I find him in my father's study that evening, and the sight stops me in the doorway.
Jake sits in the leather chair with a book open in his lap, wearing those wire-rimmed glasses that transform him from rugged cowboy to something unexpectedly intellectual. The lamplight catches the silver at his temples, and my chest does something complicated.
He looks up. Sets the book aside. Doesn't remove the glasses.
"Hey." His voice is careful. Measured. The way it's been since I told him to get used to the distance.
"Hey." I cross to the chair across from him, but I don't sit. Can't quite make myself settle when everything inside me feels unsettled. "I owe you an apology."
His eyebrows rise slightly above the glasses frames. "For what specifically?"
"For disappearing." The words come out rough. Honest. "For getting so lost in board meetings and press management and corporate warfare that I forgot who I was fighting for."
Jake removes his glasses slowly. Folds them. Sets them on the side table with the kind of deliberate care that tells me he's choosing his next words carefully.
"You didn't forget anything." His voice is quiet. "You're surviving. That's what you do."
"Surviving isn't the same as living." I sink into the chair across from him, exhaustion pulling at my bones. "I've been so focused on becoming what Ward Enterprises needs that I'm losing the parts of me that matter."
"The parts that matter are still there." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, closing the distance between us. "I see them every time you think no one's watching. When you laugh at something Tommy texts you. When you sneak onto the terrace to look at stars you can barely see through the light pollution."
My throat tightens. "You notice that?"
"I notice everything about you, Adison." His eyes hold mine steadily. "The Manhattan armor doesn't fool me. Never has."
The words settle something that's been rattling loose in my chest for weeks. Something I didn't realize was broken until he started putting it back together.
"I want to go for a walk." The suggestion surprises me as much as it seems to surprise him. "Central Park. It's not Texas, but there's grass and trees and sky that isn't carved into rectangles."
"Now?" He glances toward the window where evening light filters through expensive curtains.
"Now." I stand, extending my hand toward him. "Before I remember all the reasons I'm supposed to stay inside and manage crises."
Jake takes my hand. His palm is warm and calloused and exactly right.
Central Park in summer holds its own kind of magic. Not the endless Texas sky or the honest smell of earth and livestock, but something. Green things growing despite concrete. People walking dogs and pushing strollers and existing in ways that have nothing to do with corporate takeovers.
We walk close enough that our shoulders brush with every other step. His hand finds mine, squeezes once, releases before anyone can notice. Quick smiles pass between us—communication that doesn't need words.
"I miss the ranch." I say it quietly, for his ears only.
"Me too." His voice carries longing I recognize. "Tommy says the new foal is walking now. Sent pictures this morning."
"Show me later?"
"Yeah." He catches my hand again, thumb stroking across my knuckles for one brief moment. "I'll show you everything."
My phone buzzes. Maria's name on the screen.
"Miss Adison, should I prepare dinner? What are your plans for this evening?"
"We'll eat at home." I confirm, watching Jake's face soften at the word 'home' applied to the penthouse. "Something simple. Thank you, Maria."
I hang up just as the sky opens.
Summer rain in New York doesn't warn you. One moment the evening is golden and humid; the next, water falls in sheets like the clouds have been holding a grudge.
"Car!" Jake grabs my hand properly now, propriety forgotten in the chaos. We run, laughing like idiots, completely soaked within seconds. His cowboy hat channels water down his back. My silk blouse becomes transparent.
Neither of us cares.
The car offers temporary shelter, but we're dripping onto leather seats the entire ride home. Jake's hand stays wrapped around mine. Visible. Real. Let the driver wonder.
The elevator doors close behind us, and I'm still laughing, wringing water from my hair, when the car jerks to a stop.
Between floors.
The lights flicker. Stay on, but dimmer. Emergency lighting.
My lungs forget how to work.
"Adison." Jake's voice reaches me through the sudden roaring in my ears. "Look at me."
I can't. The walls are too close. The ceiling is pressing down. I'm going to suffocate in this box, trapped between floors with no way out and no air and—
"Hey." His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. "I've got you. Breathe with me."
His heartbeat is steady under my cheek. His voice murmurs against my hair—soft words I can barely hear but somehow understand. The panic doesn't vanish, but it recedes. Becomes manageable.
"There you go." His hand strokes down my spine. "That's my girl. In and out. Nice and slow."
I fumble for the emergency phone with shaking fingers. The voice on the other end is apologetic but unhelpful.
"Mechanical failure, ma'am. We've contacted maintenance, but I can't give you an estimate for repair time."
The line goes dead.
I press closer against Jake because I don't know what else to do. His body is warm despite the wet clothes. Solid. Safe.
"Adison." His voice comes out rough. Strained. "You need to stop pressing against me like that unless you want me to lose what's left of my self-control."
I look up at him. Rain still drips from my hair, sliding down my temples, catching on my eyelashes. His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark with something I recognize. Something that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with want.
"I'm tired of controlling myself." The words come out barely above a whisper. "Aren't you?"