Chapter 32

DYLAN

M y phone chimes from the desk in front of me and I slide it across the mahogany, tapping on the screen. My lips curl in a smile when I see that Mackenzie has sent me a text.

Iopen it to find a picture of her blank canvas. Only it isn't entirely blank anymore. There are blue flecks of paint in different shades strewn across the top half of the otherwise stark white.

MACKENZIE: This starts as counting right?

My grin widens as I type out my reply.

ME: Baby steps. Miss you.

Shit. I hold my breath as I reread the words I've just sent. I'd been wanting to let her know how much I missed her since the moment I left her, but I'd worried it might be too much.

And now the three little dots that persistently bob underneath my text are practically screaming at me that I've freaked her out. I've said too much, too soon. She's taking way too long to reply.

I'm dragging a sweaty palm down my face when the phone buzzes in my hand. Her reply is everything.

MACKENZIE: Miss you more... x

Maybe I hadn't freaked her out after all. Still, I'll exercise some self-control in the future to avoid that post-text anxiety.

"Are we interrupting your social life, Dylan?" My father's voice booms from across the other side of the room. Glancing up, I find him watching me with wary eyes, my sister Claire flanking his left side.

Claire doesn't seem to hold the disdain my father does for my preoccupation. She winks at me playfully. "Texting that girlfriend of yours again?"

"Yeah," I say, realising that my father and Claire still believe Mackenzie to be my real full-time girlfriend, when in reality, I'm not sure now exactly what we are.

"And how is Mackenzie?" my father asks.

"She's good. She's actually currently working on an art piece for an exhibition night at the Abstract Palette. Her work is amazing. She's got serious talent."

"Abstract Palette?" Claire questions, setting down a pile of documents on the desk beside me.

"Yeah," I say, opening the desk drawer and rifling through it for a highlighter. "It's this little boutique art studio in Seabright Cove. Her grandmother runs it."

"Oh yeah, I know the one. It's part of the Elmwood building." Claire doesn't look up from the papers she's now sifting through on the desk beside me.

"Elmwood building? Hmm." For some reason the name piques my father's interest. He plucks his phone from the top pocket of his Prada suit blazer and begins to saunter out the door. "I'll be back in a second. I need to make a call."

"What's his deal?" I mutter, loosening the tie that my father thrust upon me this morning as I walked through the glass sliding doors of the building.

"He's stressing about the new project," Claire says matter-of-factly.

"Which one?"

"The boutique."

"A boutique hotel?" My nose scrunches up in confusion. "Since when does the Abbott Group specialise in anything other than large chain hotels?"

"He thinks it will be good for business," she explains, tossing her auburn hair behind her shoulder. "He wants to create smaller, intimate hotels for regional and remote areas. I mean, it sounds good in theory. Most of the locations he's been considering don't have luxury accommodation but so far, none of them have seemed the right fit."

"Why not?"

"He's not looking to build from the ground up. To maintain authenticity, he wants to utilise something established. Trouble is finding something suitable."

"Claire." Our father has returned to the doorway. "Will you set up that meeting with Donald Osgood?"

Claire stacks the documents she's been rifling through back into a neat pile. "Sure."

The fact that my father has just asked Claire to do a mundane task fit for a lackey lets me know that he wants her out of the room. For what reason, I'm unsure.

"Claire was just telling me about your boutique hotel idea," I say once I hear the echo of her stilettos fading down the hall.

"Yes. Well, then I'm sure she's mentioned that it's still in planning stage." My father's gruff tone signals he doesn't really want to discuss this with me, but I push on.

"Which locations have you been thinking of?"

He picks up one of the files that Claire has left on the desk, not bothering to maintain eye contact as he answers abruptly. "That information is for company employees only."

My eyes narrow at him. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. And you are no longer an employee here at the Abbott Group so that information is off limits." He takes a seat in the armchair over in the corner. "I trust you saw yesterday's newspaper."

My lips part with an exhausted sigh. Of course, I'd seen it. Yet another article about my exit from the company. Yet another means to drive a wedge between me and my parents. Maybe a subject change is in order. "How was golf last weekend?"

"Fine." His answer is short and to the point.

"I heard the new restaurant over on the course is amazing."

"Dylan, I'm trying to work here." Clearly, he has no interest in small talk, and I've had about more than I can take.

