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“You said you had a business meeting in the morning. What do you do?” she asks, thankfully interrupting my train of thoughts.
“I’m a contractor. We’re working on a bid to expand a nearby ski resort. My father started our company, Prescott Enterprises, before I was born, and Drake and I are part owners now. I mostly just handle the proposals, crunching numbers or researching whatever company we’re working with so we know what they’re looking for. Drake typically handles the presentations and the back-and-forth with our clients. You might have noticed that he’s a bit more amicable than I am.”
“What? No way!” she teases, but then she grows serious and says, “You just seem more reserved. Quiet.”
I shrug. “I speak when it’s necessary, but I’m not very good with words when I’m put on the spot.”
“You’re the strong, silent type.” We sit quietly for a few moments before she continues. “Do you enjoy it? Your job?”
“It’s all I know. My father didn’t raise me to take over the business, but he included me in so much of it that it felt like a natural step. I enjoy the challenge of figuring out the right angle for a project or the magic number that will secure us a bid and still allow us to make a profit.”
I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable talking about my life back home. It pulls me out of the moment, away from this fantasy world and back to reality.
“What about you? What do you do in Los Angeles?”
“I’m a lawyer. I’ve been working at my father’s firm for the past few years, but my passion just isn’t in it anymore. Honestly, I’m not sure it ever really was. When I get back to LA, I think I’m going to try doing something else.” She turns to face me. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
I meet her eyes and give my head a quick shake. “Of course not. Why would it?”
“It took me years to get where I am, and I almost feel guilty for leaving it all behind. When I was in college, it felt like I was always working for something and that kept it interesting, you know? But after I graduated law school and passed the bar, reality set in. Truthfully, I’m just not cut out for it—for caring more about money than truth and justice. I used to think working for the justice system would allow me to help people, but it’s nothing like that. I spend more time on the phone or pushing around paperwork than I do helping anyone. And then there’s my father.”
I let the silence hang between us for a moment, hoping she’ll continue talking when she’s ready. I feel her take a deep breath beside me as I stare up at the night sky. After it rushes out of her, she speaks.
“My father takes every chance he gets to cut me down and make me feel inferior. Honestly, we’ve never really gotten along. The firm and his public image have always been of the utmost importance to him. Hell, I couldn’t even tell you where I land in his list of priorities. Being around that kind of negativity every day changes you, and I guess I’m finally seeing that it’s changed me for the worse.” She looks sheepish when her eyes meet mine this time.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. It’s hard for me to imagine feeling that way about a parent. I’ve been lucky in not only my partnership with my father at work but also with our family connection. Even with as busy as he was building the business when I was a kid, he always made me feel like the most important thing to him. He was the best father figure I could have had.
“So what’s your next career move?” I ask.
Addison is quiet beside me, looking up at the sky as if she’s searching for answers in the stars. She seems so vulnerable, lost in thought. So young. I take the time to study every delicate curve of her profile. Her long, dark lashes, the beautiful freckles speckling the apples of her cheeks, her dark waves splayed out on the pillow. She looks peaceful despite the war that must be raging inside her mind right now.
I turn back to the sky, giving her time to process her thoughts while enjoying the warmth of her body next to mine.
Her presence brings out a side of me I haven’t felt in quite some time. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know the Chase everyone else does. The man who has to be strong. The glue that has to hold everything together. With her, I’m not defined by the people and situations around me.
I can’t help but feel guilty at enjoying the momentary relief from my life of responsibility. For the first time in a long time, the weight of the world is off my shoulders, and I can just be in the moment.
I will my body to relax. To accept the reprieve while I can and not allow myself to ruin the moment with thoughts of my life back home.
“My mother was a dancer,” she says. “She put me in dance classes when I was . . . gosh, I don’t know, three? Four, maybe? My father thought it as a waste of time, but my mother went behind his back for a while. She put me in ballet, jazz, tap... She let me try anything I wanted to.”
Her voice is raspy and low, causing the blood to rush through my veins and my heart to beat faster. I lie there quietly, enjoying the natural high it gives me.
“Dance was the first thing I was ever good at, and I fell in love with it. When it was time for my first recital, my mother told my father that I had been in dance for months. He refused to come, but she was in the front row. She was there to cheer me on every single time.
“Over the years, I spent more time dancing and less time focusing on the activities my father wanted me to participate in. I even danced competitively for a few years, and I was good. I mean, really good. When I was dancing, everything else would just fade away. My struggles with my father, my inadequacies, my imperfections, it would all just disappear.”
She hesitates. I wish I could turn to her and wrap her up in my arms, but I’m afraid I’ll ruin the moment, so I stay still and wait.
“When my mother died, my father stopped allowing me to dance. He pushed me further into my academics and the image he wanted me to portray. I still danced behind his back throughout high school and college, just not competitively. And after law school, I actually started working as an instructor at a dance studio.”
The breath gets caught in my chest, and I hiccup around it before flowing into a cough. “Um, excuse me,” I mutter.
She chuckles softly. “You all right?”
“Yes.” I try to nod my head, but it feels jerky. “Go on.” I squeeze her hand gently, urging her on.
“Anyway, I’ve worked there for a few years, and I love it. I love dance, I love kids. Combining them has honestly given me more joy than anything I’ve done in so, so long. I’ve always had the idea in the back of my mind to open my own studio, but it’s one of those unattainable dreams that puts a smile on your face on the good days and burns your chest on the bad days.”
