Page 10 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

Savannah

O ne more night.

His words haunted me as I stared blankly at my computer screen, the quarterly marketing report blurring before my eyes.

Three little words that had burrowed under my skin, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

"Savannah? Are you with us?"

I blinked, suddenly aware that four pairs of eyes were trained on me across the conference table.

Jeffrey, our creative director at Adler-West Strategies, had paused mid-presentation, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Sorry," I mumbled, straightening in my chair.

"Could you repeat that last point?"

Jeffrey sighed, the slight tightening around his mouth betraying his irritation.

"I was asking if you had concerns about the Waterstone campaign direction. Since you've shot down every concept we've presented so far."

Had I?

I glanced down at my barely touched notepad, realizing I'd been silent through most of the two-hour meeting.

Not like me at all.

I was usually the one steering these sessions, challenging ideas, not to tear them down, but to build them stronger.

Today, I couldn't remember a single concept they'd presented.

"I think we need to dig deeper," I said, falling back on a safe critique. "The messaging feels... generic."

Maria, my assistant creative director, frowned.

"That's the opposite of what you said last week. You specifically asked us to make it more accessible to a broader audience."

Heat crept up my neck.

She was right.

I had no idea what I'd asked for anymore, my mind too full of forbidden kisses and impossible choices to retain even basic information about our biggest account.

"Let's table this for now," I said, gathering my things with forced calm.

"Everyone take the weekend to refresh. We'll reconvene Monday with fresh eyes."

The team exchanged glances—confusion, concern, annoyance—but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Four days had passed since the wedding, since I’d discovered my mystery lover was Lucas Turner, and I hadn’t slept more than four hours a night since.

Miles had requested a meeting for Tuesday, just the three of us.

Him. Me. And Lucas.

I canceled.

Blamed a work emergency, and technically, that wasn’t untrue.

But the real emergency was inside my head. I was still reeling from the weekend—still trying to stitch together the version of myself that had come undone beneath Lucas’s hands.

There was no way I could have sat across from him, composed and professional, pretending I hadn’t tasted him, touched him, begged for more in the dark.

Even now, the memory curled hot and low in my stomach.

His mouth.

His hands.

The way he said my name like it meant something.

Just thinking about that night sent a jolt through me—visceral, immediate, impossible to ignore.

I would’ve been no good in that room. I needed space. Time.

And if I was being honest, I was still trying to figure out how to breathe in a world where Lucas Turner wasn’t just a stranger I’d slept with.

But a man I might not be able to stay away from.

I escaped to my office, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. My phone chimed with a text from Maria:

Everything OK? You seem off today.

More like off all week. I'd been making rookie mistakes, missing deadlines, and zoning out during client calls.

The woman who'd built a reputation for laser focus and creative precision had vanished, replaced by someone I barely recognized—distracted, reckless, consumed by thoughts of a man I had no business wanting.

I typed back:

Just tired. Sorry about the meeting.

Dropping into my chair, I forced myself to concentrate on the Waterstone file. Our biggest client deserved better than my divided attention.

I made it through two paragraphs of the creative brief before Lucas's voice echoed in my head again.

One more night. To explore what this is between us.

What was this between us?

An aberration.

A chemical fluke.

The universe's cruelest joke, pairing me with the one man guaranteed to complicate my life beyond repair.

If we'd met under different circumstances—if he weren't Miles's father, if I hadn't extricated myself from that toxic relationship—would I still feel this pull toward him?

This overwhelming, inconvenient desire that made nonsense of my carefully rebuilt life?

My office phone rang, startling me from my thoughts.

"Savannah Blake." I tried to sound professional, put-together, nothing like the woman falling apart at the seams.

"Hey, it's Zoe. Lunch. Now. Non-negotiable."

I checked the time—1:30 already.

"I've got too much?—"

"That wasn't a question," she interrupted.

"You're avoiding me, and we both know why. Meet me at Luciana's in twenty minutes or I'm coming to drag you out myself."

She hung up before I could argue.

Typical Zoe—bulldozing through my defenses with unwavering determination. Under normal circumstances, I appreciated her directness.

Today, it filled me with dread.

She'd seen too much at the wedding, had questions I couldn't answer without revealing everything.