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I was just trying to make conversation with you, Dad. I figured that now that you aren't my boss you could maybe just be my father instead, but whatever."

I begin shutting down the desktop in front of me, tossing the pens into the drawer to my left and slamming it with a little too much force.

It's my actions and not my words that have finally caught his attention. "What are you doing?"

"I'm your son and I'm not going to stay here and have you treat me like some sort of second-rate citizen. I'm going home." I tuck my phone and keys into my pocket and storm toward the office door.

My father is on his feet now, his jaw set in anger. "You promised me three days here, Dylan. Claire still needs help transitioning."

"No, Dad. She doesn't," I retaliate. I don't believe Claire needs my help at all and I can't figure out why my father is putting me through this for any other reason than just to torture me. "Claire has everything under control and all I'm doing here is assistant work, like filing and answering phones. If I didn't know better, I'd think…" I stop talking, shaking my head in amusement, because I think I've finally figured out exactly what this is all about. "Oh my god. That's it, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" My father is losing patience now but so am I.

"You want my presence in the building known. You're hoping it will get the media off our backs if they catch me walking into headquarters. That they won't suspect any more family drama."

He stands with his hands on his hips and lets out an exasperated sigh. He isn't going to admit that I'm right, but his silence says more than words ever could.

Finally, after a long pause, he repeats, "You promised me three days."

"I'll come back next week for the final day," I tell him firmly. "But right now, I have somewhere more important to be."

And someone I need to be with.

I take the stairs down from the fifteenth floor, too impatient to wait for the lift. I don't want to spend a single second longer in this building than I need to. I rip the tie from around my neck, tossing it into the trash can outside the automated glass doors. This suit is suffocating. I strip off the jacket and throw it into the back seat as I climb into my car.

It's not until my tyres are crunching down her gravel driveway that I feel as though I can breathe again. I slam the door shut, rounding the corner of the house to the backyard where I can see Mackenzie lost in concentration as she drags her paintbrush across the canvas nestled upon an easel down on the jetty.

She doesn't see me until I'm barely ten metres away. She does a double take when she finally looks up, the suit pants and business shirt no doubt out of place in this setting.

"You're here." She drops the paint brush into a jar of cloudy, coloured water beside her. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow night."

"I needed to see you."

"But what about your dad?" she questions. "I thought you had stuff to tie up in the city."

"Yeah, I do. But this is more important. I'd choose this any day of the week." I don't wait for her to respond before I wrap my arms around her. I hold her, breathe her in, as she brings her arms up around my neck, but when she pulls away from me there's uncertainty in her gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head and forces a weak smile as she stares at the ground between us.

"Hey," I say, tilting her chin up with my forefinger. "You can tell me."

"It's nothing. I'm fine. It's just…" She hesitates. "I've never been somebody's first choice before."

The way her eyes prick with tears kills me. The fact that this amazing woman hasn't known unconditional affection kills me.

I cup her cheek in my right hand, drawing her body closer with my left. "Then you better get used to it."

I lean in until our foreheads touch before she brushes her lips against mine, lingering there long enough to test my patience. I don't give in though, wanting her to be the one to make the next move. My chest rises with every ragged breath, my need for her excruciating.

What feels like an eternity passes before her hands clasp the back of my neck and she crushes her mouth to mine. She kisses me like nobody else ever has, leaving me wanting more long after she pulls away, breathless.

"So, I guess you really did miss me then," I say, my voice unexpectedly hoarse.

A slow blush creeps across her cheeks. "Shut up," she says sheepishly. "You missed me too."

"I did," I agree. "And I have a surprise for you."

"You do?" She pulls back a little, her arms still draped around my neck.

"Yeah. There's space on the boat tomorrow morning for you and Harper." I lay a quick kiss on her forehead. "Promise not to feed you to a shark this time."

She laughs softly, a suspicious smirk twisting one corner of her mouth. "Oh, I see. So you want to fake-date me in front of your employees now?"

"No." I shake my head, my smile faltering, remembering that we haven't defined our relationship yet. I know what I want, and I think she may know it too, but in case the message isn't clear, I decide to lay it all out for her. I've never been more serious as the next words leave my mouth. "I want to real-date you. In front of everyone. All the time."