Chapter 17 #2
He clears his throat, his attention shifting back to Aubrey. “So”—his smile is still there, though a little more tentative now— “my offer still stands.”
The lobby suddenly feels impossibly small. I don’t look at him. Every instinct I possess is focused entirely on Aubrey.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, she looks at me for one suspended moment, and everything else disappears. It’s just the two of us.
Confusion lingers in her expression, but it’s mixed with something else… like hope.
It’s as if she’s waiting for me to explain why I just inserted myself into a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with me.
My chest tightens.
Say something. Tell her you were out of line. Tell her you’ve been an idiot. Tell her you’ve missed talking to her.
Tell her—
The words refuse to come. Fear wins. It always does.
Aubrey’s expression changes almost imperceptibly.
The hope fades as her shoulders straighten. The softness disappears from her face, replaced by a calmness that somehow hurts even more.
She turns back to Jeremy. “I’d like that.”
The words land with devastating precision.
His grin returns immediately. “Really?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“I know it’s short notice.”
“I don’t mind.”
He smiles, genuinely pleased. “How about seven?”
“That works.”
“I’ll meet you down here.”
She smiles at him. “I’ll see you then.”
He gives her an easy smile before nodding politely in my direction. “Have a good evening.”
I don’t answer.
He disappears through the revolving doors, leaving behind a silence so heavy that it feels tangible.
Liana smiles happily from her stroller, blissfully unaware that my entire world seems to have tilted on its axis. Without a word, I push the stroller toward the private elevator.
Aubrey follows.
The doors slide closed behind us as silence falls upon us.
Not the comfortable silence we’ve shared countless times before. This one has edges.
I keep my eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors.
I should remind her that she’s only been in the city for a month. That she shouldn’t go to dinner with a man she barely knows.
That… no. The thought dies as quickly as it forms. She’s an adult. A smart one.
And this guy isn’t some stranger she met on the street. He appears to live in my building.
But more importantly … I don’t get a vote. I surrendered that the moment I decided pretending she didn’t exist was somehow protecting us both.
Beside me, Aubrey grabs the stroller and gently rocks it back and forth with one hand. She won’t look at me.
Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable.
“Aubrey …” My voice sounds rough.
She turns her head just enough to acknowledge she heard me.
“Yes?”
That one word sounds so polite and professional. It’s exactly the tone I spent the last week teaching her to use.
Everything I wanted to say vanishes.
How are you?
I’m sorry.
Don’t go.
I missed you.
Instead …
“I hope you and Liana had a good day.”
The instant the words leave my mouth, I hate them. Aubrey lets out the faintest, almost-disbelieving laugh.
But it’s not the amused kind of laugh. It’s hurt.
She keeps her head forward, still not willing to look at me. “We did.”
The elevator dings, and then the doors slide open into the penthouse foyer. Before they’re fully open, Aubrey is already reaching for the stroller with her other hand now.
“I’ve got her,” I say as I place my hand next to where hers is on the bar.
She lets me take hold of the stroller handle. I carefully steer Liana into the apartment.
Aubrey pauses only long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “Enjoy your evening”—a beat passes— “boss.”
The title lands like a slap. Then she disappears down the hallway without another look.
I remain standing in the foyer long after she’s gone. Somewhere down the hall, I hear Aubrey’s bedroom door shut.
I drag a hand over my face and let out a slow breath.
I spent one week convincing myself distance would solve everything.
Instead, all I managed to do was push her directly into another man’s arms.
And for the first time since she walked into my apartment a month ago … I’m not afraid of wanting her.
I’m terrified of losing her.
The silence in the penthouse is making my thoughts intensify.
I glance at the microwave clock for what has to be the fiftieth time—10:43.
She said dinner. Dinner doesn’t take four hours.
I swirl the amber liquid in my glass before taking another sip. The whiskey burns all the way down, but tonight, it does absolutely nothing to dull the restlessness crawling beneath my skin.
The lights throughout the penthouse are off. Darkness presses against the windows, turning the glass into mirrors.
I barely recognize the man staring back at me.
Barefoot, in only my black boxer briefs. One hand wrapped around a whiskey glass with the other planted against the marble countertop, hard enough that my knuckles have gone white.
This isn’t me.
