Chapter 3
Chapter three
Dylan
Saturday morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my father's Pacific Heights home office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where he reviews quarterly reports with the same meticulous attention he's given to every business document for forty years.
I sit across from him in the leather chair that's been mine since I was sixteen, when he first started teaching me about running a company, nursing a cup of coffee that's gone lukewarm while my mind replays yesterday on an endless loop.
I didn't plan to come here this weekend.
I have contracts to review, the Miller acquisition to finalize, and a dozen fires that need putting out at the office.
But after watching Avery yesterday, and feeling that surge of protective fury that nearly sent me hunting down whoever put that look of panic in her eyes, I found myself driving here.
My father hasn't said anything yet about my unexpected arrival at his doorstep at eight in the morning, but I can feel him watching me over his reading glasses, cataloging every tell I'm trying to hide.
"Your mother's at her book club," he says finally, setting down the reports with deliberate slowness. "She'll be sorry she missed you."
"I'll stop by next week," I reply automatically, though we both know I came specifically when she wouldn't be here. My mother, brilliant as she is, has a way of seeing straight through to the heart of things I'm not ready to examine.
My father removes his reading glasses, folding them with the same precision he brings to everything he does. "So. Want to tell me what's really on your mind?"
The question hangs between us, deceptively casual. This is how he's always been: patient, observant, waiting for me to come to him rather than pushing.
He did the same after everything with Elena—when I found her with someone else and stopped believing in the kind of loyalty I thought I’d built my life around.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about Avery, because even without knowing the details, I can sense she’s been through the same kind of hurt.
I saw it yesterday, in the panic she tried to swallow down, and the way her whole body shook when she ran into my office.
I take another sip of cold coffee, buying time. "The Miller acquisition is moving faster than expected. We should close by the end of the month."
"Good." He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking slightly. "And?"
"Revenue's up eighteen percent from last quarter."
"I read the reports, Dylan."
"Jake's been doing well with the Singapore expansion."
My father's mouth quirks slightly at the mention of my younger brother. "He called me yesterday, by the way. Said you had a security escort someone from the office building."
I keep my expression neutral as I reach for my coffee. If Jake’s heard about it, then everyone else in the building must’ve heard by now. "Just someone who didn't have clearance to be there. Nothing worth discussing."
"Jake believes this has something to do with a woman. He said there's someone who has you, and I quote, 'completely wrapped around her finger without even knowing it, even if everyone can see it.'"
Heat creeps up my neck. Of course, Jake noticed.
My brother has always been too perceptive for his own good, seeing through facades with an ease that's both annoying and impressive.
He's been relentless lately, dropping hints about meeting "the mysterious Avery" who apparently has me checking my phone during family conversations.
"Jake doesn't know what he's talking about," I mutter.
"Mm-hmm." Dad picks up his coffee mug and takes a measured sip.
The silence stretches between us—expectant in that infuriating way that always made me spill everything as a kid, like I was twelve again, trying to be casual about the girl who sat next to me in math class.
"Her name is Avery," I hear myself say. "Avery Cole. She's our outside counsel from Collins & Associates."
My father waits, that infinite patience that used to drive me crazy as a kid, but now feels like permission to continue.
"She's brilliant." The words are coming easier now.
"Sharp. Challenging. She catches details everyone else misses, argues with me in meetings when she thinks I'm wrong.
She doesn't defer to me because of who I am or what I've built.
She just sees the work, sees what needs to be done, and does it better than anyone I've ever worked with. "
"Sounds like she really is brilliant."
I set down my mug, running a hand through my hair. "Some guy showed up with flowers yesterday. Scared her, obviously. She burst into my office. I've never seen her so pale before."
"So you threw him away?"
I think about how natural it felt to protect her, how right it felt when she chose my office as her sanctuary.
"I've kept my distance because she deserves better than being another workplace complication," I continue quietly. "But when I saw her yesterday, her fear… I wanted to destroy him. So bad. Whoever he was, whatever he did to her, I wanted to tear him apart for putting that look on her face."
The admission sits heavily between us. My dad is quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes, before speaking.
"You know," he says finally, "when I met your mother, I had just been betrayed by my business partner. Lost half my first company—nearly lost everything. I swore I'd never trust anyone that deeply again."
I've heard pieces of this story before, but never like this, never with this weight behind it.
"Your mother was vivid, fierce, and also completely unimpressed by my success. Or my failures, which mattered even more." A quiet laugh escapes him, and I find myself smiling. It's rare to see him like this, unguarded. "She saw me."
He falls silent, and I wait—the same patient silence he'd given me moments before. I watch the memories move behind his eyes, decades of them shifting like shadows.
"And that terrified me more than any business deal ever had."
"So what did you do?"
He exhales softly, looking past me for a moment as if remembering a different lifetime. "Your mother didn’t grow up trusting easily either. She'd been let down by people who should've protected her. When we first met, she kept me at arm's length for months."
He taps his folded glasses against his palm.
"I didn't break through with some grand gesture.
I just gave her space. I was always there when she needed me, showing that she could trust me.
And one day she just… showed up. Not to confess or ask anything.
She just needed someone to sit with her while she figured out her life.
