Chapter 4
J.T
I’m standing in front of my bedroom mirror like it’s a goddamn opponent.
Tie. Collar. Cuffs.
All of it feels… too tight.
Not physically—though, yes, physically too—but like the fabric itself is trying to remind me I’m stepping into something I can’t bulldoze with money and contracts.
I’ve negotiated with governors. Union heads. Men who smile while they stab you in the back.
I’ve walked into boardrooms with ten million dollars on the line and never blinked.
Tonight?
I’m going to a dinner with the Woodhaven Lumber Association like I do every year… and I’m hoping a woman who’s been living in survival mode will meet me there and let me talk.
Let me try.
My jaw flexes as I button my shirt—and realize halfway down I’m off by one.
Of course I am.
“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking it open and starting over.
That’s when my door swings wider without a knock.
“Hey, Dad—whoa.” Maddox pauses in the doorway like he just walked into a crime scene. “Why do you look so intense?”
“What?” I snap automatically, then catch sight of myself.
Shirt half undone. Collar crooked. Tie draped around my neck like a noose.
“Shit,” I growl, looking down at the misbuttoned mess.
I close my eyes, drag a hand down my face, and start again.
Maddox strolls in like he owns the place—which, technically, he will someday, the arrogant little bastard.
He’s dressed like he just came from the office.
Clean. Sharp.
The same broad shoulders and dark hair as me, just with less wear around the eyes.
“Uh, I just came by to drop off the contracts for the new development,” he says, casual as hell. “Site manager is a dick, but he’s a stickler for rules, and I respect that.”
“Yeah?” I grunt, focusing on the buttons like my life depends on them. “Well, he better be. We’re paying him enough.”
Maddox leans against my dresser, arms folded, watching me with that look he used to give me when he was twelve and I’d come home late smelling like whiskey and frustration.
A look that says way too much.
Like he wants to shout, I’m not buying this act, old man. Something’s up.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “Big date?”
I go still. Not much.
Just enough for my reflection to give me away.
“This ain’t a creek, son,” I say flatly. “Don’t go fishin’ in here.”
He grins.
“Come on. It’s been years since I’ve seen you look nervous before going out. Who’s the lucky chick?”
I cut my eyes to him. Warning.
He waggles his eyebrows like he enjoys testing my patience.
I exhale hard through my nose, adjust my cuffs, and mutter the truth like it’s a confession.
“Kelly McCrae.”
Maddox’s face lights up with pure, obnoxious delight.
“No way.” He straightens. “That blonde babe finally said yes?”
I glare at him until his grin falters—barely.
“Watch your mouth,” I say, voice low.
He holds up both hands, still smiling.
“Okay, okay. But—Dad. Seriously? Kelly? She’s a MILF.”
“Yes, really,” I say, then I toss one of my discarded ties at his head, “And watch your fucking mouth.”
“Sorry, sheesh.”
I roll my eyes at him. He doesn’t mean anything by it.
But this? Going out with her?
It means something.
Really, it does.
He studies me for a beat, and the teasing fades into something closer to respect.
“Wow, you’re serious about her,” he says quietly.
Then his grin comes roaring back. “So, what are your plans for after dinner?”
I turn fully toward him, fixing him with the exact look that’s made grown men reconsider their life choices.
“Maddox Lawrence,” I say slowly, “I am your father and sire, and I absolutely am not about to discuss any plans I may or may not have with that beautiful woman—not chick or MILF—I may have mentioned. Now get the hell out of my house before I remind you I can still kick your overgrown ass.”
He bursts out laughing and backs toward the door like he’s dodging bullets.
“Okay, fine, I’m going,” he says, still chuckling. “But I want details tomorrow over brunch. Our usual spot?”
I pause, fingers on my tie. For the first time tonight, an actual smile tugs at my mouth.
“I don’t know, son.” I tighten the knot, clean and precise. “I might be unavoidably detained.”
Maddox points at me like he’s proud. “Okay, okay, I see how it is. Good luck.”
Luck.
He thinks I need luck?
The little shit.
He disappears down the hall, still laughing.
I stare at my reflection again.
Shoulders squared. Shirt finally buttoned correctly. Tie straight.
And underneath all that control?
A pulse of something I don’t like to name.
Hope.
“I’m not gonna need luck tonight,” I murmur to myself.
But my heart doesn’t quite believe me.
Because you can’t build your way into a woman’s trust.
You earn it.
One choice at a time.
And tonight, I’m walking into that room ready to prove I’m not just another man trying to take something from Kelly McCrae.
I’m a man trying to offer her something she hasn’t had in a long damn time.
A partner.
A shield.
A way out.
And if she lets me?
She’ll be the one unavoidably detained.
By me.