CHAPTER 19
Angela’s POV:
The late afternoon air over Central Park was thick with the scent of roasted nuts, damp earth, and the electric, humid warning of a summer storm rolling in across the Hudson.
I stood near the stone archway at the north entrance, my fingers nervously digging into the soft, curly fur of Max’s neck as he sat perfectly still against my thigh.
My heart was doing a strange, erratic flutter against my ribs—a rhythmic thumping of pure anxiety that had absolutely nothing to do with the bustling Manhattan traffic or the joggers sprinting past us in neon spandex.
It was entirely about her.
I took a deep, shaky breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs as I tried to smooth down the invisible wrinkles of my self-doubt.
For the past forty-eight hours, my mind had been trapped in a vicious, looping rerun of Miley’s sudden visit to my apartment.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the tension in her jaw, the defensive posture she had adopted, and the heavy, unspoken weight she carried on her shoulders when she walked through my door.
I had been so awkward, so stiff, so entirely consumed by my own social anxieties that I felt like I had completely botched the moment.
I had wanted to offer her a sanctuary, a quiet place away from the corporate madness of E-Tech, but instead, I had felt like a stumbling kid trying to speak a language I hadn't practiced in years.
"It’s okay, boy," I whispered softly down to Max, my voice barely audible over the low rumble of a city bus.
Max looked up at me with his big, soulful brown eyes, letting out a soft whine as if he could read the frantic script running through my brain.
"We’re just going for a walk. Just a simple, normal walk. No pressure. No expectations."
But who was I kidding? The pressure was immense.
Miley was different from anyone I had ever met.
She had this magnetic, effortless gravity that drew people into her orbit without she ever having to raise her voice or demand attention.
She was real in a world full of plastic replicas, and the thought of losing the fragile bridge we were building because of my own clumsy boundaries made my stomach twist into a tight, agonizing knot.
Suddenly, a sleek, massive black shadow glided smoothly toward the curb, cutting through the yellow taxi cabs like a lethal killer whale slicing through a school of minnows.
My eyes floored, my jaw dropping slightly as the vehicle came to a completely silent, authoritative halt right in front of the park entrance.
It was a customized, late-model luxury Nissan Patrol Jeep—the kind of high-end executive transport that didn't just cost money; it signaled absolute, untouchable sovereignty.
The windows were tinted to a deep, impenetrable obsidian black, reflecting the graying New York skyline like a mirror.
The chrome accents gleamed flawlessly under the streetlights, and the sheer size of the vehicle made the surrounding sedans look like children's toys.
Before I could even process the sheer wealth on wheels sitting in front of me, the heavy rear door swung open with a hydraulic hiss.
Miley stepped out onto the concrete.
The sight of her instantly stole the remaining breath from my lungs.
She was still dressed in her full corporate armor—a sharp, impeccably tailored navy blue trouser suit that elongated her lean frame, the fabric shifting with an expensive, fluid grace as she moved.
Her long box braids were pinned back perfectly away from her face, exposing the sharp, confident lines of her jawline and the smooth, rich tone of her skin.
She was holding her black leather designer handbag tightly in one hand, a heavy, embossed cardstock folder tucked securely under her arm.
She looked like a woman who had just signed away a multi-million-dollar empire before lunch, carrying an aura of crisp, electrified success that made my heart do a violent backflip.
The heavy door of the Jeep clicked shut behind her, and through the front windshield, I caught a brief glimpse of a middle-aged black man wearing a crisp white shirt and a black tie, his hands resting respectfully on the leather steering wheel.
He offered Miley a sharp, professional nod through the glass before the massive SUV glided back into the flow of traffic like a ghost.
Miley turned toward the park entrance, her eyes sweeping across the crowd until they locked directly onto me.
The moment our gazes met, the stiff, unyielding corporate mask she was wearing completely melted away, replaced by a warm, radiant grin that lit up her entire face and made the gloomy afternoon feel instantly brighter.
"Hey, Angela!" she called out, her voice carrying that smooth, rhythmic Harlem cadence that always made my shoulders drop. She walked toward me with a long, confident stride, the flats she wore clicking softly against the pavement.
