Chapter 13 Tessa #2
I wanted to tell him that Blake was right, that I had been overstepping, that I'd been harboring feelings that had no place in our professional relationship. Instead, I found myself saying, "Have you eaten anything today?"
He looked surprised by the question. "What?"
"Food. Actual sustenance beyond coffee and the snack during your meeting." I could see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, the way constant pressure had carved itself into his features. "You look like you're running on caffeine."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the first genuine expression I'd seen from him all afternoon. "Are you taking care of me, Miss Wynn?"
The question sent heat racing through my veins, but I forced myself to keep things light. "Someone has to. Your son clearly isn't volunteering for the position."
"No," Lucian said quietly, and the pain in his voice made my chest ache. "He's not."
I recognized the look on his face—it was deep and personal. It was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
"There's a steakhouse on Madison," he said. "It's the least I can do." He waited, watching my face, and I knew I should say no. "Would you join me?" he finally asked. "I could use the company."
Everything in me told me to say no, but the vulnerable look on his face coupled with the relief I felt that he wasn’t taking Blake's side on this pushed a mental button I couldn’t ignore.
"All right," I said. "But I'm paying for my own meal."
The faintest smile curved his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He offered me his arm as we left the building, and I accepted because refusing would have felt petty after everything.
The driver was waiting, and neither of us spoke during the short ride downtown. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, only weighted, the kind that followed tense moments like we'd shared.
The steakhouse on Madison was polished and understated, paneled walls lined with bottles of wine and the steady clink of cutlery carrying across the room.
A low fire burned at the far end, more for atmosphere than heat. Lucian slid into the booth across from me, shoulders tense beneath his dark suit, his eyes shadowed in a way I rarely saw at the office.
“I need to say this while I can,” he said after the waiter poured our wine and disappeared.
His tone was stripped bare, absent of the authority that usually carried every word.
“Blake shouldn’t have treated you like that.
But worse than that, he shouldn’t have felt like he had to fight me for attention in the first place. ”
He let the words fall, and for a moment neither of us spoke. I didn't know what to say so I stayed quiet until he continued.
“When they were children, I thought giving them everything was enough. Private schools, travel, anything money could buy. But it was me they needed. I wasn’t there.
I was at the office, in meetings, signing deals while they were growing up without a father.
And now?” His jaw tightened. “Now I see them grown, bitter, and I wonder if I’ve failed at the only role that should have mattered. ”
The confession unraveled something inside me. This man, who walked into every boardroom like he owned the ground beneath his feet, looked completely undone at a small steakhouse table.
“You didn’t fail them,” I said carefully. “But maybe they don’t know how to believe you care, because it’s always been tied to what you can buy. They don’t need another vacation or a bigger trust fund. They need you to ask about their lives and listen, just… be their father.”
His gaze lifted to mine, searching. “You make it sound easy.”
“It isn’t easy,” I admitted. “But it’s simple. Show up for them. Even if they push back, even if they don’t give you what you want in return. At least they’ll see you’re trying.”
The food arrived, but he didn’t look down. He stayed fixed on me, his regret etched in every line of his face. “If I could go back, I’d do everything differently. I’d be there for the games, the late-night calls, the small moments. I hate knowing I can’t undo what’s been done.”
“You can’t go back,” I said softly, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “But you can start now.”
It was the truth, and it hurt to say it. Because the tenderness in his eyes, the way he listened to me as though my words mattered, only reminded me that my place in his life could never be more than this.
A colleague. An employee.
Not the woman who cared too much.
I blinked hard against the sting in my eyes, fighting to keep my voice steady.
It felt like I was speaking out of place, but impulse pushed the words free. “Maybe Blake lashes out because he needs to feel important to you. What if you gave him a real project at the company—something meaningful, not just busy work?”
Lucian stopped, watching me in the glow of the overhead lights. Respect settled into his expression and his shoulders relaxed. “You know,” he said, voice low, “you might be the only person who’s given me practical advice about my children in years.”
His words stayed with me as we both took our first bites, and I wondered if I had just given him a reason to choose his children over me, and the thought tore my heart up.
If Lucian chose his children, that was a good thing, right? I should be encouraging that.
So why did it feel like I was telling him to forget about me? And why was my heart acting like I had any right to stake a claim on him?