Chapter 68 We Need Details
His phone buzzed across the desk, breaking through the quiet hum of laughter drifting in from the patio. Bryson picked it up on the second ring.
On the other end, Armando’s voice came first, smug as ever. “Your love is infecting people, man. Roderick—of all people—is domesticated now.”
Bryson leaned back in his chair, a chuckle rumbling low. “I saw the scarf. She might as well have worn a neon sign. It didn’t hide a damn thing.”
Armando laughed. “Details, Bryson. We need details.”
A groan cut in, Roderick’s voice rough. “She’s going to kill me when she finds out I’ve been talking.”
“Too late,” Bryson said dryly, amused. “Necklace, flowers, hickeys—hard to argue with the evidence. The scarf definitely didn’t work today.”
Roderick cursed under his breath, then sighed. “Fine. You want details? Last night I texted her. Nothing serious, just asked what she was doing. She said nothing, tried to dodge me, but I kept pressing. Finally, she caved. Told me to come by.”
Armando whistled. “And you showed up with what, wine?”
“Flowers,” Roderick corrected. “And a necklace I’d been holding on to. Didn’t even know why I bought it, but it felt right. When she opened the door, man…” His voice softened, rare. “She looked at me like she didn’t know whether to throw me out or pull me in. And I swear I’ve never wanted someone to choose me so badly.”
Bryson listened in silence, a flicker of recognition running through him. He knew that exact edge.
Roderick went on. “I told her I hadn’t stopped thinking about massaging her last week. She laughed, tried to brush it off, but she let me do it again. One thing led to another—I was kissing her, couldn’t stop marking her. And then…” He trailed off with a groan. “Yeah. I went down on her. Couldn’t help myself. The sounds she made—”
“Jesus Christ,” Armando cut in, half laughing, half horrified. “You’re really out here confessing like a teenager.”
Roderick didn’t even deny it. “I don’t care. She got under my skin. I’m not pretending otherwise.”
Bryson smirked, shaking his head. “Looks like it. And now you’ve got the hickeys to prove it. The scarf didn’t fool anyone.”
“Christ,” Roderick muttered again. “She’s going to murder me when she finds out I’ve been talking.”
Bryson’s smile lingered as he glanced toward the glass doors. Through them, Amelia’s silhouette moved against the wash of city lights, her head tipped back in laughter with her friends. Desire coiled low and hot in his chest, but under it sat something deeper.
“She won’t murder you,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Roderick. “Not when she’s that soft for you.”
There was a pause on the other end before Roderick asked, “You good, man?”
Bryson’s gaze stayed fixed on Amelia. “Better than good.”
Roderick went quiet after his last words, but Armando picked the thread right back up. “Alright, lover boys, I’ve got goosebumps. But Bryson—don’t think we didn’t hear Marcus’s name pop up earlier. What the hell happened today?”
Bryson leaned back, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Ashley.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then Roderick swore. “You mean—Ashley Ashley?”
“The same,” Bryson said. “Two years ago, bar, one night. I never spoke to her again, but she started popping up—galas she had no invite for, restaurants she had no business in. Always with this fake-casual approach. It was getting hella weird. Then she just… vanished.”
Armando made a low noise. “And now she’s back?”
“She was sitting two tables behind Amelia today, staring holes through her,” Bryson said flatly. “Marcus caught her, sent me the picture, called me. I showed up.”
Roderick whistled. “And?”
Bryson’s mouth curved, a mix of pride and heat sparking in his chest. “And Amelia told Marcus and Evan to let her through.”
“The hell?” Armando cut in, half laughing.
“Yeah,” Bryson said, letting the memory roll slow. “Ashley tried to reach for me—hand up like she was gonna touch my chest or arm—and Amelia stepped in. Stood right in front of me, introduced herself, asked Ashley who the hell she was. Blocked her again when she tried to sidestep.”
Roderick chuckled low. “Oh, that’s cold.”
“You don’t even know,” Bryson said, leaning forward in his chair now, eyes still locked on Amelia’s silhouette outside. “She looked her dead in the eye and told her, Bryson is mine. Even warned her to keep her hands to herself if she wanted to keep that pretty face intact. Then—” his voice dropped, hungry at the memory, “she let Ashley know she wasn’t scared. That whatever game Ashley thought she was playing, it wasn’t going to work.”
Armando laughed outright. “Damn, Amelia.”
Bryson’s smile widened, slow and sharp. “You should’ve seen her. Strong, fearless… God, it made me feel—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, though his tone gave it away. “Magnificent doesn’t even cover it. I’ve never been more certain she’s mine. Never.”
Silence stretched on the line before Roderick finally muttered, “Yeah, you’re infected too.”
“Worse,” Bryson said, gaze softening as Amelia tipped her head back in laughter again, hair catching the light. “Terminal.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Armando’s voice cut through, sharp as ever. “Alright, that’s sweet as hell—but don’t get comfortable. What’s your next move with Ashley?”
Bryson’s jaw tightened, the smile fading into something colder. “She’s not a problem I plan to ignore. Marcus and Evan already know to keep her on radar. If she thinks she can circle Amelia again, she’ll find herself shut out before she even gets close.”
Armando hummed low. “And if she doesn’t take the hint?”
“Then,” Bryson said evenly, “I’ll handle her myself. Permanently, if I have to.”
Roderick gave a dry laugh. “Christ. You sound like a man ready to bury someone.”
“I’m ready to protect what’s mine,” Bryson corrected, his voice quiet but unyielding. He paused, then leaned forward in his chair. “But that’s where you two come in. Along with the P.I. I’ve already got on retainer. I want her past two years torn open. Where she’s been, who she’s been with, who’s funding her moves, what circles she’s sniffing around. No detail’s too small.”
Armando’s tone sharpened. “You want us running surveillance?”
“I want you figuring out her play before she makes it,” Bryson said. “If Ashley’s back, she’s not back alone. Someone’s propping her up, and I want to know who.”
There was silence on the other end, then Roderick exhaled. “Alright. Consider it done.”
Bryson’s gaze slid back through the glass, landing on Amelia. Her head tipped against the chair, laughter still spilling like nothing in the world could touch her. His chest tightened.
“She won’t even see the shadow of this,” he said quietly. “Not if we do our jobs right.”