Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dax
ONE MONTH LATER..
Haven's Club is busier than usual when I arrive. The lounge is filled with members, the energy celebratory. Mark waves me over from our usual spot near the fireplace.
"Dax." He stands, shaking my hand.
"About time you showed up."
Jeff is already there, whiskey in hand.
"We were beginning to think you'd forgotten about us."
I settle into the leather chair across from them.
"Been busy."
"So we've heard." Mark signals the server.
"Whiskey neat for Mr. Blackwell."
The server brings my drink, and Mark raises his glass.
"To Jeff. Successfully closed the merger. Two companies, one vision, and somehow he made it work without bloodshed."
We toast. Jeff grins.
"It was touch and go there for a while. But the terms were fair, the leadership aligned, and we got it done."
"Impressive work," I tell him.
"How's integration going?"
"Smoother than expected. We kept most of the teams intact, just restructured reporting lines. Should see synergies by Q2."
We talk shop for a while—market conditions, acquisition opportunities, regulatory changes. The usual territory. Then Mark leans back in his chair, studying me.
"Speaking of turnarounds, the MediaLink crisis seems to be resolved. Haven't seen any negative coverage in weeks."
"We're in the clear," I confirm.
"The independent audit came back clean, investor confidence stabilized. Crisis managed."
"That consultant you brought in must have been worth the money," Jeff observes.
I take a sip of whiskey. "She was."
"She?" Mark's eyebrow raises.
"Scarlett Bradford, wasn't it? Miles's ex-fiancée?"
"Yes."
Mark and Jeff exchange glances.
"How's that working out?" Mark asks carefully.
I set down my glass. "Actually, there's something I should tell you both."
They wait.
"Scarlett and I are involved."
The silence stretches for a beat. Then Jeff laughs.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
Mark's expression shifts from surprise to concern.
"Dax, that's... complicated doesn't even begin to cover it."
"I'm aware."
"Your brother's ex-fiancée," Jeff says slowly.
"The woman he abandoned at the altar. You're sleeping with her?"
"It's more than that."
Mark leans forward. "How much more?"
I run a hand through my hair. This is harder than I expected.
"I don't know how to explain it. From the moment I met her, she was different. Smart, powerful, tenacious. She doesn't back down. She challenges me. Makes me better."
"Jesus," Jeff mutters.
"I can't stop thinking about her." The words are coming easier now.
"The way she commands a room. The way she handles pressure. The way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not watching."
Mark stares at me.
"I haven't heard you talk about a woman like this in... ever. Not even your last girlfriend."
"Because this is different."
"Different how?" Jeff asks.
"She's my fire." I meet their eyes.
"That's the only way I can describe it. She ignites something in me I didn't know was there."
Mark whistles low. "You're in deep."
"Yes."
"Does Miles know?" Jeff asks.
"Not yet."
"That's going to be a problem."
I drain my whiskey. "Fuck Miles."
The vehemence in my voice surprises even me. Mark and Jeff exchange another glance.
"What did Miles do?" Mark asks quietly.
"You mean besides abandon Scarlett at the altar in front of fifty people?" I signal for another whiskey.
"He went to Florida after the wedding. Stayed there for a couple weeks."
"Family?" Jeff guesses.
"Partly. Our mother lives there." I accept the fresh drink from the server.
"But that's not all he did. He reconnected with an old girlfriend. Spent time with her while Scarlett was in Chicago picking up the pieces of her humiliation."
"Jesus Christ," Mark says.
"My mother told me. She slipped the information out and tried to backtrack, but I heard enough." The anger I've been carrying surfaces.
"It's typical. She's been covering for Miles his whole life. Making excuses. Justifying his behavior."
"That's fucked up," Jeff says bluntly.
"He told our mother he needed to make sure there was no unfinished business before he could commit to Scarlett." I shake my head.
"This was after he'd already asked her to marry him. After they'd planned a wedding. After everything."
Mark leans back. "And now he wants her back?"
"Apparently. He's been calling her. Texting. Trying to visit."
"Has she responded?"
"Not the way he wants." I take another drink.
"He doesn't deserve her. He had his chance and he threw it away. Twice."
The conviction in my voice is unmistakable.
"So what are your intentions?" Mark asks.
"With Scarlett."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you just said she's your fire. You're gushing about her in a way we've never heard. You're clearly serious about this." Mark's gaze is direct.
