew’s laugh was genuine. Beautiful. “Okay. Well then, I’m glad I’m turning you down.”
My mouth rounded. “I wasn’t offering.”
“Then I’m glad you’re turning me down.”
I wagged a finger at him. “You’d already said no.” I let out a dainty burp. “Not that I offered anything because I didn’t.”
He chuckled as he led me to one of the suites, turned on the lamps, ensured my luggage was there, and poured a glass of water. “Drink,” he ordered, setting two Advil on the nightstand. “Take those.”
“I can take care of myself,” I muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His tone softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll take care of you if I want to. Now drink your water, take the pills, and get into your pajamas.”
“You’re a bossy jerk,” I said as I slipped off my shoes, deeply regretting how quickly I’d downed that last drink. I wasn’t a lightweight, but I usually avoided hard liquor.
He walked over to my luggage, opened it, and pulled out a set of sleep shorts and a shirt. “Do you want help?”
I stood, snatched my clothing from him, and hugged them to me. “No.”
“You should probably use the bathroom before you go to bed.”
Head held high, I walked away and slammed the door of the bathroom behind me and slumped back against it.
Either I was tipsier than I felt or being with him was messing with my ability to think straight.
I took my time changing, washing my face and brushing my teeth, half hoping he’d be gone by the time I came out.
Half hoping he’d still be there.
When I reemerged, he stood by the door of the bedroom. “I’m staying until you’re tucked in.”
“Tucked in?” I mocked, but the words came out sleepy and almost curious. “Like a child?”
“No,” he said, his gaze shifting into something that felt dangerously like affection. “Definitely not like that.”
With as much grace as I could muster, I made my way to the bed, pulled back the comforter, slid beneath it, and pulled it up to my neck.
He crossed the room and ran a hand gently through my hair, a brief, sparking touch that made my breath catch. Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
It wasn’t the kiss I’d imagined. It was the kiss I needed.
“See you in the morning, Bel,” he murmured, then walked back to the door and flipped off the light. The room plunged into darkness.
“Good night,” I grumbled.
His quiet laugh followed him out.
I lay there for a long time, reviewing everything we’d said to each other over the past week.
Each touch in the warehouse. Each look we’d exchanged.
That damn candy he’d sent me. My last thought, right before sleep claimed me with the sudden finality of a shutter closing, was that maybe I didn’t hate Drew.