Page 62 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

L ennon met Dylan in the foyer in her wrinkled bridesmaid dress, shoes on and clutch in hand. He stood there with his hands on his hips, dazed. He didn’t look up at her right away.

“That was—”

“You should take her offer,” Lennon said numbly, cutting him off.

He almost laughed. “What?”

She dropped a halfhearted shoulder. “It makes sense. I mean, she’s evil, but it wouldn’t be forever, and it would save you from ruining your career over nothing. At this point, it’d probably be stupid not to do it.”

Dylan still teetered on the edge of laughter, but confusion set in when she didn’t laugh with him. “I don’t—are you serious?”

Somewhere, under a thin layer of ice, her heart beat painfully. On the surface, she’d kicked into survival mode.

“Yes. I’m serious.” So serious, it made her sick.

“It’s the whole reason you went on the show: To fix your image and get back on the team.

You can’t let it end up being the thing that destroys everything.

” Guilt came in a hot, sickening wave. He wouldn’t have even been on the show if it hadn’t been for her.

She was partially responsible for getting him into this mess.

The least she could do was not get in the way of his one chance to avoid the fallout.

Dylan simply gaped at her for a while, sounds of confusion crackling in his throat as words seemed to evaporate as quickly as they formed. “I … I don’t know what to say. This isn’t what I expected you to say.”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“Not this!” He waved his open palms in a circling gesture, huffing an ironic laugh.

“Nolan bought Versal, Dylan,” Lennon said.

The vitality drained from his body, his expression dropping and leaving only anger flaring in his eyes.

“What if your drink was spiked on purpose?” Her voice trembled slightly as she posed the question, the first sign of emotion she’d let slip through.

“You think his father was behind Rhett’s injury.

What if—” Lennon couldn’t believe they were in a situation where this was a possibility.

She hadn’t wanted to believe he was right about Nolan sabotaging his father, but now, the timing was horrifyingly convenient.

She hoped she was wrong. The idea that Dylan was in actual physical danger, that someone would hurt him on purpose ….

A wave of panic swept through her. Who knew what else Nolan’s ownership of the studio could mean for them? The game had changed yet again, and they had to be smart about it.

Lennon loathed Kelsey, but she was Huey’s daughter. Huey controlled the show. And Huey answered to Nolan. Their hands were tied unless they played along.

The more that realization sunk in, the sicker she felt. Like a black hole had opened up inside her and was sucking her into it, ripping her apart piece by piece. She had to stay together right now—long enough to get through this conversation.

Lennon found Dylan studying her. It took her a moment to realize what he was probably looking for. He needed more than her permission.

He needed to know he wouldn’t break her again if he accepted Kelsey’s deal.

He would, but she wouldn’t let him know it.

They’d had fun together, which is all it could be for now.

A familiar, comfortable escape from all the shit they’d been dealing with.

Dylan hadn’t told her he loved her or wanted to recommit to each other in any long-term capacity.

His recovery and the mounting pressure of his career still hung over them.

She couldn’t expect him to sabotage his career to be with her if she wasn’t OK with Kelsey’s proposition.

Dylan had made his priorities very clear, as had she.

If he didn’t accept Kelsey’s offer to leverage her connections, his career with the Tidebreakers was as good as dead—and by extension, so was his father’s. That was his legacy. What he’d been working tirelessly to salvage. It was everything to him.

She’d rather walk away on her own again before it all blew up in their faces.

“This was a nice distraction, but we’ve both got a lot we’re trying to accomplish,” Lennon said, stiffening her spine to show strength she didn’t feel. “We can’t let it pull us off course. Maybe one day, the timing will be right for us. For now, we have to stay focused on what’s important.”

Dylan gaze wavered to the side, stunned. “What’s important,” he repeated quietly.

“Yeah. Our careers. Getting our lives together. Speaking of which … I need to get to that interview. And you need to prepare for your meeting.”

Dylan’s eyes were glassy and vacant. “Right.” He cradled his jaw in his hand, absently rubbing it. “I can drive you home,” he offered.

“You don’t have to. I’ll order a car. You’ve chauffeured me around enough lately and I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I don’t mind,” Dylan said earnestly. “But if you’d prefer I didn’t, at least take one of my cars. They’re just sitting in the garage anyway.”

Lennon’s pride bristled at the idea of accepting yet another favor from him, but a glance at the clock on her phone revealed she had a tight window to get back to her apartment, make herself presentable, and arrive at her interview on time. Waiting on a car would make that window even tighter.

This was the last favor she’d accept from him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Dylan walked off to grab a set of keys, giving her a moment to suck in a deep breath through the pain and stabilize herself before he returned with a sleek fob sporting the Porsche logo. As it passed between their hands, he asked, “Are we still on for dinner later?”

Shit. Dinner. How the hell was she going to manage that?

“Yeah,” Lennon said, forcing a smile. “I mean, we can see how the day goes. I have to bring the car back, anyway. But it’d be good to talk about everything. Figure out all the details so we’re on the same page moving forward. Like we did when we started the show.”

The corner of his mouth briefly lifted in faint, grim smile before he tightly nodded.

He dropped his hand. Dylan’s energy shifted, suddenly distant, like there were a million miles of space between them rather than an arm’s length.

A chill rushed through her at the stark contrast from what she’d felt wrapped in his arms less than an hour ago.

Lennon knew this was the probable outcome, and yet she’d opened her heart again, anyway. Her chest felt like it was crumbling into sand and pouring into her gut, through her arms, and down her legs, making her body impossibly heavy.

“I need to go,” she pushed out. She had approximately sixty seconds, give or take, before she collapsed under the weight of it.

Dylan led her to the vehicle—a small, sleek SUV—and made her aware of all the important buttons to get her back to her apartment without blowing anything up. Her main priority was finding a good radio station she could crank up and lose herself in.

“Good luck with the interview,” Dylan told her, a hand resting on the door. He blocked the afternoon sun, the light of which gleamed through his messy hair and the white of his shirt, revealing the outline of the body she’d spent all night curled against.

“Good luck with the meeting,” Lennon said back.

His lips barely curved into a smile. He waited a beat before tapping the roof and stepping back to shut the door.

Once Lennon had pulled away from his house and the gate had shrunk to a dot in the rearview mirror, she turned the music up to full blast and released the dam.

Lennon gave herself the space of her commute to her apartment to let it all out—cry, shout, bang her hands against the steering wheel, admonish herself for being so stupid, curse the universe for being so unfair—and then she’d have to go back to survival mode.

She had an interview to prepare for. One she’d have to nail in case Kelsey turned the tables on her and didn’t help her tag along for season two.

Or if Lennon decided she didn’t have the strength, after all, to keep up the charade.