Chapter Eighteen
Thorne
Coffee steam warms my face as I climb the stairs to the third floor.
My muscles ache in all the right places thanks to a week of morning swims followed by.
.. other activities with Ivy. The memory of this morning is hotter than what’s in my mug.
Her pinned against the cedar wall, water droplets trailed down her throat, that breathy sound she made when she whispered my name like a secret. Her scent all around me.
Even in the pool, even through the chlorine, I could smell it. Vanilla and something floral. Same shampoo as the train.
I've been around her for almost a month, and I can identify her shampoo underwater.
This is a problem.
I shake my head. Focus. I have acquisition reports to review before the eight o’clock call.
The third floor has always been my sanctuary. Glass dome overhead, panoramic views of the Kentucky hills turning gold in the early morning light, and most importantly, far enough from the main living areas that no one bothers coming up here.
My office door stands slightly ajar. I pause mid-step. Did I leave it open last night? No. I always close it.
A quick mental inventory: Sebastian’s in Louisville until tomorrow. Lillianna is at 3Bs. And Ivy—Ivy’s still in the shower. I left her there fifteen minutes ago, her skin flushed pink from heat and orgasms.
I nudge the door with my foot.
Madison sits cross-legged on my office floor, a white cat with brown ears sprawled across her lap. Her fingers scratch behind Marley’s ears with the careful attention of someone who isn’t used to things staying when she touches them. She hasn’t noticed me yet.
Or she has and she’s pretending she hasn’t.
“What are you doing in here?” I don’t soften the edge in my question.
She shrugs in that way only teenagers can, like nothing matters and everything the other person is doing is wrong. “The door wasn’t locked.”
“That’s not an invitation.”
“Why are you being a jerk?”
I grunt and take a sip of coffee. “Because I don’t like people wandering into my personal space uninvited.” I take a seat at my desk.
“I’ve read about you, you know.” She keeps her attention on Marley, scratching behind his ears like we’re having a casual conversation.
“The player. The guy who treats relationships like business deals. Disposable. The rich jerk who bet half his trust fund on a single Derby race just because he could. The acquisition specialist who makes executives cry during negotiations. Drinks too much, uses people. That sounds like our dad.”
Silence stretches between us, sharp as a cat’s claws.
“Your point?”
She shrugs and looks at Marley, her fingers resuming their steady rhythm through his fur. “I was going to work out—”
I jolt forward, sloshing hot coffee over my fingers. “Shit,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing.” But it would not have been nothing. The gym is on the lower level. With the pool and sauna... Christ. If she’d come down at five-thirty instead of six, if she’d walked past the sauna windows, if she’d heard. I mop up the spill with a napkin. “You were saying?”
“I was going to work out, but when I left my room, there was a cat in the hallway. He led me up here. Sat outside your door until I opened it, then just... made himself at home.” She glances at me, her eyes narrowing. “I didn't break in. The cat broke in. I just followed.”
“Damn, that stray doesn’t understand the meaning of outdoor cat. He loves to go places where he isn’t welcome,” I say, relieved down to my bones that she followed a cat instead of wandering toward the pool area.
Madison giggles. “Must be why he came to me.”
“Um, why’s that?”
“I go where I’m not wanted too.”
She’s joking, but I hear the vulnerability. And I’m shit at comforting words, so I follow her lead. “Marley, meet Madison. Birds of a feather, you two can flock together.”
“Wait!” Madison’s eyes light up. “Are you saying she can stay with me? Like in my room?”
That wasn’t what I’d meant. But the way she looks at that cat, like she’s finally found something in this house that chose her instead of tolerating her, makes the word stick in my throat.
I shrug. “Sure. I’ll have Patricia get a small litter box and some food. But if Marley wants to go back outside, you have to let him come and go.”
“Thanks!” Madison says with more excitement than Marley seems to like and hops from her lap, but when she stands and makes a clicking sound, the cat returns to her side.
But, instead of leaving, Madison reaches for the picture she’d been examining when I’d walked in. “You looked happy here. All three of you.”
“That was a long time ago.” I glance at the frame, refusing to let the memories pull me under. The photo was taken at Churchill Downs, maybe fifteen years ago. Before Dad pushed me from the CEO position. Before Sebastian’s ex. Before everything fractured.
Madison sets it down but doesn't step away from my desk. "Did you love him? Your dad?"
The question catches me off guard. Although I should be used to her directness.
"No. But I think I wanted to. When I was younger."
"Mom did." Her voice is soft, almost lost in the morning quiet. “Love him, I mean. Even though he never chose us. Even though we were his secret. She'd light up whenever he called. Pathetic, right?"
"Not pathetic. Just human."
She huffs out a bitter laugh. "I used to get so angry at her. Tell her to stop waiting for him. Stop making excuses. She'd say I didn't understand what it was like to love someone complicated." Madison's fingers trace the edge of the photo frame. “Ivy says you’re complicated, but worth the effort.”
My pulse kicks up, betraying me even as I keep my voice level. “Does she now?”
She nods. “For what it’s worth, I’m starting to think she might be right.”
The words land in my chest, unexpected and uncomfortable. What if they are right? What if I’m not the irredeemable bastard I’ve convinced myself I am?
Worse thought: What if I figure that out just in time to watch them both leave?
I turn to face her. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” But there’s the ghost of a smile on her face. “I’m just saying... you’re not as much of a jerk as you want everyone to believe.”
“High praise.”
“It’s a start.” She moves toward the door, then pauses at the threshold. And to my surprise, the cat waits. “I’m going to the gym.”
"Madison."
She glances back.
"You haven't been coming to the pool in the mornings." The observation comes out awkward, stilted. "Six a.m. The invitation still stands. If you want."
Her eyebrows rise. "I figured you and Ivy wanted privacy."
The implication in her tone makes my chest tighten. Does she know? How much has she seen? Heard? There was only the one when we’d gotten carried away in the pool, but Madison was staying over at a friend’s. “It’s a pool, not a private meeting. You're welcome to use the facilities.”
She studies me for a beat too long, like she's weighing whether to say more. "Okay. I'll think about it."
Her footsteps retreat down the stairs, along with her quiet chatter at the cat.
I cross to the doorway and watch until she disappears around the landing, Marley's tail the last thing visible before they're gone. The house settles back into silence, but it’s different now. Emptier. Like her company and quick retorts took up more space than I realized.
What the hell just happened? Why did I invite her to join us?
I’m a liar. I know why. It’s because “you’re not as much of a jerk as you want everyone to believe” landed somewhere I didn’t expect. Because her opinion matters, and I don’t know when that started or how to make it stop.
And Ivy—
I scrub a hand over my face. For a week, I’ve been telling myself this is temporary. Physical. A way to burn off tension while we’re both stuck here. Clean. Simple. Manageable.
Nothing about this feels manageable anymore.
Not the way I calculate how many mornings we have left before she goes back to New York. And when the hell did I start counting days instead of crossing them off?
I straighten in my chair and bring up the acquisition reports on my screen.
The movement pulls at my button-up, revealing Ivy’s hair tie wrapped around my wrist. I’d pulled it free this morning in the sauna, watching her dark hair tumble down her shoulders.
I should give it back. Instead, I snap it once against my skin, a sharp sting that does nothing to refocus my thoughts.
The numbers on the screen blur together.
Two months. That’s all that's left. Two months before they leave, and I get back the silence I used to crave.
The thought should be a relief.
It’s not.