Chapter Twenty-five
Abigail-Ann
“The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.”
— Blaise Pascal
A zzaria stormed into my apartment at the crack of dawn armed with her homemade chocolate cake I should’ve known was a bribe disguised as breakfast. Before I could even finish a slice, she dragged me out of bed with no mercy. Apparently, we had to decorate Dillon’s office for his thirty-third birthday, and absolutely nothing was going to stop her.
I yawned, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. “Azzaria, what happened to ‘I’m never getting feelings for anyone ever again’?”
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “That was before Dillon. Plus, I’ve got a whole strategy planned out.” She shoved a folder at me, which I stared at like it was a bomb .
If I had known all it took to break her out of her ‘I hate love’ phase was an internship, I would’ve encouraged her to do it months ago.
After two hours of hanging banners and rearranging furniture, I regretted giving in to the cake. She’d turned into a tyrant, barking orders like a drill sergeant and obsessing over every detail. Amid the chaos, my thoughts kept drifting to Mikkel—his anger, his perfectionism, and how it had shaped him. I knew about his perfectionism; he’d run himself ragged with work, losing his mind if even a comma or semicolon was out of place, or how I’d overhear him on the phone trying to fix everything. But the anger? I never would’ve guessed it. Everyone has flaws, though, right? I wanted to understand more, but I wouldn’t push him. All I could hope was that I’d never be on the receiving end of his wrath.
The sound of Azzaria’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Help me fix this corner?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she glared at the sad cluster of crimson and black balloons floating in the corner.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, straightening up from where I was kneeling on the floor. “Just as soon as I finish this slice of cake.”
Azzaria gave me a look. “You’re such a sucker for chocolate cake. But fine, keep eating. The faster we finish, the sooner you can take a nap.”
I smiled, taking another bite. “The cake was clearly a trap.”
She grinned. “A well-designed one. You’ll thank me later.”
After a few minutes of watching her put up streamers and dealing with the balloons, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Are you sure you’re excited enough?”
She paused mid-task, glancing at me with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’re hanging those banners like your life depends on it.”
Her lips tightened. “It has to be perfect because he deserves it.”
I leaned against the wall. “Well, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
She blinked, as if my words took a moment to sink in, then her face softened. “Do you really think so?”
I walked over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I really do. ”
Azzaria didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked over at the decorated office, her gaze lingering on the balloons, the streamers, and the table set with lemon flavored pastries she baked for him. Then, in a quieter voice, she said, “I just want him to know I care. I’m not good at showing that. But I want him to see it. To feel it.”
My heart softened at her vulnerability. Azzaria was always so guarded, never letting anyone in too close. It was nice to see this side of her—the side that cared deeply, even if she didn’t always know how to express it.
“This is perfect,” I assured her. “He’s going to see how much you care, even if it’s through all this craziness.”
“Thanks, Abi,” she said softly. “You always know what to say.”
I gave her a small grin. “That’s what best friends are for. Now let me get these balloons fixed before Dillon thinks we’ve turned his office into a circus.”
I carefully adjusted the balloons, aligning them just right. Each knot seemed to demand a little more attention, and I smiled as I straightened the strands.
“Okay, maybe I enjoy this a little,” I admitted, pausing to admire my work.
She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I knew it.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said quickly, needing a moment away from the festivities. “I’ll be back.”
As I walked down the corridor after leaving the office, someone had suddenly pulled me into a corner.
“Holy–” I started to exclaim, ready to unleash a string of colorful language until I realized who it was.
“You scared me,” I said softly, looking up into Mikkel’s eyes.
“ Lo siento , 55 baby,” he murmured, his voice like velvet as he brushed a stray curl of hair from my face.
“Speaking Spanish to me will never get old.”
“You like it, huh?”
“I really really do,” I admitted, unable to tear my gaze away from him, utterly entranced.
“In that case,” he said, leaning, his gaze locked with mine. “ Hablaré espanol más a menudo, entonces. 56 ” Our lips met in a passionate kiss, and I melted into him, lost in the moment.
I was overcome by a rush of emotions—a sense of longing, of desire, of sheer bliss. It was as if every nerve in my body was alight with sensation, every touch sending waves of pleasure through me.
Breaking away from the kiss, he looked at me, his eyes sparkling with desire.
“Your lips are so soft,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing.
“Do you plan to woo me every single day?”
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?”
His gaze lingered briefly before he stepped back. “There’s a gala later, and I want to take you.”
“A gala?”
“It’s Dillon’s birthday tradition.”
I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. “I’d love to go, but I don’t have anything suitable to wear. Wouldn’t it be…weird?”
“You’d be my date,” he said, his voice steady.
I sighed, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me.
“Are you sure?” I lowered my voice, unsure.
He studied my face for a moment before his expression softened. “I’m very sure.”
“I just don’t feel like I belong there... or that it’s my scene.” I paused, my mind racing. Would I be pretty enough? Would I even fit in with the other p—”
“Red.” His voice cut through the chaos of my thoughts. “You belong there. Never doubt that. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me. Ever .”
“I know it sounds stupid,” I muttered, feeling the ridiculousness of it, even as I said the words.
“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice soft but understanding. “I understand self-doubt.” He reached for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out because I want you there with me. But if you’re not up to it, I won’t press it. Okay?”
