Chapter 2
He’s wearing dark jeans and a charcoal cashmere sweater that I don’t think I’ve seen before. There’s a sleek black carry-on beside him, the one he takes for short business trips.
Alexander is not looking at the bar, or at my drink, or even at me exactly. He’s staring at my hair, which is down in loose, natural waves, falling past my shoulders. Waves that take an hour to tame into that straightened, refined style he sees every day.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. He just stands there, his gray eyes moving from my hair to my face, taking in the oversized cream sweater that keeps slipping off one shoulder, the jeans that actually hug my curves instead of the tailored slacks I wear to work.
I look down at my glass of whiskey. Then back at him. “I couldn’t have gotten drunk enough to be hallucinating,” I say out loud, more to myself than to him. “It’s only been two drinks.”
I reach out with my hand to touch his face, just to be sure. His hand wraps around mine before I can make contact, and his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. But his eyes are still on my hair, and there’s something in his expression that makes my stomach flip.
“You’re not hallucinating,” he says.
“I have to be,” I mutter. “Why else would I see you here when you should be at work?”
“I decided to take a vacation as well,” he says absently, like he’s not really paying attention to his own words. Then, without asking, without any warning at all, he reaches out and touches a strand of my hair that’s fallen forward over my shoulder.
I go completely still.
His fingers are gentle, barely there, and he tugs at the strand as if to make sure it’s real. The touch lasts maybe two seconds, but I feel it everywhere. His hand drops back to his side.
“I’ve never seen it down,” he says, his voice is curious. “Your hair.”
My brain short-circuits. “What?”
“In all these years, I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”
That’s when it hits me. In six years, he’s never seen me in anything but my work armor—the sleek bun, the tailored clothes, the polished professional who runs his life with military precision.
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “I-it’s more professional, up.”
Something flickers across his face. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at me like I’m someone he’s never met before. Then he seems to catch himself. He blinks, takes a step back, and his expression shifts into something more controlled.
“May I?” He gestures to the barstool next to mine.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he settles onto the seat.
Closely. Close enough that I’m suddenly very aware of the space between us—or the lack of it.
His knee is inches from mine. If either of us shifted even slightly, we’d be touching.
I’ve had too much to drink. That’s why my brain is so focused on my boss and his proximity to me.
He signals to Rick, who appears with impressive speed. “Scotch. Neat.”
Rick nods and moves to pour, and I’m still trying to process the fact that Alexander is here. In Charlotte. Sitting next to me at an airport bar. After touching my hair like it was something he had every right to do.
“Alexander,” I say slowly, “what are you doing here?”
He accepts the scotch from Rick and takes a sip before answering. “I had a flight booked. To Hawaii.”
I blink. “Hawaii?”
“My family is coming to New York for the holidays.” His voice is back to that controlled, measured tone I know from work. “I wasn’t planning to be there when they arrived.”
Of course he wasn’t. Alexander’s relationship with family holidays is... complicated. I’ve fielded enough calls from his mother to know that much.
“So you were running away to Hawaii,” I say.
“I prefer ‘strategic retreat.’”
“And yet you’re in Charlotte.”
“Yes.” His jaw tightens, and he takes another sip of scotch. “Because Christina told them.”
“Told them what?”
“That I was going to Hawaii.” The words come out clipped, edged with irritation. “My mother called my office this morning, and Christina, in her infinite lack of judgment, informed her exactly where I was planning to spend Christmas. Within an hour, my family rebooked their flights as well.”
I wince.
“You wouldn’t have made that mistake,” he says, and there’s something almost accusatory in his tone. “You would have known better. You would have told them I was unavailable. Working. In meetings all week. You would have handled it.”
“Alexander—”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you leaving,” he continues, and now there’s real frustration in his voice.
“Four days. You’ve been gone for four days, and everything is already falling apart.
Christina doesn’t know which calls to screen, she scheduled my mother for a video meeting—a video meeting, Olivia—and apparently she thinks it’s appropriate to share my personal travel plans with anyone who asks. ”
Despite everything, despite the whiskey and the heartbreak and the complete insanity of this situation, I feel a small, petty flicker of satisfaction. He needs me. He actually needs me.
“So you canceled Hawaii,” I say.
