Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
AUDRA
The shower helps.
Not in the magical, movie way where water fixes trauma and the world resets to normal. But it rinses off the sticky residue of the club—smoke, sweat, other people’s perfume—and it gives me ten uninterrupted minutes where my body is mine again.
I stand under the rainfall head in Derek’s guest shower and let the heat pound the tension out of my shoulders. I wash my hair twice. I scrub my skin harder than necessary. When I finally shut the water off, my fingers are pruned and my thoughts are… not clearer, exactly, but less jagged.
Still here, I remind myself.
Still me.
The guest bathroom feels like a boutique hotel. Thick towels. Neutral tones. Everything arranged with that careful, controlled precision that screams Derek Pierce even when he’s not in the room.
There’s a drawer like Alex said—unopened toothbrushes, travel-size toothpaste, even a tiny bottle of mouthwash. I stare at it for a second, caught between amusement and something softer.
He plans for guests.
He plans for everything.
And yet last night, the only thing he seemed to plan for was me being safe.
I rinse my mouth, brush my teeth, then stare at my reflection again.
My eyes are still a little slow, the fog lingering at the edges. But I don’t look like a woman who almost lost control of her life in a VIP club bathroom.
I look like… me. Just a version of me that slept in a CEO’s bed-adjacent guest room and doesn’t know what to do with that information.
The Cambridge t-shirt is still on the counter, folded now, clean enough to pretend it’s normal. Derek’s robe hangs from a hook, waiting.
I tug it on anyway, because I’m not emotionally prepared to walk through his house in nothing but a towel, and also because the robe still feels like armor.
When I step into the hallway, the house is quiet again—house-quiet, the kind that doesn’t shush you but holds space for you.
Muted voices drift from the kitchen.
Mark’s voice: “—telling you, if she stays, you’re going to get weird.”
Alex’s: “He’s already weird.”
Derek’s voice cuts in, low and controlled. “I am not weird.”
Mark: “You’re hovering.”
Derek: “I’m not.”
Alex: “You re-filled her apple juice like it was a hostage negotiation.”
Mark: “You washed your shoes. Twice.”
Derek: “I—” A pause. “That’s not relevant.”
I stop in the hallway, half amused, half mortified.
They’re talking about me.
Of course they are.
I clear my throat once—quietly, but enough.
Silence hits like a wall.
Then Mark’s voice, too innocent. “Oh! Look who’s alive and smells refreshing.”
Alex nods. "She was starting to smell."
"Knock it off," Derek reprimands.
I imagine I smelled like puke and rum. Lovely.
I step into the kitchen and immediately regret existing.
Mark and Alex are both leaning against the island like they live here. Derek stands by the sink, arms crossed, as if he’s been trying to decide whether to pace or disappear.
All three pairs of eyes land on me.
I tighten the robe around my waist. “Hi.”
Alex smiles brightly. “Hi! You look… less like you’re going to murder someone.”
“That’s progress,” Mark adds.
Derek’s gaze moves over me once—quick, controlled—and then locks back onto my face. “You okay?”
The question is simple. The way he asks it isn’t.
I nod. “Better.”
He exhales, and I realize he’s been holding that breath for longer than he should.
Alex claps his hands once like he’s starting a meeting. “Okay. Agenda item one: crackers. Agenda item two: making sure you don’t go home alone. Agenda item three: watching Derek try to pretend he’s not emotionally invested.”
“Alex,” Derek warns.
Alex grins wider. “What? We’re all thinking it.”
Mark nods solemnly. “It’s true.”
I roll my eyes, grateful for the distraction even as heat creeps up my neck. “I can go home.”
Derek’s jaw tightens. “You can. But you shouldn’t drive.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I don't have a car here.,” I say quickly. “I’d call an Uber.”
“No,” Derek says immediately.
The force of it makes me blink.
His voice softens a fraction. “No Ubers. Not today.”
I want to argue. It’s my default setting. It’s my comfort zone.
But the truth is, the thought of getting into a stranger’s car right now makes my stomach twist.
Mark points a finger at me. “See? He’s already being responsible.”
Alex raises his hand. “I volunteer as tribute.”
“You volunteer for everything,” Mark says. “You’d volunteer to taste-test poison if someone offered you a trophy.”
Alex shrugs. “Depends on the trophy.”
Derek’s gaze stays on mine, steady. “I can take you.”
My pulse trips. “You have work.”
“I can work from home,” he says, like it’s nothing.
“It’s not nothing,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You’re the CEO.”
“And you’re the person who was drugged last night,” he replies, calm but firm. “Let me do this.”
The words hit my chest like a fist.
Let me do this.
Not because I owe him. Not because he expects anything. Because he wants to.
That’s the part that scares me.
I take a slow breath. “Okay,” I say, the sound brittle. “But I’m not… staying.”
Alex coughs loudly. “Yet.”
“Alex,” I warn.
He holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”
Mark leans toward me, voice conspiratorial. “He won’t.”
I snort despite myself.
Derek grabs a clean glass and refills it halfway with apple juice again. He slides it toward me without comment.
I stare at it, then at him. “Half?”
“Just in case,” he says quietly.
I swallow, throat tight, and take a sip anyway.
It helps.
The kitchen smells like coffee and something toasted—plain, safe. The normalcy is so absurd it almost makes me dizzy again.
Mark glances at my phone on the counter. “You text Jamie back?”
“I did,” I say. “She wants to set Derek on fire.”
Derek’s mouth twitches. “She can get in line.”
Alex laughs. “Jamie’s terrifying.”
“She’s also right,” I mutter.
Derek’s gaze sharpens. “About what?”
I hesitate.
Because this is the moment where I say something messy. Something human.
“About… me not wanting to feel like this was my fault,” I admit quietly.
