Chapter 6: Ava - Reckless Love

Stephen guards me and Landon the rest of the week, but he makes sure he’s not the one physically in our space except in the car. He drives us while the other guard leads or trails in a separate vehicle. I haven’t figured out what makes Stephen decide the order, and when I asked, he told me that he chooses based on what’ll make the trip safer. Massive eye roll. No shit, Sherlock. The most basic response, which has become his default.

The minute my day ends and I’m in the house for the evening or Raul gets home with his contingent of bodyguards, Stephen slips away in silence, never saying more than a respectful goodbye to my husband.

The polite distance Stephen has wedged between us is becoming frustrating. We used to fight and fuck, but we never ignored each other. Whenever Stephen came to an event I was at, whenever we were in the same room, the searing heat of his gaze followed me. He cared. A lot. All the time. It’s unnerving to feel his indifference so fully when we’re in such close proximity again.

Tomorrow, Landon has his first day of school, and internally, I’m freaking out. My baby will only gain more and more distance, more independence from me. His safety will be less and less within my control.

With that on my mind, I leave the kitchen, where Landon is eating his breakfast, to seek out Stephen at the front of the house. Raul headed into the office early this morning, and as soon as his guard crew left, Stephen and Datu, who seems to be his partner, appeared.

He eyes me warily when he sees me approaching, but he stays stationed in the front foyer. Initiating any contact with me goes against whatever code he’s developed to deal with me and our past.

“I wanted to talk to you about Landon’s security,” I say.

“You don’t think I’ve thought about it?”

“After the assault, I want to make sure you really did put your best people on him.”

“Of course I did,” he says easily. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“So you’re with him? Starting tomorrow, you’ll be with him?”

“No,” he says. “In a school setting, I’m not the best security option. I don’t blend well, and you’ll want that for him. Kiara and her crew are excellent with kids and in that setting. They guard the children of high-profile clients all the time.”

It’s the most he’s spoken to me in days, and I realize I’ve missed the cadence of his voice, the deep, gravelly sound. The urge to say “Tell me more” in a breathy tone threatens to overtake me. Without thinking, I step closer, and I catch a whiff of his familiar cologne. Whenever we’re in the car together, the scent lingers in the air, causing a pang of longing for the days when I could run my nose along his neck, inhale the oaky citrus mixture. We were usually in bed, and he’d wrap his big arm around me, drawing me tighter to him as though he couldn’t get enough of me either.

“She’s the best?”

“For him? Yes.”

“You’ll be on me?” I stare up at him and bat my eyes, willing him to look at me.

“No one will be on you, Mrs. Santos,” he says, a tinge of annoyance in his expression. “Datu will be primary, and I’ll be secondary.”

“I never changed my name, you know. It’s still Tucker.”

“I know.”

He finally meets my gaze, and we stare at each other. He’s so emotionless he could be a brick wall. I hate it. I hate every second of being in a room with him with our strangled connection, as though neither of us is capable of taking a full, deep breath.

“Call me Ava.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then call me Ms. Tucker.”

“You earned your Mrs. label. Probably over and over.”

This time, his gaze is almost scathing, but I welcome it, a clue at some kind of emotion. I don’t even care if he hates me. I just need him to show something.

“You had his child, which you said you’d never do for anyone.” The hint of our past almost seems to break free against his will.

“It felt right to have Landon.” I make the choice sound simple when it was anything but. Whenever Stephen brought up kids, I was adamant I’d never have any. Maternal instincts were such a foreign feeling back then. Life had another plan, though, and I made decisions I don’t regret.

“Mom!” Landon calls from the kitchen.

Immediately, Stephen’s gaze shutters, the curtains drawn. I almost vibrate with holding in the urge to stomp my foot in frustration. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be seeking a reaction from him with such determination, but another part of me doesn’t care about rationality or reason. I know him, and I’m getting a fraction of the man he is underneath this façade. He’s so much more than this stoic, short answer robot. We used to tell each other everything—even the parts we hid from others.

“Your son needs you,” Stephen says, stepping away from me, and it’s only then that I realize how close we’ve gotten. “Don’t let me distract you, Mrs. Santos.”

I grit my teeth, and I click my heels on the tile floor as loudly as I can all the way back to the kitchen.

* * *

My office at Reckless is huge—the biggest one in the building with views that stretch across the countryside. When Raul built the research-and-development building and then attached a factory for production with it, we needed enough space to expand. The most expensive land—and with the prettiest views—is along the coast, but Gage, my brother who’s in real estate, assured both of us that this parcel of interior acreage was our best bet for present and future needs.

It was also the cheapest option by Bellerive standards, which had been Raul’s priority. Building my own business with his money had been the one condition in our marriage contract that I even vaguely remember dictating. I was such a fucking mess before Landon was born, and Raul had cut costs in my start-up wherever he could. Looking back, I’m not sure he thought I’d be able to make Reckless successful, and I don’t think I would have without his help. Reckless and The Nile are closely knit, and my success blossomed from his.

