Chapter 20 Hide and Seek #3
She pulls me aside, and I brace for impact, half expecting a lecture about letting Hazel vanish or teaching her new curse words. “Look, she took that completely out of context, I was just…”
“We’ll get to that,” she interrupts, eyes sharp. “But right now, I want to talk about this morning.”
My mouth shuts. The shift in her tone is like a live wire—less fury, more betrayal.
“Messing with someone’s business is a gray area you seem very comfortable in,” Morgan says, her arms crossed once more, eyes blazing. “You tried to poach Jaxson Steele from me. You manipulated your way into Ivy Nova’s event like it was some kind of game.”
“You think I’m some reckless asshole out here playing corporate vigilante.”
“If the cape fits,” she snaps.
I take a step closer, voice low. “I didn’t do this for sport. I did it because Harrison crossed a line. With you.”
She takes a beat before continuing, voice pointed. “You can’t play judge, jury, and executioner every time someone does something you don’t like or when it benefits you. I get it—he deserved it. But you don’t get to decide the cost.”
“Are you done?” I say, arms folded, jaw clenched.
She furrows her brow, and I take her silence as my answer.
“I admit I’ve made some questionable business decisions, but if there were ever a time to use my evil powers for good, it was now—for putting a man like Harrison in his place. I’m sure you’re not the first woman he’s done that to, but I can fucking guarantee you’ll be the last.”
I take a breath, the heat between us rising like static.
“I swear, Dylan, I want to trust you, I do. And I want to be angry at you, but then you go and do something like this and I just…”
“I wasn’t going to let it slide, and if you can’t understand…”
She presses a finger to my lips, and I fall silent.
Something flickers behind her eyes—a storm of fury and something far more dangerous.
Gratitude. Longing. The ache of trust betrayed and almost earned back.
She’s all sharp edges and shallow breaths, as if torn between slapping me across the face or pulling me into a kiss she’ll regret in the morning.
“Thank you,” she says, and I feel it everywhere.
“And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook by telling Hollow Reign that karaoke story,” she says lightly, like she doesn’t mean it. “But you got the details wrong. I wasn’t wearing a sundress…”
“You were wearing a Veda Riot tour t-shirt tucked into a pair of cut-off shorts, and you didn’t sing ‘Sex on Fire,’ you sang ‘Perfect on Paper.’”
Her green eyes flare wide, mouth open in shock. “I was obsessed with her in high school, but how did…”
“I remember everything, Morgan,” I say resolutely.
She shakes her head. “Then why make something up to Hollow Reign?”
I step a little closer. “Because that memory of you is mine.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and mine mirrors the fall.
And for one suspended breath, we hover—caught in the hum of everything unspoken.
She steps in, wraps her fingers around my forearm like she’s anchoring herself to the one steady thing in a world she doesn’t quite trust.
“Mommy, I’m ready!” Hazel chirps as she barrels into the hallway.
Morgan blinks, taking a step back so quickly I barely register the loss of her body heat before Hazel is standing between us.
“You got everything?” Morgan asks, not missing a beat. She checks her watch. “We’ve got just enough time to get to dance class if we leave now.”
Hazel nods.
“Say thank you to Dylan.”
Hazel surprises me by bounding over and wrapping her arms around my legs.
For a second, I stand there—frozen—until instinct kicks in and I crouch to return the hug.
Her small arms tighten around my neck like she’s known me forever, and unexpected ache stirs inside me.
It’s not just affection. It’s the depth of her trust. And the terrifying realization I don’t want to screw this up—not with her, not with Morgan.
I see it, in a flash of clarity—weekend pancake breakfasts, bedtime stories, movie nights with popcorn and laughter. The three of us together. It’s a future I’ve never imagined for myself, but now that I’ve glimpsed it, I can’t unsee it.
And maybe that’s what scares me about Liam, too. The possibility of connection, of family beyond what I’ve known.
I pick Hazel up and shake her as if looking for loose change. “You didn’t swipe any of my stale granola bars, did you?”
“Noooo,” she giggles as she tries to escape my grasp.
This afternoon with Hazel has shifted something in me—softened edges I didn’t know were sharp.
For years, I’ve approached every relationship like a business transaction: assess the risk, calculate the return, protect myself from loss.
But here’s this kid, who barrels past all my defenses without even trying, making me question whether those walls were ever protecting me or just keeping me isolated.
I set her down, and she races over to Morgan as if daring me to chase her. My gaze shifts to Morgan, her expression unreadable. She grabs Hazel’s backpack from the ground and slings it over her shoulder.
“If there are any trade secrets in here, I’ll return them after I’ve had a chance to make photocopies,” she teases.
“Awe, come on, Clemson. You of all people should know how generous I can be.” I grin. “If you want my trade secrets, all you have to do is ask.”
I can see the pink creep into her cheeks even as her eyes narrow and she mouths, “This isn’t over,” motioning between us.
“Counting on it, Clemson,” I mouth back.
She grabs Hazel’s hand and glances my way one last time before turning toward the elevators.
Rachel conveniently walks around the corner just as the elevator doors close.
She grins. “You had it, DKG. But you don’t know how to close. Got cockblocked by a four-year-old.”
I lift an eyebrow, a smug smile on my face. “Did you see how Hazel hugged me? Now that’s how you close a deal.” I wink.
“Alright, I see where this is going. Get in good with the kid and you’ll have the mom wrapped around your finger. It could work,” she says. “When Marco changed a diaper, I was riding his lap faster than a stripper chasing a C-note.”
“Ugh, God, my ears are bleeding.” I say, pulling a face as I walk toward my office. “Not safe for work!” I protest.
“Oh, please, ‘If you want my trade secrets, all you have to do is ask’… barf,” Rachel sing-songs, mocking me, as she trots down the hall.
I scowl, but there’s no real heat behind it.
I step into my office, having almost forgotten about the booklets taped to my very expensive desk, but now there’s glitter on the carpet and stickers on my monitor. My desk looks like a retro Lisa Frank fever dream.
I scratch my head and laugh. For once, the mess doesn’t bother me. Some things, I’m learning, are worth the chaos.