"Are you ready to be more for her? Because if Miles finds out and this blows up, it's going to get messy."
I'm quiet for a moment, turning the glass in my hands.
The question isn't whether I want more. It's whether I'm capable of it. Whether I can be what she needs.
"I'm willing to be whatever she wants and needs me to be," I say finally.
The words hang in the air.
Jeff's eyebrows raise. "That's... significant."
"I know."
Mark studies me. "You really care about her."
"Yes."
"Then you need to be prepared for the fallout. Because when Miles finds out—and he will—it's not going to be pretty."
"I know that too."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of what I've admitted settling over the conversation.
"For what it's worth," Jeff says, "I hope it works out. If she makes you this happy, she's worth fighting for."
Mark nods. "Just be ready for the fight."
"I am."
***
The following week, I'm standing in a converted warehouse in Brooklyn, surrounded by donors and media professionals attending a small fundraiser for independent journalism. The event is lowkey, private—exactly the kind of thing Scarlett and I can attend together without drawing too much attention.
She's across the room, talking to a group near the silent auction table. She's wearing a deep blue dress that hugs her curves, her hair pulled back, her smile warm as she chats with a woman I recognize as a documentary filmmaker.
I'm in conversation with one of the event organizers, a man named Robert who runs a nonprofit supporting investigative reporting.
"The landscape has changed so much," Robert is saying.
"Corporate consolidation, shrinking newsrooms, the rise of social media. It's harder than ever to fund real journalism."
"Which is why events like this matter," I respond.
"Supporting independent voices ensures diverse perspectives."
"Exactly. And having someone like you here sends a message." He gestures around the room.
"Your presence validates the cause."
I nod, but my attention keeps drifting to Scarlett. She's moved to a different group now, laughing at something a man in a navy suit is saying. He's standing too close.
The familiar jealousy flares, but I push it down.
"Will Blackwell Media be considering any partnerships with independent outlets?" Robert asks.
I force my focus back.
"Potentially. We're always looking for content that aligns with our values. Send me a proposal."
His face lights up. "Really? That would be incredible."
We exchange contact information, and I move on to the next conversation.
A woman who runs a fact-checking organization.
Then a journalist who won a Pulitzer for investigative work on corporate fraud.
All the while, I keep track of Scarlett.
Where she is. Who she's talking to. Whether she's looking for me.
Finally, our eyes meet across the room. I hold her gaze for a moment, then tilt my head slightly toward the exit.
A subtle gesture. An invitation. She gives the tiniest nod.
I excuse myself from my current conversation and make my way toward a corridor that leads to the back of the venue.
It's quieter here, away from the crowd and the noise.
I wait.
Thirty seconds later, Scarlett appears, glancing over her shoulder before stepping into the corridor.
"Hi," she says, a smile playing at her lips.
I don't waste time. I pull her close and kiss her, my hands sliding down her back to grip her waist. She kisses me back, her fingers threading through my hair.
I trail my mouth down her jaw to her neck, biting gently before licking the spot. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"We're at an event," she whispers, but she doesn't push me away.
"I know." I kiss her neck again, my hands roaming her body.
"I've been watching you all night."
"I know. I could feel it."
We're pressed against the wall, hidden around the corner from the main space. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see us. I don't care.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register a flash. A camera? A reflection from the main room? But Scarlett's mouth is on mine again, and I forget about it. We kiss for another minute, desperate and hungry, before she pulls back, breathing hard.
"We have to get back," she says.
"I know." I rest my forehead against hers.
"But I'm having you tonight. All night. I'm going to wear you out."
She laughs softly. "Promises, promises."
"Not a promise. A guarantee."
She straightens her dress, checking her reflection in a window.
"You go first. I'll follow in a minute."
I steal one more kiss, then head back to the event. The energy in the room hasn't changed. People are still mingling, drinking, bidding on auction items. No one seems to have noticed our absence.
I grab a fresh drink and rejoin a conversation about media ethics, but my mind is already elsewhere. A few minutes later, she reappears, seamlessly blending back into the crowd. She catches my eye once, smiles, then turns her attention to the woman she was talking to earlier.
We stay for another hour, playing our roles. Professional. Cordial. Separate. But when the event winds down and we leave in separate cars, I know exactly where she's going.
To my place.
Where I'll keep my promise.