I nodded, the tightness in my chest easing slightly. “Okay. But even so, I have no gala attire.”
He smiled. “It’s nothing to take you shopping, or even bring the shopping to you.”
I chuckled as the tension in my shoulders slowly disappeared. “Flattery—”
“Will get me everywhere?” he finished, his tone playful.
“Exactly,” I confirmed, leaning in for another kiss.
The second we pulled away, three messages from Azzaria popped up, asking if I was good. I glanced up at Mikkel.
“I’ve been summoned,” I said, showing him the message. “But can I let you know about the gala later?”
“I have a meeting soon.” He nodded, then bent down to kiss my cheek. “And of course, don’t feel pressured to say yes. Your comfort matters above all.”
I smiled, and we walked out together. He walked me to the office door before heading off to his meeting.
“I’m here! Happy birthday, Dil—”
I never expected to walk in and find my best friend kissing her man, yet here I was, witnessing it.
“Heard of knocking?” Dillon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and a bit grumpy. The man who’d swept Azzaria off her feet stood before me. His sharp three-piece suit, commanding presence, and powerful words spoke of his success, but it was his love for Azzy that truly defined him.
“ She knew I was coming. I need to gouge my eyes out after seeing that.” I pretended to gag. “Are you brooding because I’m her favorite?”
“Says who?” Dillon challenged.
“Her,” I shot back without missing a beat. “You don’t stand a chance against me, Xander.”
“ Abigail ,” Azzaria warned playfully, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Sorry,” I muttered, though my mischievous grin betrayed any hint of sincerity. “As much as I’d love to stay, I have work. Happy Birthday, Dillon, and bye Azzy. I love you, Precious .”
I threw in those words just to piss him off.
“Crossing a line there, Abigail,” Dillon admonished.
“Maybe,” I replied, my tone unapologetic.
“Your first interaction and this is how it’s going? Great ,” Azzaria remarked sarcastically, breaking the tension with her light-hearted remark.
“It’s not our first,” both Dillon and I chimed in simultaneously.
“I mean the first where I’m present, and I hope you guys won’t be doing this every damn time,” Azzaria added firmly.
“Boo hoo,” I retorted with a playful roll of my eyes, blowing a kiss to Azzaria. “I seriously have to go. Bye, Azzy. Don’t miss me too much.”
“She won’t,” Dillon shouted after me, his tone tinged with sarcasm, eliciting a chuckle from me as I made my exit.
The worst part of my brain was that it never stopped. My entire shift was consumed by thoughts of the gala—every detail spinning in my head. Would I even fit in? I could barely picture myself in a room full of polished strangers. It wasn’t about the dress—I could easily buy one—but the thought of being there, out of place, felt overwhelming. What if I wasn’t graceful or confident enough?
Then I thought about Mikkel. He wanted me there. His words echoed in my head—steady, certain. You belong there. Never doubt that.
I opened my phone with the hopes of telling Mikkel I’d go with him but a call from Azzaria lit up the screen.
“Hey, what’s up?” I answered the phone, greeting Azzaria as I dropped into the sofa, exhausted from my morning shift.
“I need you to meet me at the residency in like fifteen minutes. There’s a gala tonight. ”
I sighed in disbelief. How fitting that she asked that exact question at this exact moment?
“But I don’t have anything to wear to a gala,” I protested.
“Don’t stress about it. Just be there,” Azzaria insisted before ending the call. “I’ll explain everything once I see you.”
I showered quickly, gathered my things, and rushed over to Azzaria’s place. The moment I stepped inside, I froze. The scene before me looked like something straight out of a movie. Racks of stunning dresses lined the walls, an enticing spread of food covered the centre table, and the whole setup carried just enough flair to feel cinematic. This definitely had Dillon Xander written all over it.
A woman with a polite smile approached me. “Good afternoon. I’m Melinda, and you must be Ms. Abigail-Ann?”
“Abigail’s fine, and yes, that’s me,” I said with a nod.
I considered texting Mikkel to say I’d be at the gala but decided against it. Surprising him would be more fun—besides, he thought I was home sleeping.
“Do I even have to ask?” I teased when Azzaria walked in a few minutes later, looking every bit as shocked as I was.
She laughed, catching my meaning immediately. “Dillon’s a bit extreme , but his heart’s in the right place.”
“He’s also completely in love with you,” I said, giving her a pointed look. “And you deserve that kind of devotion.”
Her smile softened, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. Instead, she turned her attention to the racks of dresses, expertly browsing through them while I started on my makeup.
The next hour flew by in a blur of brushes, palettes, and last-minute touch-ups. By the time I slipped into my dress, Azzaria was trying to settle on a hairstyle.
“You look hot ,” she said a little later, her voice full of approval. “The girls are sitting just right in that dress.”
I smoothed the fabric over my hips, grinning at my reflection. The dress hugged me in all the right places and perfectly matched my fresh nail set .
Mikkel’s gonna love this.
“Marlon’s waiting downstairs in a silver BMW with ‘X’s on the license plate to take you to the gala.”
“Did you just say he has ‘X’ on the plate?” I chuckled nervously.
She laughed. “Yep.”
“The things rich men do,” I joked in return.
“Imagine when you meet the rest of the group later tonight,” she teased.
After giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
Sure enough, parked on the curb was the silver BMW with ‘X’s on the plate.
Well, shit.
Here’s to my first gala.