2. Tyson

Chapter 2

Tyson

I pulled up to Autumn’s Hyde Park apartment at six-fifty-five, killing the engine of my Range Rover. The gift box on my passenger seat held a bottle of James’s favorite bourbon – a spirit he would welcome to receive. Snow dusted my shoulders as I strolled to Autumn’s door, my polished dress shoes leaving tracks in the fresh ice.

My knuckles barely touched her door before it swung open. The sight of her stole my breath. That red dress draped her curves like it was made for her, stopping just above her knees. Her hair fell in soft curls around her face, and a hint of gold shimmer highlighted her cheekbones.

“You’re early,” she stepped back to let me in, and the scent of her jasmine perfume wrapped around me.

“You’re stunning.” The words came out before I could filter them, but I didn’t regret it.

She smoothed her hands over the dress. “This old thing?”

“Don’t play modestly. You know exactly what that dress is giving.”

Her laugh filled the space between us. “Help me with this?” she turned, exposing the smooth skin of her back where her necklace clasp waited.

My fingers brushed her neck as I fastened the gold chain. “Your mother’s necklace?”

“Seemed right for Daddy’s big night.” She turned back to face me, too close and not close enough. “You clean up nice yourself.”

I’d chosen my navy suit carefully, knowing she’d notice the details - the perfect tailoring, the silver cufflinks she’d given me last Christmas. “Ready to make an entrance?”

“Yes,” she grabbed her clutch from the entry table. “Let’s go.”

The drive to her parents’ house in Beverly gave me too much time to notice how her dress rose slightly when she crossed her legs and tapped her fingers against her knee to the rhythm of the soft jazz playing through my speakers.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said.

“Just thinking about your father’s face when he sees how many people showed up to celebrate him.”

“He hates being the center of attention.”

“And yet you convinced him to let Diana throw this party.”

She grinned. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

We pulled up to the Williams family home - a stunning Victorian James had restored himself over the years. Cars lined both sides of the street, and light spilled from every window.

Inside, the house buzzed with energy. Diana had transformed the space with elegant silver and blue decorations. The scent of her famous gumbo mixed with laughter and music.

“There’s my girl!” James’s voice boomed across the room. He wrapped Autumn in a bear hug before turning to me. “And my second favorite troublemaker.”

I handed him the gift box. “Happy retirement, Uncle James.”

His eyes lit up at the bourbon. “Now, this is why you’re my favorite almost-son.”

“I thought Michael was your favorite almost-son,” Diana appeared, classy in a silver dress that matched her decorations.

“Michael is his son,” I pointed out. “I had to earn my spot.”

“Through bribery, apparently.” Autumn bumped my shoulder with hers.

“Through loyalty,” James corrected his hand heavy on my shoulder. “Twenty years of it.”

Diana pulled Autumn away to greet other guests, leaving me with James. He studied the crowd with satisfaction.

“Every time I see you two, my mind drifts back to when you thought you could sneak out of this house without me knowing,” he said.

“We never actually made it past the creaky step.”

“Neither did Michael, but at least he tried alone. You two were always in it together.” He gave me a sideways look. “Still are.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“And some things should.” He took a sip of his new bourbon. “You’re not kids anymore, son.”

Before I could respond, Michael’s twins attacked my legs. “Uncle Ty!”

I scooped them both up, their small arms wrapping around my neck. “There are my favorite monsters!”

“Are you gonna marry Aunt Autumn?” Madison asked with all the directness of a seven-year-old.

James choked on his bourbon.

“Why would you ask that, princess?” I set them down carefully.

“Because Mommy said?—”

“Madison!” Angela appeared, shooting me an apologetic look. “Time for cake.”

The twins ran off, leaving me with James’s smirk and rising brows. “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said.

I spotted Autumn across the room, laughing with her brother. The lights caught the gold in her dress, making her shine. As if sensing my gaze, she looked up, holding my eyes for a long moment before smiling.

“You know,” James said quietly, “sometimes the best presents come after Christmas.”

The party wound down slowly, family and friends drifting into the snowy night with warm hugs and promises to visit the newly retired judge. Autumn helped Diana clean up while I loaded gifts into cars and said goodbye to the stragglers.

“Ready for dinner?” I asked when we finally made it back to my car.