Instead of staring out this window, thinking about my abysmal marriage, I should be checking my email, responding to employee concerns, and doing all the girl-boss stuff I normally love. I whip my chair around to face my desk, hands poised over the keyboard.

But in the back of my mind, what I’m trying so hard to ignore is the way my secretary gave Stephen the once-over and then greeted him like a long-lost friend. He’s outside my office door now with Datu, and every once in a while, the deep tenor of his voice is audible, as though he’s still talking to Nancy. Each time I try to settle down to any of the work I need to accomplish, I hear them again.

Nancy and Stephen are about the same age, and she’s newly divorced. Since we’re friendly, she’s told me how she’s looking for a no-strings arrangement to help her get over her former husband. Up until now, I’ve been encouraging her. Why not? It’s what I always did—get under someone else to get over the last guy.

That philosophy worked for me with every man but one.

The idea that she could be grooming Stephen to be the one she gets under while he’s supposed to be guarding me is unacceptable, though.

Any other man. I would support her wholeheartedly. Of course I would. I’m a girl’s girl. She should sleep around, have some fun.

Stephen’s here to guard me, not to be flirted with. She needs to be more professional.

The more I think about what might be happening outside my door, the more frustration and jealousy eat away at my chest cavity, hollowing me out to the point where the ache of what I’m missing is all I can think about.

Fuck it.

Work isn’t happening, so I might as well indulge what I really want.

With determination, I push back my rolling chair and stride to my door. I’m almost there when I catch my heel on the decorative rug, unable to right myself in time. Off balance, I slam into the door, palms slapping against it, and let out a furious huff before straightening my long dress and stepping back. With a deep, stabilizing breath, I tug the door open. Both Datu and Stephen look startled by either the open door or the noise I made when I almost went through it.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Santos?” Datu asks.

Of course Stephen has him calling me that stupid moniker now too.

“Mrs. Santos?” Nancy says with a little laugh. “She’s Ms. Tucker if she’s anything other than Ava.”

“Thank you, Nancy,” I say, pretending an authority I suddenly don’t feel. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Mr. Foster, can I speak to you, please?”

Stephen raises his eyebrows, but he steps into the office with me.

“Shut the door, please,” I say as I walk back to my desk, frantically trying to think of a reason I’d need him in here alone.

Reasons are annoying—I just want things to be. He’s in here because I don’t want him out there chatting up my secretary as though they’ll have a sweaty encounter later.

God, the way he used to make me sweat.

I wave my face from the heat of remembrance that rises. Hopefully, Stephen isn’t paying close enough attention to see what’s happened. He used to be able to clock the second I was thinking about sex from across a crowded room. Honestly, it’s been years since sex has been at the forefront of my mind.

“What did you need, Mrs. Santos?” he asks, breaking into my scattered thoughts.

“Even Nancy told you you’re wrong about my name,” I say, whirling around when I get to my desk and leaning back against it.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches me with a wariness I hate.

“Have you heard how Landon’s first day is going?”

Stephen checks his watch and then squints at me. “We literally dropped him off an hour ago.”

True. Stephen, Datu, me, Kiara and her team, and Landon all went to the school to drop him off. It feels more like five hours ago, though.

Why is this the longest day of my life?

“So you’re saying you haven’t heard anything?”

“I can’t be in here with you alone,” Stephen says, stepping back toward the door. “Datu will come in if anyone has a meeting with you and you want security. Otherwise, we’ll be outside the door.”

“I want you to stay in here,” I say with a huff.

“You’ve been gone from the office most of the week. You must have things to catch up on.”

I do. A lot. I opened my inbox and immediately regretted taking so many days off. All these decisions await me, and I love the power sometimes. But sometimes I just wish I could plan the fun parties and leave the hard bits to someone else. The employee parties and socials are my reward for taking ownership of the hard decisions I dislike making.

He reaches for the door handle to leave.

“Nancy just got divorced,” I say. “No one likes a rebound.”

Stephen barks out a laugh before shooting me a look of disbelief. “Jesus. Really?” He shakes his head and leaves the office before I can say anything else.

I circle the desk and slump into my chair. The ever-expanding hole of frustration and jealousy only seems to get bigger. He didn’t say he wasn’t interested in Nancy. And I could tell she is. When I hear her tinkling laugh through the door, I want to vomit into the garbage can next to my chair.

Instead, I take several deep, steadying breaths and get my noise-cancelling headphones out of my desk. Sliding them onto my head, I hit play on the girl-boss playlist, and I open my email again.

Before I click on the first one, I give myself a little pep talk.

My life is fine. No, my life is good. I’ve been happy enough. My company is doing well. I have a rich husband. My kid is amazing. This is the life I wanted.

Stephen Foster and some old memories won’t ruin all that. He can’t.

