"Impressive," Mom says, raising an eyebrow.
"I stood there with my mouth hanging open, or close to it, while he talked about backup protocols and redundancy systems and risk mitigation. By the end, Mrs. Jackson was practically prepared to give us a five-star review for our 'incredible attention to detail.'" I use air quotes, laughing. "They left talking about how reassuring it was to work with such professionals."
I pause, my expression growing more thoughtful. "And then, after they left, I asked him why he did it. Why he helped mewhen he's seen so many things go wrong. And he said..." I trail off, the words still echoing in my mind.
"What did he say, sweet pea?"
"He said, 'Because each moment is another chance for us to do something right.'" I look at Mom, vulnerability creeping into my voice. "And I think that's when I realized I might have been wrong about it all."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MASON
The barn is silent, but it's not peaceful. It's aftermath. The scorched smell of burnt wires still lingers, clinging to everything like a warning I ignored.
I retreat to the loft, but even here, nothing feels right. The neat workspace, the curated calm, it all rings false now. A monument to control that slipped through my fingers.
I drop into my chair, the one built for long hours and quiet focus. Today it feels like a cage.
Maddy's voice plays in my head, tight, cracking when the fog machine failed. That one slip shattered the walls between us. Watching her flounder flipped a switch. I couldn't stay out of it.
I didn't think. I stepped in. Spun a story to salvage her pitch. Told a lie like the ones that used to earn me corner offices and closed deals.
Only this time, it wasn't for gain. It was for her.
She didn't ask me to fix it. And judging by the look on her face, she wouldn't have wanted me to.
But I did it anyway.
Not because it was smart. Not because I wanted credit.
Because part of me can't watch her fall.
I've kept my distance these last four days. Stayed out of her orbit. Let her freeze me out with stiff nods and clipped words. And I deserved it.
But the moment she wavered, everything in me locked on. The same instinct that steadied her ladder. That guided her hands on the drone. That keeps pulling me toward her, even when every logical part of me says don't.
My palms drag over my face. Her scent clings to the air up here, cinnamon, citrus, purpose. It's in my lungs. Under my skin.
I crossed the line.
And maybe I didn't do it to fix the proposal.
Maybe I did it to prove I can still be the man who protects what matters. Someone good. Someone worthy of her.
I want two things that can't coexist, and the conflict is pulling me apart. Part of me wants the life I left behind, the structure, the simplicity, the emotional distance that protected me from everything real. But the other part wants her.
Her world is chaotic and dazzling and full of feeling and being near it is like tasting flavor after a lifetime of bland survival. It overwhelms me, confuses me, but I can't stop reaching for more.
The man I used to be, the one who dismantled things with precision and detachment, is still in there, whispering caution. But when I'm with her, when I'm helping her bring impossible visions to life, I feel like I'm building a future worth staying for.
The low crunch of tires on gravel outside pulls me from my self-recrimination. My heart begins a slow, heavy drumbeat that echoes in my ears. She's back. Maddy. And I need to apologize for ... for what? For helping? For being the man she despises? For wanting so desperately to be someone worthy of the light in her eyes?
I move to the window, my chest tight with anticipation. But it's not Maddy's sensible sedan that glides to a stop below. It's a black town car. The brittle, awkward silence of the past few days is gone, replaced by a tension almost more dangerous.
Sleek and predatory, a vehicle that belongs in the paved canyons of Manhattan, not on a rustic barn drive in River Bend. It moves with an unnerving smoothness that speaks of serious money and even more serious intentions. My blood turns to ice water in my veins. I know that car. I know what it signifies. It is a hearse for dreams.
A man in a crisp suit emerges, a leather portfolio clutched in his hand, held with the certainty of someone delivering a blow. He heads straight for the barn door, every step deliberate, measured, assured. The confidence of someone who knows he's bringing bad news.
