Chapter 6
* * *
Sloane was still smiling about her mother’s tissue-box maneuvering when their car rolled to a stop on the private tarmac and she spotted a man waiting near the hangar entrance, hands in his pockets, dark hair, the same easy build as Draven but with a more open, approachable energy in the way he stood.
She didn’t recognize him, but something about the careful way Draven straightened beside her told her exactly who this had to be.
“That’s Hugh,” Draven said, already reading the question on her face. “My brother.”
“You didn’t mention he’d be meeting us at the plane.” She smoothed a hand over her blouse, suddenly aware of how rumpled the flight had left her.
“He wasn’t supposed to be. Which means something’s wrong.” Draven’s hand found the small of her back, the warmth of the last hour already cooling into something more alert.
Hugh crossed the tarmac to meet them halfway, and the moment he reached Sloane his expression shifted from urgency into something softer, almost startled, like he was looking at someone he’d already pictured plenty of times.
“You’re Sloane.” He said it like a confirmation rather than a question, extending his hand.
“It’s good to finally put a face to everything he’s told me. ”
Something in her chest warmed despite the tension she could already feel building around them. She shook his hand, managing a small smile. “He’s told you a lot, I take it.”
“More than I think he realizes.” Hugh’s mouth curved briefly, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’d it go with your mother?”
“Better than I expected.” Sloane felt a small, genuine smile surface despite everything. “She cried. Good tears. She also informed us we’d be getting married soon, which apparently he agreed to without consulting me.”
“Sounds about right.” Hugh’s smile flickered, warmer this time, before sobering fully. “I wish I were just here to hear about that.”
“What happened.” Draven’s voice cut through, flat, already bracing.
“Marcus Reyes showed up at the office today. Asked for Sloane by name at the front desk.”
The name landed in her chest like a dropped stone. She felt Draven’s entire body change beside her, a stillness settling over him that was somehow louder than if he’d shouted.
“He did what.”
“Security caught it before he made it past the lobby. He gave his name, said he needed to speak with her, got loud when they wouldn’t let him through.” Hugh kept his eyes on Sloane now, softer. “They escorted him out. He didn’t get near her floor. I came straight here once I heard.”
“How did he even know where she worked.” Draven’s hand had tightened against her back.
“I don’t know yet. I’ve got someone pulling the visitor log.” Hugh’s jaw tightened. “I already told building security his name goes on a do-not-admit list, effective immediately.”
“Good. Make sure it’s permanent.” Draven’s hand tightened slightly. “If he comes anywhere near her again, I want to know within the minute.”
Sloane stood there absorbing all of it, the two of them already moving past her like she was a problem to be managed rather than the person actually involved. “Can we maybe ask what I think before deciding how this gets handled?”
Both men turned to look at her at once, Hugh with mild surprise, Draven with something flatter, more guarded.
“There’s nothing to decide,” Draven said. “He doesn’t get near you. That’s the whole conversation.”
“I didn’t say I wanted him near me.” She kept her voice steady, though her pulse was racing.
“I said maybe I should talk to him. Once. On my terms, somewhere safe, with people around. He humiliated me in front of everyone I love and I never said a single word to him again. Maybe I need to be the one who finally says something, instead of the other way around.”
“Absolutely not.” Draven’s voice dropped low. “You are not getting anywhere near that man.”
“I’m not asking your permission, Draven.” She held his gaze. “I spent two months pretending that freezer never happened. I need to actually close the door myself instead of having someone slam it shut for me.”
“This isn’t about you being weak. It’s about a man who showed up uninvited at your job today.” His jaw was tight, his eyes dark with something that looked almost like fear underneath the anger. “I’m not putting you in a room with him.”
Hugh shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “For what it’s worth, Drave, she might have a point about needing to handle it her way.”
“Stay out of this, Hugh.” Draven didn’t even look at him.
She crossed her arms. “I’m not a piece of glass you need to keep behind a case. I survived the freezer. I can survive five minutes in a coffee shop with security twenty feet away, if it means I finally get to say what I never got the chance to say.”
