Chapter 4
4
Amelia
The week after the wedding comes in hot.
Sarah and I got back to New York late Sunday afternoon, and I went straight into planning mode, my usual Sunday routine. Between work, Sarah’s school and extracurriculars, the never-ending housework and mom duties, and the rare moments I steal for myself, planning isn’t optional. It’s survival.
Monday was beyond hectic, ending with a late bedtime of one a.m., and I wake on Tuesday with a headache. It lasts all day, and my ex-husband does his best to intensify it when he texts while I’m walking to collect Sarah from school in the afternoon.
James:
I spoke with your mother this morning. The party plans sound wonderful. I know how much these events mean to your parents.
Me:
I’ve already told you I’m not comfortable attending together.
James:
Let’s be adults about this, Amelia. Your mother is counting on us.
Me:
You’re manipulating the situation.
James:
I’m simply trying to present a united front for our daughter and maintain our family connections. You know how this works. Appearances matter. Think about how it will look if we can’t even attend one party together.
Me:
You mean think about how it will affect your image with my father’s contacts?
James:
You’re being dramatic. This hostile attitude isn’t like you.
I stare at his last text, my teeth clenched. Even through messages he manages to make me question myself. Makes me feel like I’m the unreasonable one for having boundaries. For saying no.
But I am saying no. Finally.
I toss my phone into my purse and inhale a long breath while increasing my walking pace. I’m already running late for school pickup, and my mind is scattered in too many directions. The party drama with James. The contract negotiations for scoring Velocity Reign , potentially the biggest action film of next year, starring Hollywood’s most bankable leads. The fact that my usually meticulous schedule is edging toward unmanageable lately.
The movie is an incredible opportunity. Game-changing, career-defining. All those cliché phrases that happen to be true in this case. But the workload . . . I’m already calculating the hours, trying to figure out how to balance it with Sarah’s schedule and basic life maintenance.
My phone buzzes again. Probably James with another carefully worded guilt trip, or my mother with more party suggestions, or my agent with contract updates. I ignore it.
I make it to Sarah’s school a few minutes late, power walking through the sunny courtyard like my life depends on it, in heels that weren’t made for this. And because the universe has a sense of humor, I nearly collide with Gage Black.
He’s radiating that effortless control that makes me both envious and wary. His dark suit is impeccable as always, not a single crease in sight, and tailored to his frame. A blue Kiton pinstripe if I’m not mistaken, which I’m not. Having been married to a man who demanded only the best in everything, I dedicated enough hours to suit research to know what I’m looking at. And those black John Lobb Oxford shoes he’s wearing? They’re polished to a shine that would put a concert piano to shame.
“Amelia.” The low rumble of his voice wraps around my name, affecting my pulse in ways I refuse to acknowledge. He’s devastating with his thick, dark hair, and a beard that only makes him more dangerously masculine. A strong jaw, eyes that promise things no good girl should want, and a mouth that looks made to ruin women all combine to make him unsettlingly magnetic.
On top of all that? He’s built like he could pin you against a wall without breaking a sweat, all broad shoulders and raw power. Anyone with functioning eyes can see that he’s the kind of handsome that makes intelligent women forget their own names. And the worst part? He knows it. Every inch of him knows it.
“Those heels must be killing your feet,” he says, his gaze zeroing in on my shoes.
“I, uh, I got caught late at a meeting with my agent and didn’t have time to change shoes.” I have no idea why I’m explaining myself to him, but here I am.
His gaze meets mine again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear heels to school pickup.”
I blink. Hopefully, only on the inside. Then, with a slight arch of my brows, I say, “You’re keeping a record of my outfits?”
Before I can fully process this or wonder why he’s keeping track of what I wear, Sarah’s teacher, Mrs. Liu, approaches with a bright smile that immediately sets off warning bells.
“Mr. Black, Ms. Sinclair! I’m so glad to catch you both.” Her smile practically turns into a full beam as she directs most of her attention to Gage. “As you know, Stephanie Monroe has been planning the class’s science fair on her own. Unfortunately, due to a personal crisis, she can no longer manage it, which means we need someone to take over.” She glances between us, that beam still beaming. “Since I know you both to have a flair for organization and an interest in science, I thought you’d be perfect for this!” The only thing she doesn’t do is clap her hands together at the idea. I’m willing to bet she’s this close to doing that though.
