Chapter 10
AARON
I wake before sunrise. My muscles ache for movement and my mind for clarity. I need both—especially after yesterday. By the time I step onto the sidewalk, the city is already humming, taxis splitting the early hush with impatient horns.
Equinox in Soho is only a few blocks away, but my legs itch for more than a stroll.
I pick up my pace, running the last stretch, letting the sharp morning air snap the cobwebs from my head.
Inside, the gym is alive—investment bankers trading market tips over protein shakes, models stretching in coordinated athleisure—everyone chasing their own kind of release.
I swipe in, nod to the front desk, and make a beeline for the treadmills.
I want to outrun the conversation replaying in my head, the nerves about tonight, the new story lines tangling themselves around real life.
I crank up the speed and let my body do the work.
All I need is one good hour—just me and the world on mute.
I push myself to the limit on the treadmill, attempting to escape the conflicting emotions swirling within me. Later tonight, I’ll pick up Minji, take her to Axel’s launch party, and introduce her to my brothers, officially.
“You’re going to break that thing,” a voice calls out.
I glance over to see a woman, probably in her early thirties, on the neighboring treadmill. I’m not one to ignore women, but I want to be left alone. I ease my pace, not wanting to seem like an asshole. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, must be having a rough morning?” She adjusts her ponytail.
“Just out here clearing my head, that’s all.” I stop the treadmill, and she does the same. Shit. The last thing I want to do is talk to her or anyone right now. “I should get going—”
“Crap. He’s here,” the woman squeaks. I follow her gaze towards a man entering the gym—tall, with sharp features and designer workout clothes.
His confident stride falters slightly when he spots the woman, and something flickers across his face that looks suspiciously like pain before it’s replaced by cool indifference.
I need to get the hell away and fast. This is not where I want to be. I don’t know what these two might have going on, but it’s clearly complicated. The woman’s body language has shifted from confident to cornered in the span of a second.
“Can you pretend to know me? My name is Evelyn,” she whispers, desperation evident in her voice.
I’m about to decline, but the look in her eyes reminds me of Minji’s client Tamara from yesterday—that same trapped-animal panic. Before I can overthink it, I’m nodding. “I’m Aaron,” I add.
“Evie,” the man says as he approaches. His eyes flick to me with barely concealed curiosity. “I didn’t realize you still came here.”
“Seven years, same schedule,” Evelyn replies, her voice stronger than I would have expected. “So, what do you want, James?”
James’s gaze returned to me. “And you are?”
Before I can answer, Evelyn steps slightly closer to me, a protective gesture that surprises us both. “This is Aaron. A friend.”
The word ‘friend’ lingers, heavy with unintended implications. James’s jaw tightens slightly, and I realize he’s misunderstood our interaction. And I don’t know if Evelyn is doing it on purpose or not, but hell no.
“Aaron Singleton,” I clarified quickly, offering my hand.
James ignores my outstretched hand; his attention is fixed solely on Evelyn. “We need to talk. About the Prometheus patents.”
“My attorney advised against any direct communication,” Evelyn’s voice switching to a more professional, clinical tone.
Man, it’s scary how women can turn their emotions on and off like a light switch.
I always say women are the best in leadership roles because of this very trait.
Then again, they can also be the worst for the exact same reason.
“Attorneys.” James practically spits the word. “Is that where we are now? Hiding behind legal teams instead of having an honest conversation?”
I should leave. This isn’t my business, and my presence is only complicating an already volatile situation.
“That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who transferred proprietary technology behind my back.”
“It’s not what you think,” James insists, running a hand through his hair. “If you would just listen—”
“I listened for twelve years.” Evelyn cuts him off. “I’m done listening.”
The pain that flashes across James’s face seems genuine, catching me off guard.
“Look.” I step back. “I should give you two some space—”
“No,” Evelyn says quickly, her hand catching my forearm. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “Aaron and I were just discussing our training schedule. Weren’t we, Aaron?”
Her eyes plead with me. I’ve never been great at turning down a damsel in distress, even when every instinct tells me to run. “That’s right,” I hear myself say. “We were planning our workouts for the week.”
James’s eyes narrow, flicking between us. “I didn’t realize you had a trainer.”
“There’s a lot you don’t realize.”
“Evelyn, please,” he begs. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Just please give me five minutes to talk to you. To explain without our attorneys.”
I look between them, two people who clearly still have unresolved feelings beneath the anger and betrayal.
As a romance writer, I want to help fix this, whatever it is, but this isn’t my novel to write.
Still, I can’t help noting the tension between them, the history evident in every clipped word.
This is the kind of emotional complexity I try to capture in my books—the way past love can curdle into something sharp and defensive.
