Page 52 of Stuffed

The words echo in my head long after we hang up. Because he's right. I've spent so long building walls, expecting betrayal, looking for ulterior motives, that I've forgotten how to simply accept good things when they come.

I pick up my phone again, looking at Tessa's contact photo. She's laughing in it, head thrown back, sunshine catching her hair. I took it last weekend when she wasn't looking. When she was just being herself—bright and bubbly just like she was in high school.

Tomorrow night, I think. Tomorrow night I'll show her I'm ready. Really ready. To believe in something good because it's time to stop expecting the worst. It's time to believe that sometimes, the best things in life are exactly what they appear to be.

And Tessa Marlow? She's worth everything.

After my call with Asher, I find myself pacing my penthouse, mind racing with possibilities for tomorrow night. I need it to be perfect. Need to show her I'm ready to be vulnerable, to let her see all of me.

My eyes land on the keys to my old Corvette, hanging unused by the door. I haven't driven it in years—too many memories of high school, of trying to outrun expectations and responsibilities. Of watching Tessa pretend not to watch me from behind her pom-poms while I leaned against that car, playing at being untouchable.

But maybe that's exactly why it's perfect.

Because Tessa doesn't just want the polished CEO version of me. She wants all of me—including the parts I try to hide. Including the boy I used to be, before suits and boardrooms and carefully constructed walls.

I grab my phone, making a few calls. By the time I hang up with the last one, a plan is forming. One that will show her I'm ready to share everything—even the parts of myself I've kept hidden for so long.

The old, run-down warehouse I plan to take her to was my first real investment. It was almost to the point of needingdemolished, but with an extra amount of attention, money, and love, it’s slowly becoming what I always envisioned it to be.

I spend the next hour making arrangements, ignoring the voice in my head that says I'm moving too fast, being too vulnerable, risking too much. Because maybe that's exactly what I need to do—risk everything.

My phone buzzes with a text from the event planner I hired, confirming everything will be ready by tomorrow evening. It's extravagant, maybe over the top, but Tessa deserves grand gestures. Deserves to know how serious I am about this. About us.

Another text comes through—this time from Harold Matthews.

Harold

The board meeting's been moved to tomorrow night. Seven p.m. sharp. Don't be late.

I stare at the message, feeling that familiar tug of obligation mixed with the general annoyance of how he communicates. That’s Harold, old, demanding, and very on top of every dime he’s ever invested. But the feeling of expectations, of the constant push-pull between who I am and who I'm supposed to be comes rushing back.

But for once, the choice is easy.

Me

Can't make it. Personal commitment.

His response is immediate.

Harold

Since when do you have personal commitments?

Me

Since now.

I turn off my phone before he can respond. Because this—Tessa, us, tomorrow night—it matters more than any board meeting. More than my biggest investor’s disapproval. More than the careful image I've spent years cultivating.

Walking to my garage, I run my hand along the sleek black paint of the Corvette. It's been meticulously maintained, though rarely driven. Asher has taken it now and then to make sure it stays in working order. Like so many parts of myself I've kept preserved but hidden.

I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat familiar yet strange. The man in the rearview mirror looks both familiar and different—part CEO, part rebel, all the pieces of me I've kept separate for so long finally merging into something real.

My mind drifts to the warehouse, to the plans I've set in motion. The lights, the table, the way I want to transform that space into something magical. Something worthy of the moment when I finally tell her I love her.

Because I do. God help me, I love her with an intensity that terrifies me. I’ve loved her since I was eighteen and too scared to admit it. I love her even more now that she's this incredible woman who challenges me, believes in me, and makes me want to be better.

I start the engine, the deep rumble awakening memories of high school parking lots and stolen glances. Of a girl who saw past my carefully constructed facade even then. Who still sees me, even now.

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