6. Brett
Brett
Chicago winters were brutal, but the hotel site was worse. The wind off the river cut through my coat like a damn knife. Jerritt was already bitching about the cold, stomping his feet like it’d make a difference. Vahn, the human thermostat, didn’t even flinch.
“This better be quick,” Jerritt muttered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve got plans.”
“You don’t have plans,” I said. “You just don’t like work.”
“Incorrect,” he shot back. “I don’t like unnecessary work.”
We stepped inside, where Ivy Lockhart, the preservation specialist, was waiting. She was sharp-eyed, in her early forties, and looked like she’d chew up and spit out any developer dumb enough to think they could bulldoze history.
“Gentlemen,” she greeted, adjusting her glasses. “Let’s get started.”
The door swung open before she could launch into her spiel, and Olivia strolled in.
My entire body went tight. My pulse did this annoying stutter-step like I hadn’t had years to get over her.
But apparently, my body hadn’t gotten the memo.
Seeing her now, looking every bit as composed and sharp as ever, pissed me off.
Because deep down, I knew I’d never really stopped wanting her. And that was a problem.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, more gruff than I meant to be.
She gave me a slow, cool smile that set my teeth on edge. “I have questions for Ivy.”
Jerritt made a choking sound, way too entertained. “Wow. Brett, are you okay? You look a little… tense.”
I shot him a look that promised murder. “I’m fine.”
Olivia tilted her head. “You sure? You look a little—what was it? Tense?”
Jerritt laughed outright. “God, this is fun. Please, don’t stop.”
Ivy cleared her throat, but she was obviously not impressed. “If we’re done with the flirting?—”
“It’s not flirting,” I snapped.
“Definitely not flirting,” Olivia agreed, folding her arms.
Jerritt coughed, “Bullshit,” into his fist.
Vahn, silent but amused, just crossed his arms and waited.
Ivy sighed and launched into the restrictions. No structural changes to the fa?ade. No modernized windows. No gutting of the original staircase. Half of what I wanted to do was off the table, and I was already fighting the urge to curse out loud.
Olivia, of course, leaned in like she was enjoying a front-row seat to my suffering. “So what you’re saying,” she said, tapping a pen against her lips, “is that Brett can’t rip out any of the historical charm?”
Ivy nodded. “That’s correct.”
Olivia turned to me, feigning sympathy. “Tough break.”
Jerritt was grinning like an idiot. “You want me to get you a drink, Brett? Or maybe some ibuprofen?”
Vahn smirked. “A drink would be cheaper.”
I exhaled hard. “I swear to God, you two?—”
Olivia cut in. “Brett, you should really appreciate history more.”
“Olivia, you should go over there and pretend to be businesslike.”
“Grow up, Brett.”
I leaned in just enough to make her notice. “I’m a lot more man than you remember, Olivia.”
Her breath hitched. It was just a fraction, but I caught it. That flicker of reaction was dangerous and made my stomach tighten. She recovered fast, stepping back with a smirk. “Winning.”
Jerritt made a sound like a referee’s whistle. “Oof. Man down.”
I ignored him. “Do you have any more questions for Ivy?”
She turned to Ivy. “Actually, I’d love to discuss the interior preservation details.”
Of course, she would. She always had to have the last word. That was Olivia—relentless, sharp, infuriating. And the worst part? I liked it. I always had.
About an hour later, Jerritt checked his watch. “Vahn and I have a meeting. You two have fun.” He clapped my shoulder. “And Brett? Try not to combust.”
Ivy walked out with them, waving goodbye.
Vahn nodded to Olivia. “Good luck.”
She smiled. “I don’t need luck.”
I exhaled through my nose as they left. The second the door shut, Olivia turned to me, arms crossed. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I was wondering if you would have dinner with me?”
Her brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She laughed. And not a cute laugh. A mean one. “Brett, we work together.”
“And?”
“And that’s all we’ll ever be.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You sure about that?”
She didn’t move away. Her lips parted slightly, and for a second, I saw it—the hesitation, the crack in her armor. But then she blinked, and then it was gone. “One hundred percent.”
“Liar.”
Her jaw tightened. “This conversation is over.”
I studied her for a beat. The space between us sizzled with energy, making it hard to breathe. She could deny it all she wanted, but I knew the truth. We weren’t done. Not even close.
“For now.”
She turned on her heel, walking away after she had the nerve to set my entire body on fire. Yeah. This wasn’t over.