And she chose me. That was the moment I knew. "
"Knew what?"
He meets my eyes. "That love isn't about flawless timing or never getting hurt. It's about finding someone worth the risk. It's about showing up. It's about who you trust to hold the pieces when you can't hold them yourself."
I think about Avery's sharp wit, the way she doesn't just challenge me but makes me better.
The way she stayed late last week, not because she had to, but because she loved the intellectual puzzle we were solving together.
The way she laughs when she catches a mistake in my logic, not cruel but delighted, like she's genuinely happy to have found someone who can keep up with her.
"Avery has walls," I say. "She's running from something, and I don't want to be just her escape route."
"Then don't be," Dad says simply. "Just keep showing up."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the morning sun climbing higher, warming the room.
"Your mother wants to meet her," Dad says casually, though there's nothing casual about it. "She's been asking why you haven't brought anyone to family dinner in three years."
"Mom needs to mind her own business."
"Good luck with that." He chuckles. "She already knows something's different. She says you've been happier these past few months. More like yourself before Elena."
The observation hits unexpectedly hard. Have I been happier?
I think about the anticipation I feel driving to work, knowing Avery will be there.
The way our debates energize me instead of exhausting me.
How I find myself looking for excuses to stop by her temporary office, just to see her focused expression as she works through a problem.
"Jake keeps joking about needing to approve her," I add, trying to lighten the moment.
"Your brother's protective of you. We all are. After what happened—" Dad pauses, choosing his words carefully. "We just want to see you take a chance on happiness again."
"What if she's not ready? What if pushing ruins everything?"
"Then you wait. But waiting doesn't mean hiding what you feel. It means showing her, consistently and patiently, that you're different from whoever hurt her."
I finish my cold coffee, letting his words sink in.
"Bring her," Dad says immediately. "Not as a date. As a colleague you respect, someone you want your family to meet. Let her see who you are outside the office. Let her see that you're serious about whatever this is becoming."
The idea is both terrifying and perfect. Avery meeting my family, seeing me outside the CEO role, understanding that my interest isn't just professional attraction but something deeper, more permanent.
"She might say no."
"She might," Dad agrees. "But she might surprise you. From what you've told me, she sounds like someone who appreciates directness and honesty."
We talk for another hour about safer topics, like my mother's latest charity project that she wants me involved in. But my mind keeps circling back to Avery, to the way she looked yesterday when I brushed her hair back, the flash of something in her eyes that wasn't just gratitude but recognition.
Like she saw me, really saw me, for the first time.
As I stand to leave, Dad grips my shoulder. "Don't let work be an excuse to avoid what you're feeling. I almost made that mistake with your mother. The best decision I ever made was taking the risk."
"Even though it could have failed?"
"Especially because it could have failed. The best things in life usually can."
I drive back to my penthouse in the city, the Saturday afternoon traffic lighter than usual. My phone sits in the cupholder, screen dark, but I know there are three drafted texts to Avery.
Back in my unit, I pour myself a scotch and stand at the windows overlooking the city.
Somewhere out there, Avery is probably curled up with a book or working through case files.
I know something now: she trusts me. Maybe not completely, maybe not with everything, but enough to seek shelter in my office when she was scared.
My phone sits on the counter, screen dark. I shouldn’t text her. It's the weekend. It’s impulsive. It’s… too much.
But the thought of waiting another day, another hour, makes my chest feel tight.
Before I can stop myself, I open a new message.
My family has dinner next Saturday. Nothing formal, just Italian food and too much wine. Would you come? As my colleague, no pressure. I'd just like them to meet you.
The moment I hit send, my pulse spikes. What am I doing? What if she thinks it’s inappropriate? What if it scares her off? What if I’ve completely misread everything between us?
The dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
I exhale shakily, pour myself half an inch of scotch because I suddenly need it.
Then her reply arrives: Okay.
One word that feels like a door opening.
Like a possibility.
I smile, already hearing Jake's teasing and my mother's thousand questions. But more than that, I'm imagining Avery at our family table, seeing her laugh at Jake's terrible jokes, watching her match wits with my mother, showing her that family can be chosen, can be safe, can be worth the risk.
The driver will be at your place at six, I type.
I can drive myself.
Didn’t doubt it. Just wanted to make sure you actually show up.
A pause, then: I will.
I pull up the family dinner guest list on my phone. Before I can second-guess myself, I add Avery's name.
In fifteen minutes, my phone buzzes. Jake, because of course it is.
Did you add someone to Mom's dinner list?
I type back: Don't make a big deal of it.
Too late. Hope your mystery woman likes Italian.
She's not my woman.
Yet.
I don't respond to that, but Jake's right. The yet hangs there, full of possibility and terror in equal measure. Three years of carefully maintained walls, three years of keeping everyone at professional distance, and Avery Cole walked into my life and made me want to tear them all down.
I finish my scotch and head to my home office, supposedly to work on the Miller acquisition. But really, I spend the next hour thinking about Avery.
My father's words echo: Love isn't about never getting hurt. It's about finding someone worth the risk.
Looking out at the city below, I realize I've already made my choice. Avery Cole is worth the risk.