Page 17 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

The door is slightly ajar, and I push it open like I’m afraid I’ll break something.

Inside, it’s all cream tile and brushed gold fixtures, with a rainfall shower that could fit three people and a freestanding tub beneath a window that overlooks the backyard.

A double vanity stretches along one wall, topped with granite and lit by sconces that glow like candlelight.

It smells faintly like eucalyptus and new beginnings.

There’s a walk-in closet too, empty save for a few padded hangers and a full-length mirror that makes me do a double take because, for once, I don’t hate what I see.

It’s clear Dean spared no expense. And not just in the way that money speaks, but in the way thoughtfulness whispers. Every inch of this room feels like an invitation. A promise. A quiet reassurance that maybe… I’m not just a guest here.

“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh,” Ashvi squeals the moment she steps inside the room and closes the door behind herself. Like a hawk, she latches onto my arm with her talons and spins me to face in her direction. “Lila, do you know who that is? Do you have any idea who you’re working for?”

Shrugging off her grip, I start pulling my clothes free from the boxes where I’d stuffed them earlier and laying them on the bed.

“No, but he’s just a guy who got handed a tough situation, Vi.” I explain as I break down one of the boxes and toss it onto the floor.

Suddenly, a phone is shoved at me and I can’t look away from the screen with Dean’s attractive face staring back at me.

I stare at my phone, Ashvi's words ringing in my ears. World’s Sexiest Billionaire Heir.

My brow furrows as I swipe through the article.

"What kind of article is this?" I ask, skepticism lacing my voice.

I can't help it, my mind is racing, trying to make sense of this. The words don’t feel like they belong in the same universe as the man I know.

Ashvi’s reply is immediate, the excitement practically leaping out of her screen. “Lila, your man is like the hottest guy in the world, literally, and he’s heir to one of the oldest yacht and boating companies. The man makes a billion dollars every time he blinks.”

The ground shifts beneath my feet. A billion dollars every time he blinks? What does that even mean? I let out a nervous laugh, dismissing it, though there's a hint of disbelief in my tone. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

But deep down, as I stare at the glowing screen, a strange mix of disbelief and curiosity stirs in my chest. I try to ignore it, to tell myself that Ashvi’s exaggerating, that she’s just seeing him through the same rose-colored glasses I’d seen him through when I first met him.

The chemistry, the laughter, the light-heartedness we shared—they don’t make sense in the context of billion-dollar businesses and glossy magazine headlines.

No, this isn’t him, I think, he’s not like that. He's… well, he’s real. He’s grounded.

Still, my mind can't help but wonder. Is this the life he was leading before? The one I don't know about? The life that feels so far out of reach?

I glance back at the article, the headline blurring slightly in my vision. World’s Sexiest Billionaire Heir. The words keep repeating in my mind like a mantra.

My chest tightens.

I roll my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts. Stop it. This isn’t what matters.

Yet, as I scroll back up to the picture of him, my heart does that strange thing it always does when I see his face.

That little flutter of recognition. That he’s the one feeling.

He's more than just a man with money. He’s someone who makes me feel like I’m worthy, like I belong.

But what if this whole other world of his is something I’m not equipped to handle?

Something so different from the life I’ve just escaped from?

I shove the phone back at Ashvi, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. There’s a heaviness in my chest now, a contradiction that I don’t want to deal with.

“Oh, it’s very true. Not only does he have a trust fund worth more than most first world countries, but he’s invested in dozens of companies that are all Fortune 500 now.”

“So? Who cares that he has money?”

“Ugh…because he’s gorgeous and you should absolutely hit that.”

Throwing a sweatshirt at her head, I laugh as she eats a mouthful of cotton as I set her phone on the bed.

“He’s my boss now. You know how strict my mom is about that sort of stuff. And those kids need my help. So does Dean if everything about those kids is true.”

“I thought you were going to try to find a job doing research, at least until you can get a new grant.”

“I am, and I will, but they need me right now.”

Warm arms wrap around my shoulders from behind, and I lean into my best friend. “Maybe you need them, too. All jokes aside, I want you to be careful.”

“I’m not worried about Prescott,” I fib.

“I’m not talking about your ex, Lila. I’m talking about your heart.”