“I canceled Hawaii,” he confirms. “And now I need new plans.”
“And your new plans involve... Charlotte?”
“I have a layover here.” He turns to look at me fully, and suddenly those gray eyes are pinning me in place. “I was walking to my gate when I saw you. Why are you drinking in the middle of the day?”
His question has my hand tightening around my phone, and I pick up my drink, chugging it. Slamming the glass down on the bar, I call out. “Rick, another please.”
The bartender looks a little cautious as he approaches. “Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything else.”
He sighs and pours me another. Before I can lift the glass, my boss stops me, his hand covering mine. “You’ll get drunk.”
I grin at him, feeling a little light-headed. “Good. I’ll prefer it that way when I see that cheating low-life and my tramp of a cousin. Bastards.”
I start downing the third glass as Alexander watches.
“Tramp cousin?” he questions.
I slam the glass down, glaring at him. “This is my personal business, Mr. Castellano.”
He raises a brow, and I turn my heated gaze towards the drink in my hand. “He cheated on me. With my cousin, of all people! And do you know what he said when I broke it off with him?!”
I turn to look at my boss who’s just watching me calmly, not at all bothered by my little drunk breakdown. “No. What did he say?”
“He said if I loved him, I would have fought for him!”
Alexander’s response is more arching of his brows.
“Can you believe that?” I drain the remaining scotch and then wave the glass at Rick who is looking nervous now.
“If she has a flight and she’s too drunk—”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t miss her flight.” Alexander assures him. Before he can say anything, I grab his jaw forcing him to look at me.
“I’m talking to you! Why aren’t you paying attention?”
Alexander studies me for a second before covering my hand on his jaw and lowering it into his lap. “Trust me, Miss Hartley. You are the only one who has my attention.”
For a moment, the low edge of his voice makes something tighten in my belly. But then I remember what I was talking about, and I pull my hands away from his. “He wanted me to fight for him. Can you believe that? Like I’m going to fight with my cousin for a penis, and not a very good one at that.”
Rick nearly chokes, but Alexander doesn’t flinch. “So you broke up with him?”
“Yes!” I sneer. “Two-timing bastard. And now he’s going to marry her.
Marry her, when he wouldn’t commit to me after ten years together!
” My eyes feel watery as the words spill out.
“Now I’m going home, and everyone’s going to talk about me and how I couldn’t hold on to a man.
And Amber’s going to gloat because she got the most eligible bachelor in town while I have nothing.
I’m just going home to get humiliated for a month. ”
With that last outburst, I drop my head to the bar, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “I don’t want to go home.”
Alexander is silent for a few minutes, and then he says, “I never took you to be a coward.”
Those words have me snapping up straight as I hiss, “I’m not a coward!”
He shrugs, picking up his glass and sipping from it, those grey eyes on me. “You want to run away rather than solve the problem. That’s what cowards do.”
I make a face. “What would you know? When’s the last time your girlfriend cheated on you and then got with your cousin?”
“Never.” Alexander looks amused.
Groaning, I give the bartender a pitiful look. “Ricky, just give me the whole bottle. He’ll pay for it.”
“No, I won’t, and don’t give her the bottle.”
“We’re not in the office,” I point out, my words slurring just slightly. “You can’t tell me what to do here.”
I reach for his glass of scotch—because why not, mine’s empty—and his hand shoots out, catching my jaw.
Not hard. Not painful. But firm enough that I go completely still.
His fingers press into my skin, tilting my face toward his.
Those gray eyes are dark now, intense in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“I can help you,” he says, his voice low and controlled.
I try to scoff, but it comes out breathy. “How?”
“Stop drinking first.” It’s not a request. It’s a command, delivered in that same tone he uses in the boardroom when he expects immediate compliance.
And god help me, my body responds to it.
Some traitorous part of me wants to obey, wants to do exactly what he says just because he said it in that voice.
I hate that about myself right now. But I’m still drunk enough to be defiant. “Fine,” I say, pulling my face free from his grip. Rick offers me a bottle of water, unprompted, and I snatch it, taking a few gulps before slamming it down on the bar, and glaring at Alexander. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He doesn’t look ecstatic. Instead he looks thoughtful. “I have a solution. One that benefits both of us.”