Chapter 18 #3
The hot water helped shake off the last of the morning haze, and by the time I stepped out and wrapped my hair in a towel, I had already decided something.
If this was going to be a real date, I wanted to look good. Not for the cameras or for the people who might recognize us. But, for Jalen.
That realization caught me off guard. I had spent years getting dressed for myself and no one else. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped wondering what it felt like to want someone to notice me.
Now, I cared.
I wanted him to look at me the way he had the morning we met outside Oliver's.
The way his eyes lingered just a second too long before he remembered himself.
I shook my head at the thought and grabbed my purse.
A quick trip to the mall couldn't hurt. After everything that had happened over the last couple of days, I needed a reminder that I was still me.
For a couple of hours, I wanted to think about fabrics instead of headlines.
I wanted to stand in front of a mirror and see myself instead of the frightened twenty-five-year-old woman who still found ways to creep into my thoughts.
When I arrived, the Galleria buzzed with its usual energy as shoppers drifted in and out of stores carrying glossy bags and iced coffees.
I wandered through a few boutiques, passing dresses that were either too flashy or didn't feel like me.
Then I saw a tall man in a navy suit with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair, and my heart stopped as every muscle in my body locked up, the shopping bags slipping slightly in my hands while I stood frozen in the middle of the aisle until he finally turned around and I realized, with a shaky breath, that it wasn't Darren at all.
My therapist once told me that trauma has a way of convincing your mind that danger is still waiting around every corner, even long after you've survived it.
I understood what she meant, but understanding it and believing it were two very different things.
Some days I could talk myself down.
Other days, my body reacted before my mind had the chance.
I pressed a hand against my chest and concentrated on slowing my breathing until the pounding in my heart finally began to ease.
"You're okay," I whispered to myself.
"You're safe."
I repeated the words one more time, this time believing them just enough to keep moving forward.
After taking a few slow breaths, I realigned my thoughts and reminded myself why I came here in the first place.
I refused to let one frightening moment steal the rest of my afternoon.
I always reminded me that healing happened by staying present, not by living in the past or worrying about what might happen next.
So I focused on what was right in front of me. The music drifting through the store, soft fabrics beneath my fingertips and the chatter of shoppers passing by.
By the time I stepped into the next boutique, my breathing had settled and my shoulders no longer felt so tight.
A few dresses later, I found the one.
The fabric skimmed every curve perfectly without trying too hard, hugging my body in all the right places while still feeling effortlessly elegant.
I smiled at my reflection, already picturing it with the pair of stilettos that had been sitting untouched in my closet for months.
PerfectFor the first time all afternoon, I wasn't thinking about Darren.
I wasn't thinking about the impending interview, the invasive questions, or the public relations tightrope I was going to have to walk.
I was thinking about tomorrow night.
I was thinking about the man who was going to see me wearing this.
And somehow, that felt like progress.
By the time I got back home, the afternoon had already slipped seamlessly toward evening, casting long, amber shadows across the penthouse floors.
I took my time getting ready, intentionally slowing down the pace.
I curled my hair slowly, letting the glossy waves fall over one side of my face before sitting down at my vanity to do my makeup.
I kept it clean, just enough to highlight my features, a swipe of liner, and a touch of shine on my lips without looking overdone.
When I finally slipped into the dress, I stepped back to look at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I looked damn good.
The fabric hugged my curves perfectly, striking that impossible balance between sophisticated and completely devastating.
I slid on my heels, the added height instantly elevating the entire look and altering my posture.
Then I reached for my bag.
My Chanel Classic Flap in lambskin leather.
Simple.
Timeless.
Black.
Perfect.
I checked my phone one last time before heading out the door, my heart doing a light, familiar flutter against my ribs.
The media could write whatever narrative they wanted tomorrow, but tonight didn't belong to the strategy guide.
It belonged to usOne final spray of my signature perfume lingered softly in the air as I adjusted my hair one last time.
Just as I was grabbing my phone, the intercom buzzed.
“Ms. Sinclair," the guard downstairs said.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Carter is here.”
A small smile pulled at my lips.