Unlike Ashvi, I’m not worried about falling for Dean. He has enough on his plate, as do I. It may take all my willpower, but my heart won’t be the issue. It will be the desire to spend the night in his bed.

Thankfully, as I hear the patter of little feet down the hall, I know I have the best blockers on the planet. Kids are a very good deterrent.

The knot in my stomach tightens as Ashvi's words hang in the air. "Well, if you're not going to give the Dean train a go, can I climb aboard?"

I tell myself to stay cool, to laugh it off, but the flutter in my stomach tells me it’s not that simple.

I try to mask the little spark of something, but it’s there, undeniable.

I’ve spent the last couple of hours trying to ignore how much I feel when it comes to Dean, but here’s Ashvi, my best friend, throwing out the possibility of her own interest in him, and suddenly, everything I thought I could ignore rushes to the surface.

I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping my gaze steady as I respond, pretending I don’t feel that sharp sting of irritation.

“What happened to the Navy guy?” I ask, trying to shift the focus away from Dean and onto something, anything, that feels safer.

But Ashvi doesn’t seem to catch on, or maybe she does and just doesn’t care.

Either way, I can feel her attention still lingering on the idea of Dean.

I should be happy for her. Hell, she’s my best friend.

If she wants to go after him, that’s her choice, but why does the thought of her even considering it make my chest tighten with a jealousy I’m not supposed to feel?

Because if I’m being honest, I can’t help but want him. I can’t help but want to be the one he notices, the one he cares about.

I close my eyes for a second, the back of my head hitting the pillow as I try to let the anxiety settle.

I tell myself it’s nothing. Just a fluke.

I don’t have any claim to Dean. He’s a guy who was kind enough to help me out of my mess, and now he’s probably just a guy who doesn’t even remember my name when he’s with someone else.

But the thought of Ashvi going after him, of her being the one to get his attention, makes me irrationally annoyed.

Let’s not even mention the fact that he’s my boss. A long-standing rule for my mom’s business that I know shouldn’t be crossed.

I rub my temples, trying to clear the fogginess in my head. Get it together, I tell myself. He’s not your guy.

The kids stand at the doorway watching me unpack and the little sponges are absorbing every word we say. Thankfully, Ashvi just shrugs and helps hang some of my clothes while I shove my underwear into the top dresser drawer as quickly as possible.

Not long later, Dean calls all five of us down for dinner. The kids are having a field day playing in my bedroom with the microscope I brought. Thankfully, I had some samples of foods stored on slides that they could view.

Ashvi and I have already finished off a glass of wine by the time she decides to head home, leaving me alone with Dean. Quietly, I gather all the dishes and nudge Oliver to help me at the sink.

Dean begins to stand, and I glare at him to sit back down and enjoy the beer he opened when he served dinner. Like a typical three-year-old, Evelyn is still pushing around the green beans on her plate.

Oliver and I make a game with the soapsuds and the utensils as we finish washing the dishes. I keep an eye on him as he stands on a barstool leaning over the sink, with the forks battling against the mixing spoons.

A rush of heat floods my back, and then I feel it—his hand, warm and firm, settling against my hip.

The fingers flex once, a gentle press that sends a shock wave through my body.

Every inch of my skin reacts like it's been lit on fire, the sparks crawling up my spine and down to my fingertips, leaving me breathless and dizzy. I swallow hard, my pulse thumping erratically. The air feels heavier now, charged with something raw, something electric. “You know there is a dishwasher,” Dean’s gravelly voice growls against my ear.

A sound similar to an agreement stumbles from my lips.

He chuckles as he sets the additional plates in the open sink, and I instantly miss the loss of his touch as he steps away, sweeping Evelyn up into his arms. We’d discussed during the meal that tackling bath time after dinner would be best for a new routine.

Despite being wary about caring for the kids, Dean has great instincts.

He even offered to do Evelyn’s bath, something he’d done before when his sister visited with them.

I’m not sure if it was nerves, but he disclosed the first time he took care of the kids, Oliver had just turned three and Evelyn was a few months old.

His sister had dropped them off at his penthouse and ran off for a month before he and his parents could track her down.

My heart breaks every time I hear more about the children’s upbringing.