Chapter 10 A Dick What? #2
Her house smells like garlic and comfort and the kind of love that doesn’t ask permission to take care of you.
For five days, I let her feed me and boss me around and pretend I’m still thirteen.
We hit the market, run errands, cook in her bright kitchen while she smacks my hand for reaching too soon.
She puts on her shows and laughs like the world isn’t heavy, and for a while, my head quiets down in a way Chicago doesn’t allow.
On Saturday, we’re standing near a spice vendor when she grabs my wrist.
“Augustus,” she says in Spanish, eyes narrowing. “Talk.”
I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for days. “There’s a woman.”
Abuela’s mouth lifts. “Ah.”
“It got… complicated.”
“Mijo,” she says, and her voice softens, the way it always does when she’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “If you care, you work for it. You don’t run because it scares you.”
I look away, jaw tight.
“You always run to control the feeling,” she adds. “But love is not a business deal. You cannot negotiate your way out of it.”
I let that sit in my chest. I don’t tell her everything. I don’t tell her the name. I don’t tell her that part of what I’m struggling with is that I don’t know what the hell happened, and I hate not knowing.
But she sees enough.
She always does.
Tuesday morning, I fly back to Chicago feeling lighter. Not healed, not fixed, but steadier, like my thoughts have finally stopped sprinting. I check my phone once on the plane, because I’m still me.
Still nothing.
Fine.
I can handle quiet.
Days go by.
Chicago doesn’t wait for anybody. Not for jet lag, not for heartbreak, not for whatever that was. The building is already in motion by the time I walk in mid-morning, the lobby full of polished shoes and pressed jackets, the elevator humming like it’s got places to be without me.
Up on my floor, the office looks calmer than it used to. Less club wear, more actual work clothes, which tells me somebody listened when I said we weren’t running a damn runway.
I step off the elevator and immediately clock Rebecca near the espresso machine, perfectly pressed, laughing like she’s auditioning for a lifestyle brand.
Her eyes cut toward me.
Absolutely not.
I pivot like I forgot my soul in the elevator and take the long way around a column, slipping past without getting trapped in a conversation I don’t have the patience to survive today. I catch a flash of her smile as I pass, bright and hungry, and I keep moving like my life depends on it.
Sadie catches my eye from her doorway. She doesn’t smile, but she does give me a look that says: Smart.
When I walk into her office, she’s already three steps ahead.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up.
“I’m alive,” I counter.
“You're still late,” she replies. Then she lifts her eyes and studies me for half a second. “But you look rested so, I guess that's something."
I ignore that. “What did I miss?”
She slides a folder across her desk like she’s feeding a shark. “Everything. But also, you’re welcome. The world did not end in your absence. Shocking, I know.”
“If it did,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, “you would’ve handled it.”
“Correct.”
Sadie taps her screen, scrolling. “Also, your summer mission travel block is confirmed.”
I blink. “How long?”
“Seven weeks,” she says like she’s reading the weather. “And the minute you return, you’re flying back out for that engagement you insisted was ‘non-negotiable.’”
I exhale through my nose. “So I’m basically a ghost with a calendar.”
“Correct,” she replies, unbothered. “But you’ll be back in time for the September quarterly kick-off.”
“Good,” I say, keeping my face steady even though something about being gone that long makes my jaw tighten for reasons I’m not unpacking at nine in the morning.
Sadie moves on like she didn’t just clock the entire state of my soul. “Lunch is scheduled. Mediterranean Place, not sandwiches. Daniel and his wife just got back from their honeymoon, so it’s a decent gesture.”
“If it weren’t highly inappropriate to kiss you right now, I would.”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t start lying. It doesn’t suit you.”
I grin. “Is Kelley here yet?”
“He’s in a meeting on thirty-eight,” she says. “Do you want me to ping Kristy?”
“No,” I answer immediately. “I’ll go.”
Sadie’s mouth twitches. “Oh, praise Jesus.”
Kelley’s office door is cracked an hour later when I finally make it down the hall. I knock once and push in.
He’s seated behind his desk like the building pays him rent, tablet in hand, suit laid on him like it was custom-bred for arrogance. Rested, too, which is always offensive. He looks up with that familiar grin that says trouble is already in the room and it isn’t me for once.
“There he is,” he says. “Mr. Disappearing Act.”
“I went to see my abuela.”
“Cute,” he replies. “Did you bring me back a wife or just trauma?”
