Page 63 of Dangerously In Love


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Ava:NO. Send someone else to Stonybrook.

Brandon:Ava, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize for the rest of my life if I have to.

I want to acknowledge his apology, but I also want to shove the lies back down his throat. The time for remorse has passed.

Ava:Brandon. I cannot see you. Be around you. SEND SOMEONE ELSE.

Brandon:Fine. I’ll send Bree as soon as she’s done on her current assignment. I want you to know that I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I don’t deserve it. What I want is for us to build trust in each other again, and much as it will pain me, I have to wait for as long as it takes. Even if we aren’t together like that, you’ll always be part of me, and as long as there is breath in my body, I’ll make sure your safe. Whether it’s me or someone on my team that I trust. You’ll never feel unsafe as long as I know where you are. Can I see you after the show?

I leave his message on read. I’m not at all ready to speak to Brandon or my brother. I couldn’t stomach either of them right now.

I look up at the sound of Mom’s shuffling slippers across the hardwood floor. She joins me over by the window.

“How long are you going to make him stand out in the cold?”

I cross my arms. “I don’t know. Forever.”

“Ava.” She says my name with an impatient tone. “You can’t be petty. It’s freezing. Invite Brandon in.”

“You invite him. I’m going back to my room,” I say. If Brandon steps foot in this house, I need to be as far away from him as I can right now.

By the time I make it back to my room, I peer out the window and see Mom and Brandon conversing. She touches his forearm before he gets back in his vehicle. Though she was upset that neither Brandon nor I told anyone we were involved, she’s always had a soft spot for him since he and Ash were teens. She was sorry that Brandon didn’t really have a family of his own and was by himself at boarding school here in the States.

When Mom enters the house, I call out to her from the top of the stairs. “What happened? I saw Brandon get back in his car.”

“Why do you care?” she asks, hands on her hips. She’s unsuccessfully trying to hide a knowing smile.

“I don’t,” I say, sounding unconvincing even to my own ears.

“He declined to come in,” she calls up to me. “He’s waiting until Bree gets here, and she’ll take you back.”

I nod and begin heading back to my room when she calls out to me again. “So, what have you decided, Ava?”

“Time to get my life back.” No point in moping around here anymore.

“That’s my girl.”

I was used to posting videos online and getting feedback through comments. Live television was a completely different beast but exhilarating. Getting to create my recipes, with a little help of sped up television magic, was the perfect distraction. I proved to myself that all this time, I didn’t need Sierra to help me. I’ve been managing fine without her.

Wrapping up the television segment while thankfully not getting any pomodoro sauce on my winter white dress, I looked around for Maxwell, who escorted me this morning. But he was no longer on the sidelines.

“You were great out there,” the producer of the morning show says to me. The activity between commercial breaks, while the workers moved to set up for the next segment, is buzzing around us.

“Seriously, you’re a natural. Here’s my card. I might have a cooking show in the works, and I think you’d be a great addition. Let me know if you’d be interested,” she says.

I couldn’t speak. Was this a potential opportunity to take my work off of social media and appear on television?

“I’ll definitely let you know,” I reply.

“Perfect,” she says, clapping her hands together, my cookbook still tucked in her arms. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

The producer walks off before I can say anymore, and I head back to the dressing room to grab my coat and phone.

I enter the dressing room, don my coat, and pocket my phone. Still no sign of Maxwell. Weird.

“The guy you arrived with said he was going downstairs. He thought he’d have been back in a few minutes,” the makeup artist says from the other end of the room as she’s cleaning up her brushes.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” I say, though I’m getting a bad feeling.

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