26. Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Six
Annie
The grand staircase is quiet as the three of us ascend, conversation from the gala fading behind us with each step.
I glance at Cole, still mildly shocked that he actually left his party to come say goodnight to Robbie. I never expected that from him.
If someone had told me weeks ago that Cole Wagner, the man known for his cold efficiency and cutthroat business sense, would voluntarily step away from an event filled with powerful investors just to put his son to bed, I wouldn’t have believed them.
But here he is, walking beside me, his usual composed expression softened in the glow of the hallway sconces.
He made a promise, and he’s sticking to it.
And I have to admit that I’m surprised and impressed.
Robbie, still groggy from nearly falling asleep downstairs, drags his feet, his small tuxedo slightly wrinkled from the long night. He rubs at his eyes, his tiny fingers curling around my hand for support as he yawns.
It’s barely past nine, but later than he usually stays up .
“Tired, buddy?” I ask, squeezing his hand.
He nods sleepily. “Mmm-hmm.”
Cole watches him for a moment before shaking his head with a faint sigh. “Come here,” he says, and before Robbie can protest, Cole scoops him up effortlessly, settling him against his chest.
Robbie immediately curls into him, his face resting on Cole’s shoulder, completely trusting. The sight tugs at something deep inside me, something I don’t quite have words for.
I’ve spent weeks watching him try. Really try.
And it’s working.
Robbie buries his face in Cole’s shoulder, one arm loosely wrapping around his father’s neck.
I follow as Cole carries him the rest of the way to his room, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. As much as I try not to stare, I can’t help but watch them together, and my thoughts wander back to earlier in the night.
I’d seen Cole talking to Philip Langford and his wife, Abigail. To anyone else, he probably looked completely at ease, but he hadn’t been.
He was miserable.
He had worn the perfect mask—calm, composed, charming when necessary—but I was starting to recognize the small signs of his discomfort .
The slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked toward the exit every now and then, as if he were unconsciously looking for a way out. The subtle stiffness in his posture.
If I hadn’t spent so much time with him lately, I might not have realized it.
It surprises me that a man as powerful as Cole—someone who built an empire, who thrives under pressure—would hate social events so much.
The social pages were filled with photos of him at galas, business parties, exclusive gatherings. Always with a gorgeous woman on his arm—some model or actress who knew just the right thing to say and when to laugh.
But the man I saw tonight? He didn’t enjoy entertaining.
Why does he do it, then?
A man with his wealth could retire today and never work another day in his life. He didn’t need to impress anyone. So why does he keep putting himself through things like this?
Before I can get lost in that thought, a wave of nausea rolls over me, sudden and unexpected.
I press a hand to my stomach, grimacing. Maybe eating half the hors d’oeuvres at the party wasn’t my brightest idea.
Cole notices. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Yeah. I may have underestimated to the Langfords just how many hors d’oeuvres I ate.”
His lips twitch in amusement, but he doesn’t push.
By the time we reach Robbie’s room, the nausea has settled, though I make a mental note to avoid any more rich appetizers for the rest of the night.
The only light in Robbie’s room is his nightlight casting gentle shadows across the walls.
“Okay, sleepyhead,” I murmur as Cole sets him down. “Let’s get you changed.”
I’ve already laid his pajamas out on the bed in anticipation of this.
Robbie blinks at me blearily, his little body swaying as I help him pull off his tiny tuxedo jacket. He doesn’t fight it, just lets me guide him as I slip his arms through his pajama shirt and tug the matching pants up his legs.
“Story,” he mumbles, barely keeping his eyes open.
I smile. “You’re almost asleep already, buddy.”
“Story,” he insists, though his voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Get in bed, and I’ll read you one,” I say, smoothing his tousled hair.
He lets out a soft sound of agreement and climbs under the covers, letting out a content sigh as he snuggles in. Cole leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead before tucking Rexy under his arm .
“Goodnight, Robbie,” Cole murmurs.
“Dad,” Robbie mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eye with a tiny fist. “Are you coming to the pool party?”
I smile, wondering about the random thoughts of children, and why he’s thinking about the pool party right this minute.
Cole exhales, his lips twitching slightly. “I wouldn’t miss it, buddy.”
Robbie nods, satisfied with the answer, and settles back against his pillow.
I lean over, watching his little face relax against the pillow. “What story do you want?” I whisper.
Silence.
I glance up at Cole before looking back at Robbie.
Fast asleep.
I smile softly and pull the blanket up higher, whispering, “Goodnight, little T-Rex.”
As I straighten, I glance over at Cole, but he’s not watching Robbie anymore.
He’s watching me.
Something flickers behind his green eyes, unreadable.
Maybe I spoke too soon. I thought I was getting better at reading him. I thought I was starting to understand his expressions.
But right now?
I have no idea what’s going through his head.
The look in his eye sends a ripple of warmth through me, my breath catching slightly.
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me.
I swallow and gesture toward the door. We step out into the hall, Cole pulling the door closed with a quiet click.
Before I can say anything, before I can even think, he turns to me and leans in. His lips brush against mine, soft but deliberate.
I freeze, caught between surprise and something deeper. Instead of the usual heat, warmth floods my entire body.
His hand lifts, his fingers ghosting along my jaw, tilting my chin just slightly. He deepens the kiss—not demanding, not possessive. Just… something else.
Something I don’t have a name for.
And then, just as quickly, he pulls back.
“You’re beautiful tonight,” he murmurs.
I blink up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Before I can process it, before I can say anything, he steps away.
His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer, and then he turns, walking back toward the party, leaving me standing there.
I stare after him, my fingers still tingling where they touched his suit jacket.
He’s never done that before. Not unless we were about to have sex.
So why did it feel so different this time?