Page 56 of American Beauty

I nod, plastering on a smile that I hope doesn’t look forced. “Let’s talk about the lobby.”

Tyson studies me for a beat. “I have an idea. Why don’t we take this discussion somewhere more relaxed?”

I blink, surprised. “More relaxed?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his tailored jacket. “Dinner. Tomorrow night. We’ll talk through the details over an elegant meal.”

Dinner with Tyson McRae––the idea shouldn’t make my stomach twist the way it does.

Alex has moved on, leaving no loyalty or devotion behind for me. But somehow, mine for him remains—twisted up inside me, stubborn and aching. I shouldn’t still feel it. I don’t want to. But it’s there, rooted so deep I can’t seem to break free.

A setting outside these four walls, with drinks, might help me shake off the weight of everything he’s just dumped on me. Ineed time to think, to gather myself, but I can’t afford to hesitate for too long.

I force a polite smile. “A dinner meeting sounds good.”

Tyson’s grin widens just a fraction, and something about it makes my skin prickle. “Perfect. I’ll text you the details.”

He stands, adjusting his jacket like a man who is used to getting what he wants. “I look forward to it, Miss Steel.”

“Me too.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and my entire body sags like a marionette whose strings have been cut. A raw, broken sob rips from my throat as I slide down the wall, landing hard. I curl in on myself—knees to chest, arms locked tight around them—like I can hold everything together if I just squeeze hard enough. But I can’t. I’m unraveling, thread by thread, and there’s no stopping it.

My chest heaves, and the tears come fast, spilling down my cheeks in a flood I have no strength to hold back. I press a trembling hand to my mouth, but it does nothing to muffle the broken sounds escaping me. The weight of everything—losing Alex, losing my job, losing the future I thought I had—presses down, crushing me beneath it.

He’s moved on. He’s happy. In love. Getting married.

The words replay in my head, stabbing deep, each repetition twisting the knife a little more. Alex doesn’t think about me. I’m nothing more than a footnote in his story, a passing memory he’s long since left behind. And here I am, shattered to pieces on the floor of a rented office, drowning in the wreckage of something that never belonged to me.

My head falls back against the door, the cool wood grounding me for a fleeting second before another sob wracks my body. I thought I was moving on. Thought I was building something new, something solid. But one conversation with Tyson McRae has me crumbling to pieces again.

This can’t be my life. I won’t let it be.

I press my palms to the floor and push myself up. My legs are unsteady, like they don’t quite belong to me anymore, but I force them to hold me.

One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. That’s how you survive heartbreak.

Flicking on the bathroom light, I take a long, shaky breath, forcing myself to meet my reflection.

Red-rimmed eyes. Blotchy cheeks. A mess.

I splash cold water onto my face, letting it wash away the evidence of my breakdown—at least on the surface. I smooth my hair, straighten my blouse, and press my lips together until they stop quivering. Bit by bit, I put myself back together.

Chapter 18

Magnolia Steel

Charleston’s eveningair clings to my skin as I step onto the sidewalk, gliding my hands down the sleek lines of my black dress. Professional, yet elegant. A calculated choice. Tonight is about business—nothing more, nothing less. I remind myself of that with every click of my heels against the sidewalk leading to the front of the restaurant.

Inside, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses weave together with the soft strains of jazz. The lighting is dim, golden, casting a warm glow over the rich mahogany furniture and deep velvet booths. It’s the kind of place where people whisper promises and share secrets over wine priced like mortgage payments.

A place of Tyson McRae’s choosing.

And there he is.

Tyson McRae is dressed in a tailored navy suit, crisp and sharp, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure. His signature smirk plays on his lips the moment his eyes find mine, and he strides forward with the ease of a man who’s never known rejection.

“Miss Steel.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.

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