“I’m here to see Miles,” I say, and find the situation has put me a little at ease. I don’t know what I was prepared for, but certainly not this. I think I expected an old rigid assistant or a young bimbo, but this woman seems kind of dorky in an adorable kind of way.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, turning to her computer and scanning the screen.

“No. Can you tell him it’s Mallory?” I try. Maybe if he knows I’m here, he can make time to see me.

“Ms. Mallory Sullivan?” the assistant asks.

When I nod, she stands up out of her chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “Please. This way.” She sounds hurried as she leads me over to large double doors with ornate carvings. She knocks half a second before opening the door and announcing our entrance. “Mr. Osbourne, Ms. Sullivan is here.”

I take a step around his assistant and see Miles on the other side of the room. He stands slowly, almost in shock that I’m here.

“Thank you, Jay. Please see that I’m undisturbed,” he says, not taking his eyes off me.

“Yes, sir,” she says, closing the large door behind us.

I hear the locks engage, and I narrow my eyes at Oz. He holds up a remote in his hand and shrugs one shoulder. It’s as if he knows he’s crazy, but he either can’t help himself or can’t be bothered to care about his behavior. He takes a step toward me, but then seems to think better of it and stands still.

The silence hangs between us, heavy with unspoken words.

After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a heartbeat, I decide I have to be the one to speak.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t even know what I’m thanking you for,” I say, letting out a little laugh.

“If something I did made you happy, then I hope to do it again. Often.”

As if emboldened by my words, he comes out from behind his desk, coming to stand in front of me. He’s not within touching distance, but that has never mattered before. We could be on separate tectonic plates and I think I would still sense his presence.

“Singing telegrams are over-the-top,” I say, almost accusingly, but can’t help my smile as I think of all those people dressed up and singing to me today.

“Yes,” he agrees, not denying it was inappropriate. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and his smile shows the dimples I’ve been missing.

“I thought the man behind the curtain was supposed to be mysterious.”

I finally look away from his penetrating sapphires because I fear that if I look at him a second longer, I’ll end up in his arms. I have to stay strong. We have to talk about all of this.

“I think we’re past the mystery, Mallory. I think we’ve reached the point where there should be no secrets left between us.”

Looking around his office, I see that he has a beautiful view of the city behind him, but nothing much else in the room. There’s a bookshelf to my left, and a giant television to my right. The screen is split into sections, each scrolling stocks and investment channels.

“The garden was beautiful,” I whisper, looking anywhere but at him.

He steps forward, and his scent assaults me. The warm amber and honey surrounds me in a comforting embrace that I didn’t know I needed.

“I want to tell you about it. About everything. Let me explain, Mallory. Please.”

He still doesn’t touch me and I’m thankful for it. Because I’m not sure I’m strong enough to push him away again. I can tell he’s fighting himself, see the tension in his shoulders, his fist clenched tight as he stands there trying to play it calm and cool, but I can read him better now. See how he holds himself back with me, for me. I’ve missed him so much. Not talking to him the past few days has hollowed me out. A piece of me missing.

“Oz.” I say his name, but I have no idea what I want to say after. Take me? Leave me alone? Push past all this bullshit and make me understand?

“Have dinner with me. I’ll explain everything to you.”

I look up and see the pain in his eyes. Hating seeing it there because no matter what I might have told myself, I care about this man and it hurts to see him hurt. How can a man who hardly knows me love me like this? He’s fighting himself for me. This is insane, and I want to shout that it’s also completely impossible and he should snap out of it. But then my heart chimes in, and I can’t. I know what he’s feeling isn’t one-sided, and I don’t know what to do with all of these emotions.

“Just dinner, Mallory. Please.”

Releasing a breath, I nod. If I want answers, I need to hear him out. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him, and that feeling isn’t going away. He gave me the space I asked for, in his own way, and nothing has changed. I want the truth, and in order to get that we need to talk.

“All right, dinner. Saturday night. You can pick me up at my apartment at six.”

He looks like he wants to say more. I know he probably wants to push for tonight, but I need to have the upper hand while I can. If I give in to him, I’ll never have a say over anything again, so I need to make damn sure that when I do it, I’m ready for that again.

His fists clench even tighter at his sides and his jaw twitches, but he nods. “Okay. Tomorrow night at six.”

“Thank you,” I say, tension leaving my body. It’s as if now that the plan has been set and he didn’t fight me on it, I can relax.