Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Jesse
I can’t remember any other woman who has made me feel like that…heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins, everything else fading to black.
That’s exactly how it felt when Madeline stepped out of the bathroom earlier this evening.
One second, I was straightening my tie. The next, I was trying to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. She paused in the doorway, one hand nervously toying with the clasp of her bag.
My eyes swept over her, taking in the dress—glacier blue silk to the floor, clinging to her body in ways that should be illegal. The long line of her neck exposed by her hair swept up in loose waves.
My throat went dry. She looked like she’d been carved from every fantasy I’d ever had and dressed in a silvery-blue just to ruin me.
“Wow,” I managed, which felt like the understatement of the century.
Her lips curved in that nervous almost-smile, the one she gives when she’s trying to act unaffected.
I’ve been around beautiful women before. Hell, I’ve dated plenty of them. But this—seeing her—felt different. Like my chest was too small for the heart trying to beat its way out. And when she finally met my eyes and said, “Ready to go?”, all I could think was…not even close.
Now we’re in the back seat of a ride-share, city lights flashing across her skin in green and gold streaks, and I’m still fighting to take a full breath. If I believed in karma, I’d say this is mine.
Madeline is quiet beside me, absentmindedly pinching her bottom lip between her fingers. It just about kills me. She’s nervous. The tension is palpable, radiating off of her, threatening to undo that trademark control that makes her who she is.
Before I can think better of it, I reach over, brushing my thumb along the crease that has settled between her brows. She turns her head, startled. “You look too beautiful to be frowning like that,” I murmur. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
A shaky laugh slips out of her. “Just…everything. The people, the cameras, the press. All of it. I’ve never been comfortable with this kind of stuff.”
“I know,” I say, reaching for her hand, which has a death grip on her purse. I peel her fingers from the bag and thread them through mine. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay? I won’t leave your side. Not once.”
“And if I completely freeze up?”
“Then I’ll be right there,” I assure her. “I promise you. I’ve got you, Madeline.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I echo, with a smile. “Now stop worrying, because you’re going to walk in there and make every person in that room forget their own name.”
Her laugh this time is real, so damn soft and sweet, and it hits me right in the chest.
The driver eases to a stop, and the noise of the crowd seeps into the car. I sense her tense up again beside me, so I trace my thumb slowly over her knuckles to calm her. We’re here.
“You ready? Just follow my lead.”
I get out, round the car, and open her door.
Madeline places her hand in mine, looking up at me nervously.
One of the photographers asks us to pose in front of a backdrop, but I angle us away, steering her toward the entrance before they can crowd her.
“Let’s skip the photos,” I say quietly, my mouth against her hair. “They’ll survive without us.”
She looks up at me, surprise and gratitude reflected in her pretty brown eyes. And it’s all for me. That flicker of relief, that quiet gratitude that softens her face when she realizes I meant what I said, that I have her back.
I like how it feels to be her person. To be standing next to her, looking out for her, here for her when things get overwhelming. I look down at her, see the trust in her eyes, and I know without a doubt that I want to be that person for as long as she’ll let me.
The ballroom is a blur of black suits and sequinned gowns, the air thick with perfume and money.
Crystal chandeliers scatter light over polished marble floors, and every person in the room looks like they stepped straight out of a magazine.
Madeline straightens beside me, shoulders squared, her hand clasped firmly in mine.
“Ready?” I murmur.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she whispers back, lifting her chin. Brave girl.
We’ve barely stepped through the doors when she spots her parents, surrounded by a group of people who look just like them: polished, practiced, and perfectly poised.
Her mom looks toward the door, seeing us.
Her eyes sweep over Madeline, as her mouth forms a thin, polite smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. We cross the room to them.
“Madeline,” her mom says, voice sweet as a blade when we reach her.
“I’m glad you were able to make it after all.
You should have stopped by the house today, but I suppose you were too busy doing whatever it is that you do that is clearly more important than your father and I.
” Her eyes cut to me, lingering for half a second.
“And who is this? I didn’t realize you were bringing someone. ”
Madeline’s spine goes rigid beside me. “Mom, this is Jesse Winters,” she says, her voice calm and even. “I told you about him. From Cove.”
“Ah,” her mother hums. “The marketing man.” She says it like it’s a lesser species. “Yes, how very…entrepreneurial.”
I offer my hand anyway. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Ashcroft.”
She shakes it briefly, gaze already sliding past me to source out the next social opportunity.
“So, Madeline,” she continues after a moment.
“Your father and I were talking about how we haven’t seen you in weeks.
But of course, you always do keep yourself busy with things that don’t involve your family. ”
Madeline’s lips press together. “I’ve been working, Mom.”
“Working.” Her mother repeats the word like it’s foreign. “Yes, well, I do hope it’s worth you missing your niece grow up. It’s really too bad you’re not able to help Cara. She has her hands very full. I’m sure she’s disappointed.”
“Cara is happy for me, Mom. I wish you could find a way to be too.”
