Page 21 of Fallen Heir

Jaxson Westbrook:

Lunch tomorrow? I’d like to see you again. Thought we should get to know each other a little more before the first outing.

I stared at the message. Of course he made it sound so casual. Like I was just another date on his schedule. I typed back before I could overthink it.

Me:

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Jaxson Westbrook:

If you're going to be in the spotlight with me, we shouldn’t look like strangers.There’s a charity event this weekend. It’s important.

Me:

For what?

My phone rang. Not a reply. Not more dots. A call.

Jaxson Westbrooklit up across the screen, and my hand tingled as I stared at it.

The last person who used to call me like this...

I shook the thought off and answered.

“Hey,” he said, voice calm and steady, but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “It’s for domestic abuse awareness.”

I didn’t speak. Not yet.

“It was my mom’s charity,” he continued after a breath. “She started it after a close friend of hers… took her own life. My father kept it going after she passed away. Now I run it.”

The ache in his voice caught me off guard. Like this wasn’t just about an event—it was about a promise.

“What’s the focus?” I asked softly.

“Shelters. Relocation. Legal advocacy. Giving women options before it’s too late.”

I swallowed hard, eyes drifting to the faint outline of an old scar along my wrist. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But somehow… his voice made it feel like he did.

“Okay,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll come to lunch.”

Lunch came too soon the next day.

The café was cozy and tucked between two art galleries a few blocks from my office. Jaxson had let me pick the place, and I’d offered to walk. Something about letting him pick me up felt like giving up pieces of myself I wasn’t ready to part with. It also helped keep me in control, which is exactly what I needed.

The weather was crisp, the sun peeking through high-rise shadows, and the walk helped me breathe. When I stepped through the café door, he was already waiting. Clean-cut. Dark suit. No tie. Casual but commanding.

Even in a crowd, Jaxson Westbrook stood out—not just because of how he looked, though that didn’t hurt. But because of the way the air shifted around him. Like everyone subconsciously moved to make space.

His gaze locked on mine the second I walked in, and I forgot how to breathe again. He stood and pulled out my chair without saying a word. I sat, smoothing the hem of my dress as I crossed my legs, nerves coiling tighter in my chest.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, voice low and easy.

I nodded, glancing at the small in front of me. “You ordered for me?”

“It’s the best sandwich they have. Couldn’t let you miss out.”

I glanced down and picked at the corner of the sandwich. “I hope it lives up to the hype.”