I’m not possessive, and I’m not irrational. I’m certainly not the kind of man who stands in his kitchen, waiting for a woman to come home from a date.
She’s my nanny.
She isn’t my girlfriend.
She isn’t my wife.
She isn’t … mine.
The thought lands with enough force that I physically flinch.
I drain the rest of the whiskey and set the glass in the sink.
Dammit, Dean, she’s fine. She’s twenty-two years old. She’s out to dinner with a neighbor.
Nothing bad has happened. Nothing bad is happening.
I pace toward the windows, then back toward the kitchen and toward the foyer.
The microwave clock changes—11:02.
My chest tightens as my eyes land on my phone sitting on the counter.
I could call her. Just to make sure she is safe. That’s reasonable.
Isn’t it?
Except it isn’t. It’s insane. I’m already reaching for my phone anyway when the elevator hums.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid as the doors slide open.
Aubrey steps into the foyer, slipping her phone into her purse as she walks inside.
She doesn’t see me immediately.
Relief crashes through me so powerfully that my knees almost give out. But anger follows so quickly that it steals the relief away.
“A little late, don’t you think?”
A gasp falls from her mouth. Her head snaps toward me in the kitchen.
“Dean?” She blinks at me, clearly surprised to find me. “What are you doing, standing alone in the dark?”
I set my phone on the counter. “I asked you a question.”
Her brows pull together. “I … went to dinner.”
“I know that.”
She takes a couple of cautious steps until she’s in the kitchen. “You knew where I was.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s after eleven.”
Confusion slowly gives way to irritation.
“I’m sorry.” She lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
“You could’ve checked in.”
“I didn’t realize I needed permission to have dinner.”
“It isn’t about permission.”
“Then what is it about?”
My jaw tightens. “I had no idea where you were.”
Her eyes widen. “You literally watched me leave.”
“You left the building.”
She folds her arms. “I was on a date.”
“I know,” I reply.
“Then what exactly did you think happened?”
Everything.
A cab accident. Someone following her. A mugging.
A hundred different possibilities that my brain tortured me with for the last three hours. But saying any of that out loud would only make me sound as unhinged as I suddenly feel.
I take a slow breath.
“From now on”—my voice comes out lower than I intended— “if you’re going to be out late, I want you to text me.”
She stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment … then actually laughs.
“No,” she says with a chill to her tone.
“No?” I repeat in shock.
“No.” She shakes her head once. “That’s absurd.”
I take a step toward her, not particularly thrilled at my misery causing her so much entertainment. “It’s a simple request.”
“It’s not your business.”
Another step toward her. “It becomes my business when you live in my home.”
“I work for you, Dean.” Her voice sharpens. “You don’t own me.”
The words hit harder than they should.
She turns, as if to walk away. Before I can think better of it, I step in front of her.
She stops so suddenly that we’re barely inches apart.
The foyer feels impossibly small.
“I wasn’t finished.”
She tips her chin up. “I was.”
I don’t move. Neither does she.
“I said, I want you to check in,” I answer sternly.
“And I said no.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “It was a demand.”
I notice her breathing change. Just enough from the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
Mine follows a heartbeat later, yet neither of us speaks.
She looks up at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes search mine, as though she’s trying to understand how the man who’s barely spoken to her all week is suddenly standing inches away, refusing to let her leave.
I can feel the warmth radiating from her. The faint scent of her perfume swirls between us.
My pulse pounds so loudly that I’m certain she can hear it.
She swallows. The movement draws my attention to her lips. For one impossible second, the rest of the apartment disappears.
The distance between us doesn’t seem like inches anymore. It feels microscopic.
If either one of us leaned forward … just a fraction … just enough …
Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Everything inside me stills. All of it collapses into one overwhelming need to close the space between us.
I start to lean in. So slowly that I’m not even aware I’m moving.
She doesn’t step back or tell me to stop. She simply stands there, frozen, her lips parting with a quiet, unsteady breath.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I can already imagine what it would feel like to finally—
A cry pierces the silence.
Liana.
The sound shatters the moment. Aubrey jerks backward, as if waking from a dream.
I close my eyes for the briefest second, every muscle in my body going rigid.
Without another word, she slips around me and hurries toward her bedroom.
I take a shaky breath before taking long strides toward the nursery.
Wondering how close I just came to making the biggest mistake of my life.