“Ah, no, I don’t think—” I start, but Gage cuts me off.
“We’d love to.”
I gape at him.
Is the man serious? Neither of us have the time for this. The fair is only a few weeks away. Plus, co-planning anything with Gage Black is not on my bingo card for this year, or any year for that matter.
“I’m not sure either of us have the time?—”
Mrs. Liu isn’t interested in a word I have to say. She’s in the Gage Black Fan Club and has been for as long as I can remember. That beam she was beaming? I’m not sure how she’s not blinding him right now. “Excellent,” she says to him. “I know that you will plan an amazing fair.”
I’m sure she meant to say she knows I’ll plan an amazing fair. I mean, come on. Gage might be a good dad in many ways, but I can’t see him giving up his precious time for this. James sure as hell wouldn’t.
And from what Shayla’s told me, she has to do most of the heavy lifting when it comes to their daughter. Apparently, he’ll show up and claim the credit for being an amazing father, but behind the scenes Shayla’s the one making it look effortless. Much like what I do.
Gage and Mrs. Liu discuss some logistics while I try to keep up. Mostly, though, I’m trying to wrap my mind around Gage just agreeing to this. Agreeing on my behalf without even so much as a “Do you have time for this?” Like it was nothing. Like we both don’t have demanding careers and complicated schedules and a weird tension between us that I’m trying to ignore.
“I’ll call you tonight to set up our first planning session,” he says as we walk away from the girls’ teacher, toward the playground where Sarah and Luna are waiting.
“Right.” I nod like I believe him.
“I’m detecting a tone.” He slows his strides and when I glance up at him, I find him watching me with narrowed eyes.
“You are.” I come to a stop so we can have this conversation away from the girls. “I highly doubt you’re serious about helping.”
He looks down at me, his dark eyes as intense as always. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Because it’s a massive undertaking? Because we both have full schedules?” Because my ex-husband always left me to manage everything, and I’m drowning just thinking about adding one more thing to my plate.
“We’ll handle it.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I want to believe him. But Shayla’s words echo in my head. He never follows through, Amelia. I’m always left to do everything myself. “Just . . .” I take a breath. “If we’re doing this, I need to know you’ll follow through. I can’t take on the whole thing myself. Not with everything else I’ve got going on.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I always follow through, Amelia.”
His promise stays in my mind all afternoon and my overthinking is next level. Because as much as he said he’d contribute, I still have my reservations.
Later, I’m in my kitchen attempting to salvage a stir-fry that’s quickly turning into a culinary disaster when my phone rings. Gage’s name on the screen is a surprise.
I hesitate for a second before answering.
“Tomorrow morning,” he says without preamble. “Eleven a.m. You name where you want us to meet. Or if that time doesn’t suit, let me know what works for you.”
Just like that. No small talk, no pleasantries. Straight to the point. Which is good. Efficient. And he’s doing what he said he would. But for some reason, he’s scrambled my brain with this call.
I often feel like I’m on the back foot with Gage. He has this unnerving ability to throw me off balance without even trying. It’s not that he plays games. Far from it. He’s too direct for that. It’s just...him. Everything about him.
I swipe the burner too high, and the stir-fry starts to sizzle aggressively. I quickly turn it down, gripping the spatula a little tighter than necessary.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “The coffee shop on Lexington and 82 nd works.”
“Done.”
I expect him to hang up, but instead, there’s a beat of silence.
Not awkward, not tense. Just there, lingering. Like he’s waiting for something.
Like he wants me to say something.
But my brain refuses to cooperate, so I say nothing.
Another second passes before he murmurs, “See you in the morning, Amelia.”
The line goes dead, and for some ridiculous reason, I just stand there, staring at my phone.
I don’t know what rattles me more—that he called, or that I’m still thinking about the way he just said my name with a thread of anticipation in his voice.