"Hey, Miley," I breathed, my voice trembling slightly as she reached the stone archway.
Before she could even say another word, the immense weight of my guilt pushed me forward.
I couldn't carry the silence for another second.
"Miley, listen... before we do anything, I need to apologize to you.
Seriously. The way I behaved when you came over to visit...
I was so stiff, and I felt like I was being so weird and defensive.
I didn't mean to make things awkward or heavy for you. I was just... I was wrapped up in my own head, and I’m so sorry if I made you feel unwelcome. "
Miley stopped right in front of me, her dark eyes blinking in absolute surprise before a low, beautiful chuckle escaped her lips. She waved her hand in the air with a casual dismissiveness that instantly shattered the remaining ice between us.
"Girl, look at you... it’s all good, real talk," Miley smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling with a genuine, affectionate amusement that made my heart melt.
"You ain't even gotta trip about that, Angela.
I didn't think you were being weird at all.
If anything, I was the one bringing all that crazy energy into your space.
My mind was all over the place with work drama, and you giving me a quiet place to just breathe was exactly what I needed.
We are completely good, I promise you. No apologies needed. "
A massive, overwhelming wave of relief washed over me, so intense it felt like a physical weight being lifted off my chest. The static was gone, replaced by the easy, comfortable warmth that drew me to her in the first place.
Miley’s eyes shifted down to my thighs, her grin widening as she noticed the silent spectator waiting between us. "Oh, look at this little man! Max, you really out here strolling in Central Park?"
"Yeah, this is him," I smiled, my heart swelling with a sweet, nostalgic pride as I adjusted the harness around his chest.
Without a single care for her expensive navy blue trousers or her corporate status, Miley instantly dropped down to her knees right there on the smooth patch of grass near the pathway.
She set her designer handbag and the heavy folder down carefully on the lawn, extending her open palms toward my cat.
Max, who was usually incredibly wary of strangers and hated the outdoors, didn't hesitate for a single second. He let out a soft, joyful meow, his tail upright and vibrating with excitement as he leaped straight out of my loose embrace and buried his furry head directly into Miley’s arms, kneading his paws against her blazer.
"Oh, you are so handsome! Yes, you are!" Miley cooed, her voice dropping into a high-pitched, playful melody as she wrapped her arms around Max’s small frame, letting him ruthlessly rub his scent glands against her chin and cheeks.
She buried her face in his soft fur, petting him with long, loving strokes that made Max let out a deep, rumbling purr before rolling onto his back in total, blissful submission.
"Look at those ears! You are a little heartbreaker, Max. You know that?"
I stood there, looking down at the two of them, a soft, helpless smile plastered across my face.
Seeing this fierce, high-powered tech executive sitting on the grass, getting covered in cat hair while laughing like a carefree child, was the most beautiful, arousing contrast I had ever witnessed.
It showed the raw, unrefined depth of her soul—the fact that she could command a boardroom at E-Tech but still have enough sweetness to melt over a cat in the park.
"He likes you more than he likes me, and I’m the one who buys the expensive food," I joked, crossing my arms as I looked down at them, a lighthearted chuckle escaping my lips.
"Hey, he knows real recognize real," Miley laughed, giving Max one final squeeze before she stood back up, smoothing down the front of her navy blazer with her palms, though a few stray white cat hairs remained stuck to the fabric.
She picked up her bag and folder, her eyes shifting back to the street where the massive SUV had vanished.
I looked out toward the traffic, my curiosity finally getting the better of me. "Miley... I gotta ask. That Jeep you just got dropped off in... my eyes literally floored when I saw that thing pull up. It looked like an entire military tank made of pure luxury. What was that?"
Miley let out another low laugh, shaking her head as she adjusted the strap of her handbag. "Oh, that? That was just Marcus. He’s Helisa’s designated driver. She insisted he drop me off here because she didn't want me taking the subway with all these heavy project folders after the day we had."
My jaw dropped again, a sudden, sharp pang of professional envy and awe striking my chest. "Helisa... as in the actual CEO of E-Tech? Her personal driver brought you to Central Park?"