Draven’s jaw worked, the anger in him fighting against the same instinct that had made him gentle with her mother an hour earlier. He didn’t answer right away.
“We are not deciding this tonight,” he finally said, low, final. “But I am not done arguing about it either.”
Hugh cleared his throat, already backing toward his own car. “I’ll let you two finish this in the car. I’ll keep working on how he got that address.” He shot Sloane a small, almost apologetic smile on his way past. “Good to finally meet you, Sloane. Sorry it had to be over news like this.”
She watched him go, then turned back to Draven, who hadn’t moved, his eyes still locked on her with the same unyielding intensity he carried into everything that mattered to him. She didn’t back down from it.
* * *
Two evenings later, Sloane found Draven in his home office, hunched over his laptop with a stack of papers beside him that she suspected had nothing to do with work and everything to do with Marcus Reyes.
She’d caught him on the phone twice already that day, voice low and clipped, the same restless energy radiating off him since the tarmac.
“What are you working on?” She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Background information.” He didn’t look up right away. “Where he’s living. Who he’s been talking to. Whether he has any history of this with anyone else.”
“Draven.” She crossed the room and closed the laptop gently under his hand. “We talked about this. I’m handling Marcus my way.”
“There is no version of this where you handle Marcus alone.” His jaw tightened, his eyes finally meeting hers. “I have people for this. That’s what they’re for.”
“He’s not a problem to be handled. He’s a person I need to say something to.” She sat on the edge of the desk. “I need to be the one who closes that door, not someone slamming it shut on my behalf.”
“And I’m not comfortable putting you anywhere near him.” He stood, restless, pacing toward the window. “You don’t know what he wants. I’m not gambling your safety on the chance that it’s the harmless version.”
“So your solution is to investigate him like a hostile takeover.” She followed him with her eyes. “I’m not asking you to like this. I’m asking you to trust that I know what I need.”
He turned back to face her, something raw flickering behind the usual control.
“I do trust you.” His voice dropped, quieter.
“You fainted the day you found out you were pregnant. You’ve cried more than once just talking about that wedding.
I am not standing by and watching him put you through anything close to that again. ”
“I’m not the same woman who fainted in your office, Draven.” She held his gaze, steady. “Some of that’s because of you, and I’m grateful for it. But it doesn’t mean you need to fight every battle for me. Some of them are mine.”
He didn’t answer right away, the argument clearly losing momentum even as the tension stayed thick in the room.
The argument resurfaced the next morning over coffee, quieter but no less stubborn, and again that evening when Hugh called with an update on the visitor log that still hadn’t turned up how Marcus got the office address.
By the second night, both of them were worn thin enough to stop circling and start actually negotiating.
“Fine.” Draven dragged a hand down his face as they sat across from each other at her kitchen table. “You talk to him. But not without conditions.”
She straightened slightly, cautious hope creeping in. “I’m listening.”
“Public place. Somewhere with people, cameras, exits.” He held up a finger before she could agree too quickly. “Hugh and security nearby, close enough to step in within seconds.”
“That’s reasonable.” She nodded slowly. “What else?”
“I’m in the room.” His eyes held hers, unmovable. “I won’t say a word. I won’t interrupt. But I am not sitting in a car outside while you’re in a room with that man. That’s not negotiable.”
She studied him a long moment, weighing the offer against the version of this she’d originally pictured. She could see what it was costing him just to offer this much.
“Okay.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “You can be there. Silent. Not a single word out of you no matter what he says.”
“Not one word.” He brought her knuckles to his mouth, some of the tension finally easing out of his shoulders. “Even if it kills me.”
“It might.” She allowed herself a small, tired smile. “But I need to do this, and I need you to let me.”
“I know.” He held her hand a moment longer. “I’ll call Hugh in the morning. We’ll set it up properly.” He exhaled, something settling behind his eyes that looked almost like surrender. “I just don’t trust the world to be careful with you the way it should be.”
She squeezed his hand, grateful for the compromise even with the nerves already gathering low in her stomach. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t have the chance to be careless either.”
* * *