10. Dean
DEAN
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m standing in the heart of the new club with the architect. We’re reviewing the layout after the permit finally came through this morning. The news is out, and Club Nectar is already throwing a fit. Let them. They can whine all they want, it won’t change a thing.
The space is raw and unfinished. It smells like sawdust. The architect’s in front of me, pointing at blueprints, talking about load-bearing walls and bar sight-lines. I nod like I’m listening, but his words won’t sink in.
I feel off.
This used to be the part that felt like a drug. The blank canvas, the high that came with building something from nothing. Now all I see is the work, the problems, the logistics. Another venue. Another brand. Another round of bullshit waiting to happen.
This should feel like a win, but it just feels like any other day.
When the architect packs up and leaves, I stay behind. A loose chunk of drywall sits near my foot. I kick it hard, watching it skid across the concrete before it slams into the far wall.
It’s been a week since Michelle showed up at Aura. I’ve been there every night since, watching the door like an idiot, hoping she’ll come back.
I’ve gone over it again and again, and it’s pretty clear where I screwed up. I asked her why she was upset.
There’s something heavy on her, and I don’t like it. I want to know what it is. I want to fix it.
But getting her to talk? Getting past those walls? Impossible.
I had Levi and Drew check on her again last night. It cost a small fortune, but I needed to know if that Corvette asshole was back. If he was the reason she’d been avoiding me.
The report came back clean. He’s gone. Handled. She was home alone. It’s not another man. She’s just ignoring me.
Somehow, that’s worse.
How the hell are you supposed to get through to a woman who’s made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want you? My gaze drifts over the construction site: the exposed steel, the bundles of wiring, the fine layer of concrete dust covering everything.
I scrub a hand down my face.
I don’t like it, but she’s left me no choice. I pull my phone from my pocket. I know someone who might have answers.
An hour later, I’m sitting across from Max at a cafe he swears is underrated.
What he really means is it’s walking distance from his office and he only has twenty minutes.
The place is small and trying a little too hard to be charming.
The lights are too bright, the playlist is three years out of date, and the silverware is wrapped in paper napkins like we’re at a diner.
Max digs into something covered in truffle oil like it’s the best thing he’s had all week. I told him I wasn’t hungry. I’m just drinking coffee.
“I’m thinking of expanding the portfolio,” I say. “Commercial. What’s Michelle like?”
“Michelle?” Max blinks. “Um—hello?” He gestures to himself, eyebrows raised.
“I need someone with more experience.”
He looks more bothered than I expected. For a second I think he’s going to push back, but then he shrugs and stabs another bite of whatever he’s eating.
“She’s good,” Max says.
“Tell me more.” I do my best to sound casual. “What’s she like?”
He thinks for a second, eyes drifting. “Uh...she’s big on punctuality. Like, never late. Ever. And she’s serious about fair deals. Something about no one leaving a negotiation feeling screwed over.” He shrugs again. “That’s...kind of it.”
That’s all he’s gathered? After years of working with her?
“Sounds like she’s alright,” I say. None of that helps me.
Max leans back, eyes following the waitress as she passes our table. “I don’t know how long she’ll be around, though.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away, still watching the waitress like he’s forgotten the conversation. My patience thins.
“Max.”
“Yeah?”
“Why won’t she be around?” I press, sharper this time.
“She’s about to lose the agency to her brother,” Max says, then explains the setup. Their dad put a sales competition in place before he died. “Vinnie wants to go big,” Max adds. “Franchises, fast growth, the whole thing. Michelle’s not on board. If he wins, she’ll probably walk.”
That explains why she’s wound so tight. I nod slowly, pretending to think it over. But my mind’s already moved on to the other thing I want to know. Her dating life.
I can't ask him directly. It would raise too many questions.
One thing I know for sure is that Michelle would never want Max to know about us. He’s her employee. If he finds out she’s sleeping with his brother, it would undermine her authority.
“Shame,” I say, trying for offhand, letting just the right amount of fake-casual slide into my voice. Then, before I can stop myself: “Guess she’s got a husband or boyfriend to lean on or something?”
It comes out awkward and forced. I hear how unnatural it sounds the moment I say it.
Max barks a laugh. “Michelle? Please. She’d chew a husband up and spit out the bones.”
I don’t like the way he talks about her. People see the surface and assume that’s all there is. But they’re not looking close enough. She’s not cold. She’s cautious. There’s a difference. And if anyone actually paid attention, they’d see it.
“She’s been weird this week,” Max says, more to himself than to me, frowning like he’s still trying to figure it out. “Like, really weird.”
“How so?” I ask, taking a slow sip of my drink to mask the fact that every muscle in my body just tensed.
“She’s been looking at me different. Usually it’s, ‘Max, your tie is a cry for help,’ or ‘Max, stop using emojis in client emails.’” He pauses, thoughtful. Then tilts his head. “But this week? I don’t know. Different vibe.”
He looks at me and grins. “Maybe she’s finally waking up to what’s been right in front of her this whole time.”
Then he winks, and the reaction hits before I can stop it. A tightening in my chest, a quick, illicit flash of fury. I don’t get jealous. Or at least, I didn’t. But lately, nothing feels the way it used to. Something in me has shifted.
I think about Henry, how different he was after meeting Natalie. He said he just knew. Like something in him clicked into place, and that was it.
I get it now.
I shove the thought of Max and Michelle out of my head. Fortunately, he changes the subject, and I let him. I nod along, pretending to listen.
Eventually, I tune back in.
“…I don’t know, man. Will, Henry, you—you’re all building empires. And I’m just out here working for other people. The DJing’s fun, sure, chicks love it, but it’s getting old. People expect me to be the charming one. Like that’s all I am.”
I glance at him. “What’s the question, Max?” My mind’s still only half here.
“I’m not sure I want to do real estate anymore,” he admits.
I remember Henry a few years back, twisted up the same way. I told him to walk. It’s a dumb trick, but it works. Give someone an out, and half the time they realize they never wanted one.
“So quit,” I say. “Do whatever you want. No one’s holding a gun to your head.”
Max nods and takes a long sip of his coffee. He won’t quit. He’s been in it too long. He just needed to hear the door was open.
After lunch, I head home. The sun’s high, the hills are quiet, and I tell myself I’ll get a few more hours of sleep before the chaos kicks off tonight.
I strip off my jacket and drop onto the bed, the blackout curtains sealing me into a perfect, artificial night.
But my mind won’t shut up. It keeps circling back to Michelle. To what Max said.
I got what I was after. Confirmation she’s not seeing anyone, at least not publicly. A bit of context for why she’s been on edge. She’s under a lot of pressure.
I don’t know how to play this. Pushing hasn’t worked. Waiting feels like quitting. And I’ve never been good at sitting still when I want something. But this isn’t just about what I want. Maybe I back off. Let her breathe. Let her handle things without me adding weight to an already heavy load.
I don’t like it but I don’t see another move.