As the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a slow breath.
What the hell was I doing? Olivia wasn’t just any woman.
She was Olivia Shaw. The one I never should’ve walked away from, the one who got under my skin like no one else.
And here I was, still chasing something I had no business wanting.
But damn if I wasn’t enjoying the chase.
And the worst part? I knew, deep down, so was she. That flicker in her eyes? That hesitation? It was all I needed to keep going. Because no matter how much she fought it, I wasn’t giving up so easily this time.
Wind burned my face as I powered my bike down Lakeshore Drive, my legs pumping like I had something to prove.
Maybe I did. Olivia wasn’t giving me an inch, but I wasn’t backing down.
Not this time. I’d screwed up years ago and walked away like a cocky idiot.
Now I had to make her see I wasn’t that guy anymore.
I also had to consider Chloe and how she would factor in if I started a relationship with Olivia. Chloe was my first priority, but I was getting ahead of myself.
I skidded to a stop near the pier, breathing hard, hands braced on the handlebars. The lake stretched out before me, dark and endless.
You’re an idiot, Brett.
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered myself. It didn’t change the fact that I wanted her. Again. Still.
I pulled my phone out, debating texting her. What would I even say? Hey, Liv, remember that time I broke your heart? Want to give me another shot? Yeah, no. I exhaled hard, shoved my phone away, and pushed off again.
When I got home, my body ached, but my head was clearer. Phoenix was waiting at the door, all ears and wagging tail.
“You ready for a run, girl?” I scratched behind her ears. “Yeah, me too.”
“Chloe, you here?” I called out.
“In my bedroom,” she yelled back.
“Taking Phoenix for a run. Be back in about twenty,” I informed her.
“Got it!”
We hit the pavement, her paws thudding rhythmically beside me. I was impressed I had enough energy. Another outlet and needed distraction, but nothing erased the way Olivia looked at me now—like I was a gamble she’d already lost on.
I’ll change that.
After a scalding shower, I pulled on a T-shirt and joggers and headed to the kitchen. I was surprised to find Chloe sitting at the table, flipping through her textbook, brows furrowed.
“What’s up, kiddo?” I grabbed an onion and started chopping.
She sighed dramatically. “Math is dumb.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
She peered at me. “Why do you look like you’re trying to murder that onion?”
“Stress relief.”
She smirked. “How does that relieve stress?”
I paused. “Onions make people cry, so there’s something about chopping it up into hundreds of pieces that is slightly satisfying.”
Chloe shrugged. “You’re weird, Dad.”
I snorted. “So are you, kiddo.” I winked at her to let her know I was kidding.
She grinned. “It’s actually painful to witness.”
I tossed a slice of onion at her. “Eat your dumb math.”
She laughed, catching the piece and dramatically dropping it onto her textbook. “There. That’s what I think of equations.”
I shook my head, grinning. At least one girl in my life still liked me.
Dinner was quiet, save for the occasional chewing and chit-chat. When I set my fork down, she studied me. “I still want to be a cop,” she announced.
“It’s a dangerous career,” I warned her, giving her my full attention. “What made you decide that?”
Chloe shrugged, but there was a determined spark in her eyes. “I just think it’s cool. Cops help people, and they’re brave. They catch bad guys and keep everyone safe.” She hesitated, then looked up at me. “And maybe if I were a cop, no one would ever leave.”
My heart squeezed. I reached across the table, resting a hand over hers. “Sweetheart, people don’t leave because no one’s keeping them safe. Sometimes… life just happens. But you’d make an amazing cop if that’s what you want.”
Chloe chewed on her lip. “You really think so?”
“I really do,” I said firmly. “You’re smart, strong, and have a good heart. No badge can give you those things—you already have them.”
She grinned, sitting up straighter. “Then I’m gonna do it. I’ll be the best cop ever.”
I chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. But for now, how about you finish your math homework?”
Chloe giggled. “I don’t think cops need math unless they’re counting criminals. Besides, I’ve finished my math homework, but I do have a project I need to work on.” She groaned.
“You have a project? Where is it?”
“Upstairs. Hold on.” She ran upstairs, so I took a moment to look outside. Chicago’s winter wind howled against the windows, rattling them in protest. I felt a chill, so I put the fireplace on while waiting for her to return.
When she did, my eyes widened. “Chloe, this is… something,” I said, eying the lopsided replica of the Willis Tower she’d built out of cardboard.