The air shifts.
Alex's humor falls away. Mark's grin fades into something serious. Derek doesn’t move, but his eyes darken with something that looks like anger aimed at someone else.
“It wasn’t,” Derek says, voice low and certain. “Not even a little.”
I nod once, swallowing hard.
I didn't even notice Alex disappeared until he handed me my purse. "Thank you. My dress?" I cringe.
He does the sign of the cross. "May it rest in peace."
I really liked that dress. But after last night, I probably wouldn't have worn it again anyway.
“Okay,” Alex says after a beat, clapping his hands again like he’s saving us from the heaviness. “We’re doing a handoff. Pierce, you take Audra home. Mark and I will go hunt down the snack aisle and buy every box of real cereal to cleanse this house of flax.”
Derek’s eyes narrow. “Touch my cabinets and die.”
Alex beams. “Love to.”
Mark points at me. “Text us when you’re home, okay?”
I nod. “I will.”
“And if you get dizzy again—” Alex starts.
“I’ll sit,” I finish, because I’m learning.
Derek grabs his keys, phone, and a jacket. He moves with practiced efficiency, like if he stays busy he doesn’t have to feel anything.
I’m not sure that strategy is working.
At the front door, Derek pauses and looks back at Mark and Alex. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Mark salutes. “No promises.”
Alex adds, “We’re going to be so stupid.”
Derek’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile and refuses.
Then the door closes behind us, and suddenly it’s just me and him.
The quiet shifts again. More intimate. More dangerous.
The walk to his car feels too short.
He opens the passenger door for me like a gentleman, and that—of all things—makes my throat tighten. Because it’s thoughtful in a way that doesn’t ask for anything back.
I climb in and pull the seatbelt across my chest with shaking fingers.
Derek gets behind the wheel, starts the engine, and pulls out smoothly.
For a few minutes, we don’t talk.
The road hums beneath the tires. Winter sunlight slants through the windshield. The world outside looks normal enough to make last night feel like a hallucination.
But my body still remembers.
My mind still flinches at the thought of the bar.
Derek’s voice breaks the silence, gentle. “Where do you live?”
I blink. “You… don’t know?”
He glances at me, one brow lifting. “You think I keep files on my employees?”
“I think you keep files on everything,” I mutter.
A quiet laugh escapes him, surprised. “Some, not all.”
I give him my address and he plugs it into the navigation, eyes flicking to the screen for only a second before returning to the road.
The rest of the drive is quiet, but it’s not awkward. It’s the kind of quiet that gives you room to exist without performing.
I hate that I like it.
When we pull into my driveway, my chest tightens again. Not fear exactly—more like the sudden realization that this bubble is about to pop.
Derek parks and shifts into park, hands still on the wheel.
He doesn’t move to get out immediately. He just sits, staring straight ahead like he’s bracing.
I glance at him. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He exhales. “You already said that.”
“I’m saying it again.”
His jaw works. “You shouldn’t..”
The words land like a bruise.
I swallow. “I know.”
A beat.
Then Derek turns to look at me, really look at me, and his voice drops. “You’re going to be okay.”
I want to believe him.
I do believe him, in a way that scares me.
“I’m going to file a report with HR since you all own part of that club,” I say automatically, because that’s the part of me that survives. Procedure. Documentation. Control.
Derek’s mouth tightens. “Good. And I’m going to make sure security reviews footage, entrances, everything. This doesn’t happen again.”
“That sounds like work.”
“That sounds like my job,” he says, and the edge of anger in his voice is aimed at the world, not me.
I nod, fingers twisting in my lap. “Levi’s going to want to see you dead.”
“I can handle Levi,” Derek says dryly.
I snort. “No one can handle Levi.”
Derek’s lips twitch. “Then I’ll endure Levi.”
The smile that threatens my mouth is reluctant but real.
I reach for the door handle.
Derek’s voice stops me. “Audra.”
I pause, hand frozen.
“Yes?”
He hesitates, and the hesitation is louder than words.
“I’m not—” He swallows, jaw flexing. “I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen.”
My heart stutters.
“I’m not asking you to,” I whisper.
Another beat.
His gaze drops to the robe, then back to my face—careful, controlled, respectful. “Do you want me to walk you inside?”
I swallow. The offer is simple. The world it opens is not.
I think of my keys. My front door. The safety of being alone. The safety of not letting anyone else in.
Then I think of last night.
Of the club. The lights. The warp.
Of waking up in his house still wearing my panties, still safe.
“I’m okay,” I say softly. “But… maybe stay until I get inside.”
He nods once, like that’s exactly the answer he hoped for.
He walks up the driveway with me anyway, not close enough to crowd, not far enough to leave space for fear. I unlock the door, step inside, and then turn back.
Derek stands on my porch, hands in his pockets, looking like a man who doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s not in control of the room.
I should go inside.
I should close the door.
Instead, I say, “Text me your number.”
His brow lifts. “You don’t already have it?”
“I don’t,” I admit, cheeks heating.
He pulls out his phone and types quickly, then my phone buzzes with a new message.
Derek Pierce: You’re home.
I stare at the screen.
At the simplicity of it. At the ownership of nothing. The care of everything.
I look up. “I’m home,” I echo.
Derek’s gaze holds mine. “Good.”
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I step back, closing the door halfway, leaving it cracked just enough to feel like a choice, not a wall.
“Thank you,” I say again.
Derek’s mouth curves faintly—barely there, but real. “Anytime, Ms. Sullivan.”
The old title, used like a promise instead of a threat.
I swallow. “Goodnight, Mr. Pierce.”
“Goodnight,” he replies.
And as the door clicks shut, the house-quiet wraps around me again.
Not silence.
Permission.
But this time, it's mine.