But I owed her something.

She'd been texting since Sunday, concerned about my abrupt departure from the wedding brunch, and I'd been deflecting with vague excuses about work stress and migraine headaches.

Luciana's was our usual spot, a small Italian place halfway between our offices.

When I arrived, Zoe was already seated at our corner table, two glasses of wine poured despite the workday.

"You look like shit," she said by way of greeting.

"Thanks." I slid into the chair across from her.

"Always nice to hear."

"Are we pretending you haven't been avoiding me since you bolted from brunch on Sunday? Or can we skip to the part where you tell me what the hell is going on?"

I took a fortifying sip of wine.

"It's complicated."

"So uncomplicate it." She leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"This is about Silver Fox, isn't it? The guy from the wedding."

My stomach dropped.

"What makes you say that?"

"Please. You disappeared after the ceremony. Came to brunch glowing like you'd been thoroughly satisfied, sporting a hickey you tried and failed to hide. Then you turned ghost-white when Cami introduced her uncle, who just happened to be a silver-haired hottie."

She paused, watching my face.

"And Miles's dad, which is a whole other level of mess I'm still processing."

I set down my wine glass with shaking hands. "Zoe?—"

"Tell me you didn't," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I couldn't meet her eyes.

The silence stretched between us, damning in its length.

"Jesus, Savannah." She exhaled sharply. "Lucas Turner? Miles's father ?"

"I didn't know who he was," I hissed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening.

"We didn't exchange names. It was supposed to be one night, no complications."

"Well, that worked out beautifully," she said dryly.

"Of all the men at that wedding, you had to pick the one genetically related to your ex?"

"Believe me, I'm aware of the cosmic joke." I pressed my fingers to my temples, feeling the beginning of another stress headache.

"You can't tell anyone. Not ever."

"Who would I tell? This isn't exactly gossip I can share at happy hour." She studied me, concern replacing her initial shock. "Are you okay? Really?"

The unexpected gentleness in her voice nearly undid me.

For days, I'd been holding myself together through sheer force of will, keeping the turmoil locked inside where no one could see it.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "I can't stop thinking about him, Zoe. About that night."

"Because it was good? Or because it was forbidden?"

"Both. Neither?" I struggled to articulate something I barely understood myself. "It wasn't just physical. He saw me in a way no one has before. Not even?—"

"Not even Miles," she finished for me.

“That's messed up on levels I can't even begin to unpack."

"You think I don't know that? I've spent five days telling myself to forget it happened, to move on, to be the professional, responsible person I've always been." I laughed, the sound edged with hysteria. "It's not working."

Zoe sipped her wine, considering. "So what now? Secret affair with your ex's father? Because I've got to tell you, that's not exactly a step up on the healthy relationships ladder."

"There won't be an affair," I said firmly. “I was supposed to see him Tuesday for a business meeting—Miles arranged it—I said I had a work emergency and cancelled.”

Except Lucas had proposed something very different in that hotel bar.

One more night.

And I hadn't said no.

"You're a terrible liar, Savannah." Zoe reached across the table, covering my hand with hers.

"I can see it all over your face. You're thinking about saying yes to whatever he's offering."

"He wants one more night," I admitted, the words spilling out against my better judgment. "To explore what's between us before we walk away."

"And you believe that? That either of you could walk away after another taste?" She squeezed my hand. "Be honest with yourself. This isn't about closure. It's about wanting something you know you shouldn't have."

Her words hit with uncomfortable precision.

She was right, of course.

One more night wouldn't provide clarity—it would only deepen the connection, make the inevitable separation more painful.

"What would you do?" I asked, needing her perspective even if I wasn't sure I could follow it.

"Me? I'd run so far in the opposite direction they'd need a search party to find me." She smirked, but her eyes remained serious.

"But I'm not you, and you've never been good at walking away from complicated men."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Miles was emotionally unavailable from day one, but you spent months trying to prove you were worthy of his attention, even longer trying to get over him.

And now his father, who's what, twenty years older?

—shows you a glimmer of understanding, and you're ready to risk your professional reputation, not to mention your sanity, for one more night? "

Put like that, it sounded pathetic.

Familiar.