She scowled. “It’s not done yet, but it’s due tomorrow.”
“No kidding,” I groaned, adjusting the uneven structure. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“You mentioned it in passing two weeks ago. That doesn’t count.”
She shrugged, stuffing a piece of licorice into her mouth. “You always say you work best under pressure.”
“Yeah, when I’m closing multi-million-dollar deals, not engineering a tower out of glue and cardboard.”
I sat at the dining table, rubbing a hand down my face. Scattered across the smooth surface were glue sticks, construction paper, and an assortment of markers—evidence of an ongoing battle between me and my twelve-year-old daughter’s school project.
Chloe snickered before reaching for a ruler, trying to straighten the mess she’d made.
I leaned back, exhaling. I was determined to be the kind of dad she could count on, but this project tested every ounce of my patience.
I’d take negotiating with ruthless investors over dealing with pre-teen emotions and last-minute school assignments any day.
“I wish I were better at this stuff,” she said casually, coloring in a crooked window with a black marker.
“Me too. I was never good at projects.” I nodded, staring at the mess in front of us.
I could’ve lied and told her I had some skill, but Chloe was too smart for that.
“Well, I suck at dioramas, but I’m pretty great at ordering takeout.
So, how about after we finish this disaster, we celebrate with pizza? ”
She gave me a small smile. “Yay!”
The conversation shifted, but as the night dragged on, I noticed something was off. Chloe’s usual spark was dimmer, and her laughter was forced.
I nudged her elbow. “Alright, what’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Chloe.”
She sighed dramatically, setting her marker down. “It’s just… there’s this boy at school.”
Ah. There it was. “Go on.”
“He’s always teasing me. Like making fun of my hair or calling me ‘nerd’ when I get good grades.”
I smirked. “That’s the sign of a boy who likes you.”
Her nose scrunched up in horror. “Dad, no. Gross.”
“That’s how middle school boys operate, kid. We’re dumb at that age. Hell, we’re still dumb at my age.”
She giggled, shaking her head. “So, you think he likes me?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
“Welcome to the male species. What’s this boy’s name?”
Her cheeks burned red as she said, “Joey.”
I squinted my eyes at her. “Do you like him back?” I couldn’t believe I was already talking ‘boys’ with my daughter. I had hoped this day would never come.
She shrugged, and I knew she was trying to pretend not to care. “He’s okay, I guess.”
“Now tell me what you really think about him.” I wasn’t stupid.
She heaved a sigh, and her lips wiggled. “He’s cute. Oh, Dad, he’s so cute. He’s got longer brown hair, and these super light blue eyes, and his smile is crooked.” She stopped talking and looked at me with a silly grin.
“Oh, boy. And so it begins!”
Chloe rolled her eyes but smiled, and for a second, I felt like I was winning at this whole dad thing. Then, like a wrecking ball, she dropped another bomb.
“I failed my last math test.”
I froze mid-glue-stick swipe. “Come again?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “I failed.”
Silence stretched between us. I wasn’t mad—I was concerned. Chloe had always been an A+ student. “What happened?”
She chewed her lip. “I don’t know. I studied. I just… blanked. And now my teacher wants me to get extra help.”
I put the glue stick down, focusing on her. “Chloe, failing one test doesn’t define you. You’re not your grades.”
She shrugged, looking unconvinced. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re, like, good at everything.”
I snorted. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Name one thing you’ve failed at.”
I hesitated. There were a lot of things I’d screwed up, but none of them were things I’d say out loud.
“Okay, fine,” I said, leaning back. “Remember when I tried to assemble that bookshelf for your room?”
She giggled. “You built it upside down.”
“And nearly lost a finger. So, see? Even dads fail.”
She laughed again, and the weight in my chest eased. “Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For not being mad. For helping me and me laugh even when I don’t feel like it.”
I swallowed hard, ruffling her hair. “That’s my job, kiddo. But about the math test and getting extra help. How about I hire a math tutor? I would help you myself, but I think it might be easier for you to relate to someone younger. What do you think?”
She smiled and nodded. “I like that idea. Who would you hire?”
I shrugged. “Probably someone in college who needs some extra money.”
She grinned and picked up the ruler, determination flickering in her mossy green eyes. “Alright, let’s finish this tower before it collapses.”
I watched her, pride swelling in my chest. No matter how much I screwed up, one thing was sure—I’d always show up for my daughter, even if it meant losing my sanity over cardboard skyscrapers.