Page 68 of Claimed By The Other Brother

They beam, satisfied. I turn back to the window and watch the clouds drift past.

My apartment looks exactly the same when I walk through the door later that evening. Same couch. Same kitchen. Same bedroom where I spent three days wallowing after the wedding.

But I feel different. Changed in ways I can't fully articulate.

I drop my suitcase in the hallway and sink onto the couch. My phone sits heavy in my purse. No newmessages from Dax. Nothing since those two texts I never answered.

Maybe he got the message. Maybe he's moved on. Maybe I should too.

I pull out my laptop and open my work email. Time to return to reality. My boss sent a message two days ago asking when I'd be back in the office. There are other emails too—project updates, meeting requests, the normal chaos of corporate PR.

I type out a response:I'll be back Monday.

I close my laptop and look around my apartment. Everything is quiet. Empty. Just me and my thoughts.

My phone buzzes. I grab it, my heart jumping. It's just Jane.

Jane: Home safe! Miss you already! Xoxo

I respond quickly:

Scarlett: Miss you too. Thanks again for everything.

I set my phone down and lean back against the couch. After a few minutes, I get up and start unpacking, putting clothes in the hamper, toiletries back in the bathroom. Normal tasks. Normal life.

Monday, I’ll be back at work. Back to reality. New York is over. I need to move forward.

Chapter Thirteen

Dax

The conference room empties after the third meeting of the day. Acquisitions, quarterly projections, operational efficiency reviews. Back-to-back since seven this morning, and it's now late afternoon.

I loosen my tie and return to my office. Emma is at her desk outside, fielding calls and managing the chaos that is my schedule. She glances up as I pass.

"Two more interviews scheduled for tomorrow," she says.

"Forbes and the Wall Street Journal. Both want to discuss the Sterling Media acquisition."

"Fine. Block out an hour for each."

"Already done."

I close my office door and sink into my chair. The view from the forty-second floor stretches across Manhattan, the city bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. My phone buzzes on the desk.

Mark: Drinks tonight? Haven's Club at 7?

I glance at my calendar. For once, my evening is clear. No dinners, no events, nothing requiring my presence.

Dax: I'll be there.

Haven's Club sits in Midtown, tucked into a building that looks unremarkable from the outside but houses one of the most exclusive private members clubs in the city. I arrive at seven sharp, and the hostess directs me to the lounge on the third floor.

Mark is already there, seated in one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace, a glass of scotch in hand. He stands when he sees me approaching.

"Dax." We shake hands, and I settle into the chair across from him.

"How was London?" I ask.