I give him a flat look, and he grins wider like I’ve fed him.
“Okay,” he says. “So it’s trauma.”
“Can we do business first?”
“Wow,” he says, hand to chest. “Listen to you, rolling right past my love language. Harsh.”
I don’t argue, because I don’t argue with Kelley Wilde anymore. You don’t wrestle a hurricane. You reinforce the windows and let it pass.
I drop into the chair across from him. “Kevin’s bid. Did he send it?”
Kelley taps his tablet. “His assistant says end of week.”
“Good.”
He nods like he actually listened, then squints at me like he’s known me too long for me to get away with acting normal.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
His face says he’s heard that lie in every language.
I exhale. “I’m tired.”
“That’s not an explanation,” he says, and then, because he’s Kelley, he adds, “Unless you were up doing crimes.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, unbothered.
“I had a weird few weeks,” I admit. “Something is off. I'm off.”
Kelley’s posture shifts. The jokes don’t disappear, but the edge softens. He gestures toward the door. “Do I need to shut this? And do I need to call our lawyer?”
“No,” I say quickly. “But shut it anyway.”
He stands, closes the door, and sits back down like he’s about to host a podcast episode titled Why Are Men Like This.
I take a breath, then let it out slowly.
“Okay,” I start. “I met someone a few weeks back.”
Kelley’s eyes light up. “I knew it.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he says, already doing it.
I give him the clean version. Train station.
Conversation. The night that felt easy. The moment the air changed.
The way she walked away like the whole thing had a different meaning to her than it did to me.
I leave out her name, I leave out the sex, and I definitely leave out the parts I don’t want living outside my head yet.
Kelley listens, chin tilted, eyes sharp.
When I finish, he nods once. “Alright. I hear you.”
“Thank you.”
“But,” he says, holding up a finger, “before I can give you expert counsel, I need something.”
I close my eyes. “Kelley.”
“I need to know what she looks like,” he says like it’s obvious. “You’re describing a vibe. I need visuals.”
“Why.”
“Because,” he replies, leaning forward, “for all I know, you fell in love with Bigfoot’s cousin.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, delighted.
This is what I mean. I should be used to this. I am used to this. It still irritates me sometimes.
I exhale. “Fine. But don’t be weird.”
“I’m never weird,” he says, which is insane.
And the thing is, I don’t even know how to explain Harlee without sounding like I made her up.
“She’s about five-three, body like a hour glass.” I say carefully, choosing my words like they matter. “Pretty in a way that doesn’t ask permission. Not loud, not performative. She just walks into a space and feels… present.”
Kelley goes still like he’s actually listening.
“Her skin is warm brown,” I continue. “Glowing. Like she looks better under streetlights than she has any right to. Her curls are full and unapologetic, with honeyed pieces that catch the light when she turns her head.”
I pause, mildly annoyed at my own sincerity.
“And she has freckles,” I add, quieter. “Across her cheeks and nose, like somebody got carried away and didn’t want to stop.”
Kelley’s expression shifts, and for a split second he looks like he’s picturing her clearly.
“Her eyes are hazel,” I say. “They shift. Like she’s always halfway between laughing at you and figuring you out.”
I lean back, swallowing, because the next part comes out too honest if I’m not careful.
“She’s smart,” I finish. “The quiet kind. Like she’s already solved the puzzle and she’s deciding whether you’re worth watching struggle.”
Kelley nods slowly. “Okay.”
“She just feels real,” I say, voice lower than I intended. “Like she doesn’t need anything from me.”
Kelley’s grin comes back, softer. “So she’s perfect.”
“She’s different,” I correct, because I don’t want to give any of this a name it hasn’t earned.
He leans back and taps his desk. “And you had sex.”
I blink. “You move fast.”
He shrugs. “You just described her like a poem, bro. Don’t act brand new.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously.”
Kelley’s eyebrows jump. “And she ghosted you after?”
“She didn’t ghost,” I say, even though that’s exactly what it is. “She just left. Then she didn’t answer.”
Kelley nods like a doctor delivering a diagnosis. “Pretty and na?ve.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not judging,” he says immediately. “We listen and we don’t judge.”
I stare.
He points at me. “Okay, we judge a little. But respectfully.”
I exhale, fighting the urge to laugh.
Kelley leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright, listen. This is simple.”
“Please don’t say anything stupid.”
He grins. “No promises.”
I groan.
