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Chapter Three

GREYSON

This is a dream.

That’s the only logical explanation for what I’m seeing. Years of playing hockey and being slammed into the boards clearly have damaged my brain. Because there’s no way Stella is actually here.

No matter the reason as to why I’m hallucinating her, my breath still stalls in my lungs. Frozen to my seat, all I can do is take a moment to appreciate how she looks as she approaches.

Her long light brown hair is pulled back from her face and curls flow down her back. With the light from the windows, I don’t miss the multitude of different tones and colors that subtly shine. Those pale blue eyes that have haunted my nights shimmer as they stare right back at me. The subtle golden makeup she has on makes them pop even more. My gaze drops to her plump red lips and memories of what it felt like to have them on mine simmer to the forefront of my thoughts.

Forcing myself to take advantage of my delusions as she closes the final few steps, I drink in the sight of her voluptuous frame. I would have thought it was impossible for her to be more beautiful than I remember, but the subtle differences from five years ago to the vision standing in front of me make my mouth water. My hands twitch with the need to touch and rememorize all the new dips and curves.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

She finally stops on the opposite side of my table with a polite smile painted on her face. The sight of it feels wrong and unnatural compared to every other look I’ve ever seen from her. That’s when reality comes crashing down and the dream bubble pops with her words.

“Is it safe to assume you’re here for the meeting with a SweetHeart assistant?” she asks, shifting her weight and popping a hip out while waiting for my answer.

My brows scrunch together and all I can do is nod.

This isn’t happening. The first time I finally ask for help with something and the universe sends me the same woman who made me the way I am. The woman who took essential pieces of me with her when she left.

“Right.” Stella sighs. Her perfect composure slips for the first time since I laid eyes on her. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sucks in a deep breath. Every word I know leaves my mind while I wait for her to speak again.

After another couple seconds, Stella straightens her shoulders, that poised mask covering her features once more.

“If you have time to wait, I can call Mr. Walker and have him find someone else to be here. It might take him an hour or two, but?—”

“No.” I interrupt without thinking. Straightening in my seat, I try to calm my racing heart. I tell myself that the panic bubbling under my skin comes from not wanting to give myself more time to back out of this. It has nothing to do with the fact that Stella is trying to leave me again.

But even I can’t convince myself of the latter.

Stella swallows thickly, glancing over her shoulder toward the pastry case and the employee who isn’t hiding the fact that she’s watching us closely.

“Then,” she starts hesitantly and looks back at me. “I’ll have Mr. Walker get in touch for a different date and?—”

“No.” This time the word comes with a scowl that’s aimed more at my inability to say another word than it is at the fact that she is trying to leave.

Stella blinks at me. “How would you like to move forward with SweetHeart Assistance then?”

Just like that, an idea forms. One that is most likely the worst idea I’ve had in years, but one I can’t seem to talk myself out of all the same.

Reaching for my coffee, I take a sip to help clear my throat before finally saying more than one word to her. “Garrett said you would have the contract with you.”

“I do. I just assumed that…” She trails off, eyeing me skeptically.

“You know what they say about assuming things.” I shrug.

Her jaw drops open for a moment in shock before she snaps it shut. It’s an effort not to let my gaze linger on her lips. Instead, I motion to the counter behind her.

“Why don’t you order a coffee before we go through the contract then?”

“You want to go through with this even though?—”

This time she cuts herself off. Shaking her head, she looks toward the door and I brace myself for her to walk out.

While she thinks through her options, my attention drops to the slight twitch of her fingers as she grips the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Then to the way she shifts on her feet before finally studying her expression.

It dawns on me as I wait for her decision; Stella is nervous.

With that thought, I watch her even closer and notice how her brows crease together slightly as she worries her plump bottom lip between her teeth. She looks like she’s one wrong breath away from bolting.

An ache pangs in my chest at the revelation. She used to tell me I was her safe space, the one person she never had to worry about being around.

Was the accident really all it took to shatter that level of trust?

Before I can linger down that train of thought, Stella lets out a heavy exhale and faces me again.

“Just give me a minute to get a drink.”

Turning on her heels, she crosses back toward the counter, not once looking back. Meanwhile, my eyes never stray from her as she places her order and waits for her drink. Even with a riot of emotions coursing through me, I can’t help but admire her backside as she faces away from me. I try to focus on what the hell I’m actually doing. She gave me an out, two in fact. Yet I still refused to let her go.

This might be the same woman who left without a single word. The person who made it impossible for me to open up or feel like I did before.

But I’ll be damned if I pass on this opportunity to find out why .

Not knowing is what’s kept me up most nights. Wondering what I did or didn’t do. Trying to figure out how I could have made her stay or if any of it was real. Now is my chance to get that answer. All while doing what Lucy suggested to help soften my image.

While Stella makes her way back to me, I try to convince myself those are my only reasons. I was already reluctant to hire someone who will likely be painted as my girlfriend by the media, so why would I drag this process out any longer? It would all be a ruse, a job. No one else would know that I’m using it as a chance to finally find closure and get part of myself back.

I shove down the nagging voice telling me that I’m lying to myself. Instead, as she sits down across from me, invading my senses with her light floral scent, everything blurs. Past and present, truth and lies, logic and desire all start to mesh together.

Even as she pulls out the contract and keeps things strictly professional, I repeatedly tell myself that my decision not to turn Stella away is for closure and work only . That this contract has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’ve felt more in the past five minutes than I have in the last five years.

And even if I know that I’m setting myself up to be hurt all over again, there’s no stopping me from signing my name on the dotted line of that contract.