She kicked off her heels, curling her feet under her. “I thought you’d forgotten about your mysterious proposition.”

“Not all that mysterious. I told you yesterday what it was about. Tonight, I’m giving you the details.” I headed toward downtown, where I’d made reservations at Le Colonial. “Tell me why Madison thinks we’re getting married.”

Her laugh carried a nervous edge. “Angela needs to stop gossiping with my mother.”

“Your mother’s been planning our wedding since high school.”

“Please, she gave up on us years ago. Now she just wants me married to anyone with a pulse and a portfolio.”

“Is that what you want?”

She turned to look at me, streetlights painting shadows across her face. “I want...” she paused. “I want dinner. I’m starving.”

The restaurant welcomed us with warm lighting and the smell of lemongrass. The ma?tre d’ led us to a private corner booth, and Autumn slid in close enough that her knee touched mine.

“Now, about this proposition,” she picked up her wine glass, her red lipstick leaving a perfect print on the rim.

“The Benefield Chicago needs something different. Each floor will tell a story of our city through art.” I leaned forward, drawing energy from the interest in her eyes. “The lobby would showcase established artists - the ones who put Chicago on the map. But as guests move through the hotel, they’ll discover emerging talents. Every corridor, every space will feature different artists from different neighborhoods.”

“That’s ambitious,” she traced the rim of her glass. “How many pieces are we talking about?”

“At least two hundred. I want rotating exhibits in the main gallery space, permanent collections in the suites, and commissioned pieces for the restaurants and public areas.” I pulled out my phone, showing her the mock-ups. “See how these walls extend? Perfect sight lines for large-scale pieces. But for the launch I propose an auction – to put capital directly into the pockets of the artists.”

Her fingers brushed mine as she took the phone. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“That’s not all.” I signaled for another bottle of wine. “You know the old building I bought on 47th Street?”

“The one you renamed the Benefield Building?” She smiled. “Subtle, by the way.”

“I think naming your cat Leonardo da Vinci gives you the least amount of room to talk,” I stole a piece of lemongrass chicken from her plate. “I’m converting the first three floors into the community arts center we used to dream about. Teaching spaces, studios for rent at reduced rates, and a gallery for student exhibitions. The top floors will be affordable live-work spaces for artists.”

She set down her fork. “You’re serious about this.”

“You know I wouldn’t consider pulling you into something I wasn’t serious about. Hopefully by now, you can tell when I’m joking and when I’m not.” Our eyes remained non-blinking as we stared at each other. Her nervous smile was etched at the corner of her lip. And that let me know she understood my reference but for her comfortability I eased back to the proposition.

“Think about it - we could offer residency programs and mentorship opportunities. Connect emerging artists with collectors through the hotel gallery. Create real pathways for talent right here in our community.”

“And you want me to curate all of this?”

“I want you to help me build it. From the ground up. Our vision, connections, and understanding of what artists need to thrive.” I covered her hand across the table with mine. “There’s no one else I trust more. Partners?”

She turned her fingers upward and squeezed my fingers. “Partners.”

My heart warmed as did my body. It didn’t go over me that she was always there when I needed her, and I would always be there for her no matter the cause or case.

Later, walking Autumn to her door, with snow falling softly around us, my mind shifted to what would happen if I kissed her. If I finally crossed that line we’d drawn so carefully all those years ago.

Instead, I pressed my lips to her cheek. “Goodnight, Autumn. Thank you for continuing to be a major part of my life.”

She lingered in her doorway, a smile ushering to her lips. “Thank you for always thinking of me. With your reputation, you could have anyone you want in business or otherwise, but you keep coming back to me.”

I wanted her to rest in those words, to understand that there was a reason for that—she was my heart, but even as the philanthropic billionaire mogul that the world hailed me as, I was too afraid to admit it to her. I needed Autumn—whether we were friends or something more—and I couldn’t risk that she might pull away if my passion for her made our friendship awkward.

“I always will,” I reached out, pinched her chin, and she blushed.

“Goodnight, Ty.”

I waited until she was safely inside before heading home, the ghost of her perfume still clinging to my jacket, wondering how much longer we could dance around what was building between us.

But as her father had said, some Christmas presents were worth waiting for.