He snaps his fingers. “Welcome to 2026, my friend. You’ve officially become a dick appointment.”
I stare at him in silence for a long three seconds, then I say, very calmly, “I hate that you know words.”
Kelley laughs like I just made his day. “It’s a real thing.”
“A dick appointment,” I repeat, tasting the phrase like it’s rotten.
“Yes,” he says, nodding. “Like a booty call, but with better scheduling.”
I rub my face. “I’m not saying she owes me anything,” I say, and my voice is steadier than my chest feels.
“I’m not even saying I need her to come back.
I just don’t think I imagined it. It felt mutual, and now I’m sitting in here trying to turn it into a scheduling issue so I don’t have to admit it shook me. ”
Kelley studies me, quieter now.
“Maybe this works for you,” I add. “But every time I try to live the way you do, I end up right back here wondering what went wrong for caring.”
He nods once. “You're not wrong. I am known to be on a few calendars so that’s fair.” Then he smirks, because he can’t help himself. “Still that leaves us with your dick is garbage,” he mocks, putting a weird, ambiguous accent on garbage like the word alone is comedy.
I flip him off. “Funny.”
He spreads his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. You want my advice? Here it is—don’t confuse good sex with a connection. That’ll mess you up if you let it.”
I point at him. “There it is.”
Kelley leans back, satisfied. “I’m just being honest. Pussy is powerful—one of God’s greatest creations—but not everyone’s out here looking for Prince Charming, my guy. So just… relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
He gives me a look that says I’m lying to myself.
I let out a slow breath. “Fine. I’m trying to be relaxed.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” he says. Then, like he can’t help himself, “If she wants another appointment, she’ll hit you up.”
“Stop calling it that.”
He grins. “No.”
“I’m not trying to wife her up or anything,” I say. “But I’m also not pretending it was nothing.”
“Good,” he replies easily. “But if you need a distraction, I’ve got options.”
“I do not need your help getting women.”
Kelley’s eyes flash, amused. “Right. Says the man who almost fell for the first woman he’s dicked down in two years.”
“I didn’t say I fell.”
Kelley nods like a therapist who already wrote the note. “With you, that can mean anything.”
I exhale, then laugh despite myself, because for all his nonsense, he’s still my boy, and there’s comfort in the familiarity of his chaos.
Kelley claps his hands once. “I’m just glad you’re back. My wingman lives.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m starting,” he says happily. “Instagram baddies have been begging to see what it’s like to fuck the youngest billionaire CEOs in the city.”
I blink. “You’re ill.”
Kelley shrugs. “Eh, I like options.”
A knock taps the glass door, saving me from whatever sentence he was about to commit.
Sadie peeks in, silver curls immaculate, not a strand out of place, her deep brown complexion glowing soft and warm under the office lights, her expression balanced between annoyance and quiet amusement—like she’s two seconds from shutting this down but curious enough to see how it plays out.
“Hi, August,” she says.
Then, to Kelley, without missing a beat: “Mmm.”
Kelley puts a hand over his heart. “Heeeey, Sadie.”
“I don’t work for you,” she replies flatly, though there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth, before turning back to me. “Canaan Reid from Grayson’s Project is here. Said you told him to stop by if he was ever in the area.”
“Send him into my office,” I say immediately. “I’ll be right there.”
Sadie nods, then pauses—eyes flicking over my face, then to Kelley, then back again.
Taking inventory.
“Can you two,” she says, calm but pointed, “manage not to leave me anything for me to clean up today?”
The tone lands somewhere between a warning and a well-worn request she’s made a hundred times before.
She turns, already moving, then pauses just enough to glance back at Kelley.
“And you,” she adds, softer now, almost fond, “act like you’ve got some sense.”
Kelley exhales like he’s just been personally attacked. “I always—”
She’s already gone.
Kelley watches her leave, then looks back at me. “See? I told you Sadie thinks I’m a bad influence.”
“You are a bad influence,” I say, standing.
Kelley smirks. “I wouldn’t say my influence is necessarily good or bad. More… gray. With different shades.”
I point toward the bar cart. The one he insisted on having in his office.
He lifts his hands. “What? Hydration is important.”
I shake my head, a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth despite myself.
“Stay out of trouble,” I tell him.
“No promises.”
Of course not.
I straighten my shirt, roll my shoulders back, and head for the door.
Whatever that was a second ago is already fading.
This is what I’m good at.
I step into the meeting like I never missed a beat.