But there could be a possibility of reconciliation.
I clear my throat. “I should grab some water. Evelyn, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” These two need to talk without an audience.
Thankfully, she nods gratefully, and I retreat to the water fountain, still close enough to keep an eye on them but far enough to give them privacy.
Their conversation continues, their postures increasingly relaxing as they speak in hushed tones.
I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but I catch fragments—something about intellectual property, a company called Prometheus, and what sounds like a betrayal of trust that extends beyond business.
After a few minutes, James checks his watch and reluctantly backs away but doesn’t leave. Okay, that’s my cue. I can see these two need some guidance—giving unsolicited advice about love and reconnecting is my specialty. Axel and Grayson said that.
I approach the two cautiously. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Evelyn says, though her tight smile suggests otherwise. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” I look between them. “I’m always happy to help strangers in need.”
James gives me a look that suggests he’s still trying to figure out my role in Evelyn’s life. “I appreciate you giving us a moment.”
“James was just leaving,” Evelyn snaps, though I notice her posture has softened slightly.
“Actually, I was wondering if you two might want some perspective from someone who makes a living studying relationships?”
They both turn to me with identical expressions of confusion.
“I’m a romance author,” I explain, feeling slightly ridiculous. “I spend my days analyzing why people connect and disconnect. Sometimes an outside perspective helps.”
James raises an eyebrow. “A romance author?”
“Wait Aaron… as in the Aaron Singleton,” Evelyn blurts out. “Wait, you wrote Between the Lines?”
I nod, surprised. “You’ve read my work?”
“I devoured it during a business trip to Tokyo last year.” She looks at me with new interest. “Your portrayal of miscommunication between the characters was uncomfortably accurate.”
James shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with this turn in conversation. “I should go.”
“Maybe you should stay,” I suggest gently. “Whatever’s happening between you two seems important.”
“It’s complicated,” they say in unison, then look at each other with startled expressions.
I can’t help but smile. “That’s usually where the best stories start.”
Evelyn hesitates, then sighs. “We co-founded a company. Built it from nothing. Then…” She trails off.
“Then I made a mistake,” James finishes quietly. “A business decision that felt right but hurt Evelyn deeply.”
“And you were married?” I guess, noticing the faint line on Evelyn’s ring finger.
“We still are, currently going through a divorce,” Evelyn corrects me, sadly.
“Look.” I check my watch. “I’m meeting someone important tonight, and I need to prepare. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing about second chances, it’s that pride is often the biggest barrier to healing.”
James looks at Evelyn with unmistakable longing. “I’ve been trying to say that for months.”
“And I’ve been too angry to listen,” she admits softly.
I back away slowly. “Maybe start with coffee. Somewhere neutral. Talk about the company, sure, but also talk about what really matters. If your hearts are not one hundred percent in favor of the divorce, don’t force it.
And from what I can see, you two still clearly love each other.
” I watch them exchange a glance loaded with complicated history.
“Thank you.” Evelyn’s voice is small but sincere. “For the interference and the advice.”
I nod, backing away. “Good luck, you two.”
As I head to the locker room, I can’t help but look back. They’re standing closer now, James’s hand hovering near Evelyn’s arm without quite touching it. It’s that space between them—filled with hurt but not yet emptied of hope—that strikes me as painfully beautiful.
I check my phone and see a text from Minji, timestamped twenty minutes ago.
Honeybee
Are you going to be showing up to my place early? What time should I be ready tonight?
It’s so perfectly her. No emojis, no exclamation marks, just direct and to the point.
If she’s nervous, she hides it better than anyone I’ve ever met.
I try to imagine her prepping for the evening—would she be doing a last-minute run-through of tomorrow’s court arguments, or lining up her makeup bottles in military formation? Maybe both.
Me
7:30. I’ll text when I’m downstairs.
A minute passes before she responds:
Honeybee
I’ll see you then.
No hearts or smileys. But for her, the period at the end is a talisman of sincerity.
I want tonight to go well. I want to peel back a layer of whatever armor she’s built up over the years, even if it means risking a little of my own.
But I don’t even know where to start. Every time I’ve tried to nudge our conversations off the rails of professionalism, she finds a way to steer them back—a well-timed joke, a rhetorical question, a look that says don’t push your luck, Singleton.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that what happened at the gym wasn’t just a run-in with someone else’s drama.
It was a preview of what I might be up against if I ever got my shit together enough to try, really try, with someone like Minji.
I’m not afraid of confrontation, but I am terrified of being misunderstood, of missing the moment when everything tips from possibility to disaster.
Watching Evelyn and James circle each other like wounded animals made me want to do better, or at least not screw up in the same ways.