With enough effort, these old feelings will be buried again. He doesn’t seem to want any of our past uncovered either. Seeing him again is an adjustment, but I can handle some old memories. I will handle it.

* * *

Nancy orders in lunch for us from my favorite place in Rockdown, but unlike normal, she doesn’t eat with me in my office. She’s at her desk, presumably with Stephen and Datu.

My gut clenches with renewed jealousy, and the salad I love tastes so much like dirt that I can only finish half of it before tossing the rest in the garbage.

I’m just about to slide my noise-cancelling headphones back on to finish answering the rest of my emails when Nancy calls my desk.

I press the intercom. “Yes?”

“Jenny Williams is here to see you about the newest scent tests,” Nancy says.

Ah, yes. This is also one of my favorite parts—testing new fragrances, and the fact that we’re branching into a cologne line is my current passion project.

“Send her in,” I say, rising from my seat.

Stephen enters first, and then Jenny follows. Next to Stephen, Jenny looks like a tiny sprite of a girl rather than the almost fifty-year-old woman she is.

Instead of leaving, Stephen shuts the door and remains inside, his back to me, while Jenny approaches with scent samples.

She takes me through how the samples have tested with screening audiences, and then she gives me the two that scored highest with both staff and a random selection of our target market.

I smell the first one, with a profile dominated by sandalwood, and it’s pleasant without being overbearing. A subtle scent that’s scored well with the upper-class market on the island.

The minute the second scent hits my senses, I can’t help seeking out Stephen with my gaze, who’s still near the door. I take another deep sniff. This inhalation transports me immediately. Oak.

“Oh,” I breathe out. “This one.” I take it in for a third time, but the cologne isn’t quite right yet. There’s a note that’s missing or obscured that I want brought forward. “It needs…”

“Yes,” Jenny agrees. “We also think it’s missing a note to round it out.”

I close my eyes, and I try to pinpoint what I’m seeking. “Cedar, maybe?” Or citrus.

“The team also believes the profile needs another tree-based flavor. We’re going to try maple too.”

“Oh, good,” I say, wishing I could walk over to Stephen, drag my nose along his neck while breathing deeply, and then turn to Jenny and say, “bottle this—this is what I’m after” as though that would be perfectly normal.

Then the realization hits. The initial scent profile I gave her was Stephen’s smell. I didn’t even know I’d done that.

“I was hoping to speak to you about something else while I was here,” Jenny says, gathering up the other sample.

Reluctantly, I pass her back the small bottle and tester strips from this one. When it’s finished, maybe it’ll be enough to stop this wanting that’s sprung up inside me. A longing for something I can’t even name. I’ll douse Raul in a bottle of the stuff and hope that’s enough to quell the impending storm.

With effort, I tug my gaze from Stephen, who still has his back to us. “Something else?” I ask, looking at Jenny for the first time in several minutes. “What’s that?”

“My husband works at The Nile, in the warehouse, and I’m sure you know what’s happening over there.”

“I’ve heard some rumblings,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. Whatever fight Raul has brewing is his to wage.

When we got married, he made it very clear that I could build Reckless, but his businesses were to remain his. Our prenup definitely blocks me from having any control of his companies, and now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure if it also gives him ownership of Reckless too. His money and influence made this company what it is, even if I’m running it. And I’ve never questioned those clauses until right now. The fog that fell over me when I found out I was pregnant might have lingered longer than I thought.

“Your husband is using some really aggressive tactics to block workers from unionizing, and you’ve been such an amazing boss that it’s hard to believe you’d know about what he’s doing and not say anything. Not stop it.”

“How my husband chooses to run his businesses isn’t for me to say.” I start walking back toward the door to my office. “If that’s all…”

“He’s threatening—”

“I don’t know if you know,” I say, stopping close to the door and crossing my arms, “but the car I was traveling in with my son the other day was egged, and a roast was thrown so hard at the windshield of our moving car that it shattered the glass. As far as I can see, the only person in danger, and who has nothing to do with any of this, is me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

“I can’t help you or them,” I say, steeling myself. Raul would never listen, even if I was inclined to say something to him. He thinks he knows best about everything.

Jenny seems taken aback for a moment before she nods. Most of the time, I try to be calm and reasonable in the office. While I love perfumes and colognes, I’ve had to learn a lot about marketing and scent profiles and a thousand other things since we got this company off the ground. Most of the time, I’m not the expert, I’m just the person with money and control. So I try not to act like an asshole to the people who do know things.

“I really thought you’d help,” Jenny whispers as she steps past me.

Rather than letting her go, I stride forward on instinct to reach for her, to apologize, but my heel gets caught on the rug again. A gasp of surprise comes out as the door clicks closed behind Jenny, and this time, I’m sure I’m not going to be able to keep myself from falling. I’m headed face first for the floor when I’m jerked back into a firm chest, a muscled forearm cinched around my waist.

“I’ve got you,” Stephen rasps into my ear, and a shiver races down my spine.