Her dad hasn’t even looked up. He’s mid-conversation with a man who could be the poster child for generational wealth. Their laughter booms across the room, drowning out other guests’ conversations.
“Dad,” Madeline says softly, a flicker of hope in her voice.
He glances her way for a fraction of a second, just long enough to give her a distracted smile. “Hey, Madeline,” he says, and then turns back to his conversation without another word.
I feel something twist in my chest. Madeline swallows hard, that flicker in her eyes dimming before she smooths her expression back into polite indifference. Her mom doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to care. “You could try calling once in a while, you know. We do worry.”
Madeline’s voice is steady but faintly brittle. “The phone works both ways, Mom. You only seem to call when there’s a fundraiser to attend.”
Her mother’s smile tightens. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
That’s when I step in. “Mrs. Ashcroft,” I say evenly, my tone respectful but firm. “It’s very nice to meet you. Madeline and I should probably grab a drink before we need to take our seats. Excuse us.”
Her brows lift, and I get the sense she’s thrown for just a beat, but I don’t wait for permission. I rest a hand against the small of Madeline’s back and guide her through the crowd.
She doesn’t resist, doesn’t speak until we’ve reached the edge of the ballroom near the bar, where the noise swallows us whole.
“Sorry,” she says quietly, staring down at her clutch. “That was—”
“Uncalled for,” I finish. “You don’t have to apologize for them.”
Her laugh is humorless. “It’s automatic at this point.”
I glance at her, noticing the way her shoulders curve inward, the way she blinks fast, like she’s fighting off whatever sting her mother left behind. I want to fix it—every bit of it. Then she looks up at me and I see a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks for…that. For stepping in.”
I shrug. “You don’t have to thank me. They don’t get to talk to you like that.” I flag down the bartender. “Two glasses of champagne,” I say, then turn to her. “Or do you prefer something else?”
She shakes her head. “Champagne’s perfect.”
When the glasses hit the bar, I hand her one and raise mine.
“You look stunning tonight, Mads,” I tell her, meaning every damn word.
“I know I should have told you sooner, but I was a little speechless when you walked out of the bathroom. But I mean it. You are the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her eyes meet mine. “I think you’re just saying that because you’re taking pity on me,” she says, a small smile tipping her lips.
I take a slow sip of my bubbly. “I’m saying it because it’s true. It’s an honor to be here in this room with you. You enchant me, Madeline Ashcroft.”
“You know, you clean up pretty well yourself, Jesse Winters.”
I’m about to accept the compliment, but she surprises me by saying more. “Actually…that’s an understatement. You look—” she pauses, cheeks now flushed. “Ridiculously handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it hard to think straight.”
For a minute, I’m struck speechless. I let out a slow breath like I’m trying not to smile too hard. “Careful,” I murmur, grinning at her. “You’re going to make me think you actually like me.”
Madeline laughs, the sound lingering around the edges of my chest in a way it shouldn’t. “Maybe I do.”
It’s playful—light—but something between us changes when she says it. The background noise of the ballroom fades to a barely perceptible hum, and all I can hear is the quick rhythm of her breath and the clink of her glass against the bar top.
“Yeah?” I lean a little closer, unable to help myself. “Are you saying that to be polite, or should I start planning our wedding?”
She smirks. “You strike me as the kind of man who’s already planned it.”
“Only if you’re free in June,” I shoot back, and she laughs again, shaking her head.
That laugh. God. I love it more than I should.
For weeks she’s been driving me insane with her notes and her rules and her impossible, uptight habits.
But this weekend she’s different. Softer, looser.
The fire’s still in her, but it doesn’t blaze quite as hot.
And now, having seen the family and world that she comes from, I’m starting to understand why she is the way that she is.
All those color-coded notes, the tight control she keeps over every single detail of her life— it’s not just habit, it’s armor.
After meeting her parents and witnessing her mother pick her apart like she’s a project that needs improving, it makes sense.
Madeline’s cool, polished exterior isn’t arrogance, it’s self defense.
She has spent her whole life trying to be flawless because that was the only way to survive in a world where perfection was the price of approval.
The realization makes Madeline even more magnetic because beneath all that restraint is a woman who just wants to be seen. And I see her. Even if I shouldn’t.
Ford would lose it if he saw us right now.
The way she’s looking at me, her eyes bright and unguarded.
The way I’m looking at her like I’m three seconds away from kissing her.
And it’s not just because she works for Cove, it’s because he knows me too well.
He’d take one look at me and know this isn’t casual.
I take a slow sip of my drink, my eyes still on her. “You know, Mads, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
“If I didn’t know any better,” she says, tilting her head, eyes flicking down to my mouth and back up again, “I’d say you love it.”
“Guilty.” I grin, the picture of ease and confidence, but my pulse is a steady drumbeat under my skin.
The tension between us shifts—small, but seismic. The kind of shift you feel more than you see. And that’s the moment I know I’m screwed.