“I’ll come down.”
I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator.
When I reached the lobby, I spotted him through the glass doors before he noticed me.
He was leaning casually against the side of his black sedan, his eyes focused on his phone.
Even in the dimming twilight of the Houston evening, his presence was impossible to ignore.
He had traded his usual practice sweats for a tailored dark suit jacket over a crisp black button-down, the top two buttons undone to keep the look effortless.
He looked broad, imposing, and undeniably sharp.
As I pushed through the heavy glass doors, the heels of my shoes clicked against the concrete patio.
Jalen's head snapped up instantly.
He froze.
His thumb stopped mid-scroll on his screen, and his light brown eyes locked onto mine.
For a long, silent moment, he didn't say a single word.
He just tracked me as I walked toward him, his gaze sweeping from the soft waves of my hair down to the hem of the dress, then back up to my face.
The sheer intensity in his expression sent a sudden, electric heat rushing straight down my spine.
The calm, collected quarterback had completely lost his words.
A slow, thoroughly satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth as I stopped a foot away from him.
I leaned slightly to the side, tilting my head.
My eyes drifted to his hand, and I couldn't help but smile when I saw another bouquet of flowers.
I shook my head to myself.
This was becoming his thing.
Every time we saw each other, he somehow found a new way to make me feel special without making it feel forced.
He stepped closer and leaned down, placing a quick, sweet kiss on my cheek. It was warm and soft enough to make my stomach flutter.
"Hi," he said, his voice low and warm.
"Hi."
For a second, neither of us moved.
He looked at me like he was taking me in all over again, and I found myself doing the very same thing.
A slow smile spread across his face as he walked opened the passenger door for me.
"After you."
I smiled and slid into the seat. He handed me the beautiful flowers as I settled into my seat.
The soft leather hugged me as I settled in, smoothing my dress across my lap before buckling my seatbelt.
Smooth jazz drifted quietly through the speakers, filling the truck with the kind of easy atmosphere that somehow suited him perfectly.
The inside of the truck carried that same familiar scent I'd noticed before, warm cedar, amber, and something clean that I still couldn't quite place.
It had become unmistakably his.
I caught myself taking a deeper breath than necessary before looking out the windshield.
There was something strangely comforting about it.
It felt safe.
I wasn't sure when that had happened, or if I even wanted to examine why.
I just knew that whenever I was around him, I found myself relaxing in ways I hadn't in years.
When he walked around the front of the truck and climbed into the driver's seat, I felt his eyes settle on me before he reached for the ignition.
He didn't stare, and he certainly didn't make a show of it, but his gaze lingered just long enough to tell me he liked what he saw.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he finally started the engine, and for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I found myself smiling too.
"So," I asked, settling farther into my seat. "Where are we going?"
He glanced over at me, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing smile.
I waited.
He kept his eyes on the road, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"You really aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"I'd rather see your reaction when we get there."
I let out a quiet laugh and shook my head.
"You enjoy keeping me in suspense."
"I do, especially when you're this curious."
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile as I turned toward the window.
"This better be worth it, Mr. Carter."
He chuckled softly.
"I have a feeling you're going to like this one."
I wasn't sure if I believed him, but the confidence in his voice made it hard not to.
The truck pulled smoothly into traffic as the music continued playing quietly in the background.
A moment later, his hand reached across the center console and found mine.
His fingers wrapped around my hand naturally, like it belonged there.
I squeezed his hand playfully and shook my head.
“These hands,” I murmured. “My, my, my.”
He chuckled.
“What about them?”
I glanced at him with a teasing smile.
“You know exactly what about them.”
He shook his head slightly, still smiling as he kept his eyes on the road.
“I’m actually trying very hard to keep my composure right now.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” he said calmly.
I laughed, shaking my head as I looked back out the window.
I loved the way his hand remained wrapped around mine for the entire drive.
It was such a small gesture, but it made the evening feel more intimate before our date had even begun.
Every now and then, his thumb brushed absentmindedly across the back of my hand, and each time it happened, I found myself smiling without meaning to.