Chapter 4 The Night Before

Bryson had just settled into the leather chair in his home office, the skyline a wash of city lights beyond the glass. A glass of Macallan caught the glow on his desk, smooth and amber. When his phone buzzed across the wood, he didn’t need to check the name — only one person called at this hour without scheduling first. The corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile.

He answered. “I was going to call you tomorrow.”

“Sure you were,” Lila said, her voice warm, teasing. “You’ve turned into one of those people who needs an assistant to remind them they still have siblings.”

“I don’t need an assistant to tell me I love you,” he said, leaning back. “I’ve just been busy.”

“You always say that,” she replied, a trace of fond exasperation under her tone. “You’re running an empire, I get it. But empires have weekends.”

“Not lately.” He took a slow sip, the burn low and steady. “And my assistant quit today. Effective immediately.”

“Ouch,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

“Apparently nothing. Carl already handled it.”

“Oh?” Her interest sharpened. “Who’d he dig up for you on short notice?”

“His wife,” Bryson said dryly. “Amelia Pierce.”

The silence on the line stretched — a quiet inhale before she spoke again. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Wow.” Genuine surprise colored her voice. “I’ve never worked with her directly, but she’s everywhere in the charity scene — arts programs, children’s organizations. She actually works, not just waves from a podium.”

Bryson turned the glass in his hand, watching the light fracture through it. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I saw her today, actually,” Lila said. “I had a meeting with one of the board members for the Children’s Art Collective — they’re sponsoring her gala tomorrow. The place was a madhouse, staff running around, caterers arguing over table numbers. And there she was, hauling tables in Jimmy Choos like it was nothing. No airs, no delegation. Just getting it done.”

He pictured it — the woman who’d stood beside Carl that afternoon, all poise and quiet restraint. Hard to imagine her lifting tables. Harder to imagine her being allowed to.

Tomorrow night, he thought. Carl had dropped her into his office on the same day she’d be pulling off an event she’d probably built from scratch.

He exhaled through his nose, then shifted the conversation. “How’s the gallery coming along? Still aiming for December?”

Lila groaned softly. “If the universe cooperates. The electricians finally finished, but my lighting shipment’s stuck in customs. I swear, I’ve negotiated mergers that were less painful than dealing with vendors.”

He chuckled. “Coming from the firm’s former best negotiator, that’s saying something.”

“I’m technically still their best,” she said. “Just on an extended leave while I chase the dream I used to doodle on the back of legal pads.”

He smiled into his glass. “You’ll pull it off. You always do.”

“Keep saying that, maybe it’ll make the drywall go up faster,” she said, laughter softening her voice. “Actually, I’ve had help. Remember Claire Harlow?”

He tilted his head. “Name rings a bell.”

“She’s Amelia’s best friend — runs that PR firm I told you about. She’s been helping with the launch. Handling press, partnerships, all that media circus I can’t stand. She’s good. She even mentioned bringing Amelia in to help with the interior.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Amelia's bestfriend?”

“Mm-hm. Claire swears she has an eye for warmth — the kind of cozy that feels lived-in without being cluttered. That’s what I want the gallery to feel like. Not sterile, not untouchable. Just… human.”

He nodded faintly, his voice low. “Sounds like you’ve got the right team.”

“Hopefully,” Lila said, a smile in her tone. “Claire knows how much I admire Amelia’s charity work. I’ve been asking her to invite Amelia to one of our lunch dates — she’d fit right in. There’s something about her that feels… grounded. The kind of calm people don’t fake.”

Bryson didn’t answer right away, just turned his glass in slow circles on the desk.

Lila hesitated, then added softly, “I remember how you looked at her that night — the gala you hosted a few months back. You probably thought no one noticed, but I did.”

He let out a quiet breath, part amusement, part warning. “You’ve always imagined more than you see.”

“Maybe,” she said lightly. “Or maybe I just notice what you don’t say.”

He didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened faintly around the glass. He remembered the night too — the low amber lighting, the hum of polite conversation, the way Amelia’s laugh had cut through it all like a quiet reprieve. He’d tried not to look for her, and failed more than once.

Lila’s voice broke through his thoughts, softer now. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t nothing.”

Bryson’s gaze shifted toward the window, city lights mirrored in the glass. “You’re reading into shadows again, Lila.”

“Mm,” she murmured. “Maybe. But just remember — she’s married.” A pause, weighted but kind. “I know you, Bry. You’d never cross that line. Just… don’t let your thoughts wander too close to it, either.”

He said nothing to that, only lifted the glass and took another slow drink. The whiskey burned less than it should have.

“You’ll see her tomorrow then?” Lila asked after a pause.

“Looks that way,” Bryson said, swirling the Macallan. “Not sure she’s thrilled about it.”

“Well, maybe try not to scare her off on the first day,” she teased. “She’s one of the good ones.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You won’t,” she said, amused. “But I’ll pretend you will. Now go do whatever CEOs do when they’re not answering their sisters’ calls.”

“That’s a short list,” he said. “Goodnight, Lila.”

“Goodnight, Bryson.”

He didn’t say it aloud.

But it stayed with him long after Lila’s voice was gone.

The city moved outside his window — endless light, endless noise — and yet he sat in the stillness, thinking of her. Not as a man who wanted what wasn’t his, but as someone who’d spent years trying not to.. He’d spent years convincing himself that patience was virtue — that wanting quietly was the same as doing right. It had worked, mostly. Respect was easy when she was a world away.

But time has a way of eroding even the best intentions. Six years of silence had turned into something heavier than he’d meant to carry.

He wasn’t the kind of man who interfered, and he still wasn’t. Yet as he sat there, the thought crept in — the smallest flicker of what if.

Maybe it wasn’t about crossing lines.

Maybe it was about finally admitting there was more to the story than he’d ever let himself say.

Bryson tipped his head back against the chair, the city washing him in gold and shadow. This time patience didn’t feel like control.

It felt like longing, quiet and dangerous, waiting to be named.