31. Michelle
MICHELLE
It’s been a week since I got home. I’m in the office earlier than usual. No one’s due in for a couple of hours, but I like the quiet. It gives me space to think.
A lot has changed already. Max is gone. Vinnie took some of his team when he left, and he didn’t go quietly. Turns out Dean didn’t give him the generous send-off he wanted. Vinnie’s still in debt, still angry. But that’s not my problem anymore. Maybe one day I’ll stop feeling responsible for him.
I’ve softened a little. The office feels different now. People aren’t walking on eggshells around me. I’ve learned that I can be strong without being sharp. And I don’t need to keep proving myself.
I head to the front of the office with a screwdriver in hand. Vinnie’s stupid bell sits mounted on the wall. It’s loud, showy, meant to be rung every time someone closes a deal. We’re not doing that anymore.
I start unscrewing it. The base wobbles slightly as it loosens. It’s petty, maybe, but it feels good. It never fit right in the first place.
Movement outside catches my eye.
Through the front window, across the street, an old Range Rover pulls up at the curb. Dean’s in the driver’s seat. My car’s parked out front. He knows I’m here.
He did this on Friday too. Pulled up. Sat there for a while. Never came in. Just waited, then drove off.
I read his letter every night. I believe he meant every word. But believing him doesn’t mean I forget what he did.
If we’re going to have a future, he needs to understand something: trust isn’t given back just because you say you’re sorry. Or in his case, because you say you’re not sorry.
He needs to feel what it cost to lose me. Even if I’m ready to let him back in, he doesn’t get to skip over the part where what he did hurt.
I turn away from the window and head back into my office. I sit down, open my laptop, and start to work.
Ten minutes later, the door creaks open. I don’t get up.
His footsteps are slow and heavy. They stop at my office doorway. I keep my eyes on my laptop, letting the silence sit between us. Finally, I look up.
He looks worn, like the fight has gone out of him. His suit is neat, his face clean-shaven, but his eyes are tired.
“I was wondering if you’d actually come in this time,” I say.
“I’ve been scared,” he admits.
“Of me?”
He glances down, then back at me. “That you’d slam the door in my face.”
My mouth twitches, just slightly. “Still might.”
He nods, like he’d already accepted that as a possibility. “Fair.”
“I want to show you something,” he says, stepping into the office. He reaches up and folds down his collar. On the side of his neck, in thick black ink, is one word: Michelle.
I stare at it, speechless for a second. “You absolute idiot,” I finally say. “That’s permanent.”
“So are you,” he replies. “I won’t keep anything from you again. I promise. I’ll get your name tattooed on my forehead if that’s what it takes—“
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’d do anything—“
“Just listen,” I say.
The way he looks at me, like he’s braced for a blow, catches me in the chest.
“You did things you shouldn’t have done. But when I think about why you did them,” I take a breath. The truth feels too big for the room. “I don’t know if anyone else will ever love me like you do.”
He starts to speak. “Of course they would—”
“I don’t think most men would drop seven million on a house they don’t even want, get my name tattooed on their neck...or actually stalk me, Dean.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Good.
“So,” I say. “If I’m going to take a chance on someone, it might as well be the lunatic who did all of that for me.”
“You’ll give me another chance?”
“If only to stop you from getting my name on your forehead,” I say.
A grin spreads across his face. He crosses the room and I meet him halfway. His arms wrap around me, pulling me in. When his lips meet mine, everything else falls away.
“I missed you,” he says.
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are glassy, almost wet. He’s breathing like he just ran here. This man, always a wall of control, is standing before me completely exposed. Every raw, unguarded part of him is visible.
“You’ll tell me everything from now on,” I say. “No secrets. No more plans behind my back.”
“Everything,” he says. “You’ll get sick of how honest I am.”
“I doubt that. And you still have some groveling to do.”
My eyes drop to the tattoo. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. It suits him.
His smile fades as he watches me, something dark rises behind his eyes.
“What exactly happened with Max?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
“Honesty goes both ways, Michelle.”
He’s right. I let out a slow breath. “He grabbed my ass. For half a second. It wasn’t anything.”
Dean goes very still. The shift is immediate.
“He’s in trouble,” he says.
I don’t doubt it.
Maybe that’s the thing about us. We’re both wired too tight. A little obsessive. A little much. But we’re also all in. And somehow, that’s what makes it work.
For better or worse, this is us.