Page 45 of Stuffed

I text back, already reaching for my coat.

Me

I'll be there in twenty.

The Uber ride feels endless, Chicago's late-night traffic crawling past glowing storefronts and holiday displays. Snow is starting to fall, delicate flakes that melt the moment they hitthe ground. Like Zane's moments of vulnerability—beautiful but fleeting.

By the time I reach his building, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. The doorman gives me a knowing look as he waves me through—I've been here enough lately that he knows me by name.

Zane opens the door before I can knock, like he's been waiting. He looks perfectly put together as always in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, but there's something uncertain in his eyes.

"Hi," I say softly, suddenly unsure why I came.

"Hi." He steps back to let me in, running a hand through his hair—a rare tell that he's nervous. "Thanks for coming."

"Well, when the great Zane Mercer says he wants to talk…" I aim for lightness but miss by a mile.

"Don't." His voice is rough. "Don't make this into a joke."

"Then what is this?" I challenge, tired of dancing around the tension between us. "Because earlier you made it pretty clear you needed space to work. That the company never sleeps, remember?"

He winces. "I handled that badly."

"You handled that like you handle everything—by shutting down the moment things get too real."

"I know." He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. "That's why I asked you here. I want to explain."

"Explain what? How you can be completely open one minute and totally closed off the next? How you can make love to me like I'm everything but push me away the moment work calls?"

"Yes." His jaw tightens. "All of it."

I cross my arms, waiting. Because I've done this dance with Zane before—watched him start to open up, only to retreat behind his walls the moment vulnerability becomes too scary.

"The company…" he starts, then stops, frustrated. "It's not just work, Tessa. It's everything. It's who I am. Who I have to be."

"No," I say firmly. "It's who you think you have to be. There's a difference."

He moves to his window, staring out at the falling snow. In the reflection, I can see the conflict on his face.

"When I started this company," he says finally, "everyone was waiting for me to fail. The board, the investors, even some of our clients. They all thought I was too young, too inexperienced. Just another asshole kid playing at business."

"But you proved them wrong."

"By becoming exactly what they needed me to be. Controlled. Professional. Perfect." He turns to face me. "The problem is, I don't know how to be anything else anymore. Especially with you."

I move closer, drawn to the raw honesty in his voice. "Why especially with me?"

"Because you make me want to be messy. Imperfect. Real." His hands clench at his sides. "And that terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because the last time I let myself be real with someone, they used it against me. Used me for connections, for money, for status. It turned toxic, and I became vindictive and cruel.” The bitterness in his voice makes my heart ache. "And I can't… I won't let that happen again."

Understanding dawns, sharp and painful. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Using you?"

"No," he says quickly, firmly. "God, no. That's what makes this so hard. I know you're different. I know your feelings are real. I guess I’m more worried about me being an asshole, not meeting your needs and not even realizing it. I get in my head and push people away. Old habits…”

"Die hard," I finish softly, remembering Ivy's words from earlier.

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