When I Say Yes

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Why do I feel like it’s more?”

  “Because everything about us is more, Allie.”

  Okay, he’s not wrong about that. He’s really not. Everything with this man is more than I ever imagined, which is why I’m here about to quit my job. The door behind us opens in a gust of wind and I turn to find Mark, looking oh so arrogantly Mark, even in casual wear and a sleek leather jacket. In other words, composed, dominant and demanding. His very presence assumes all the energy in the room turns toward him.

  He greets the doorman and then saunters a few steps in our direction to greet us. “Dash Black,” Mark murmurs, glancing at me and then Dash again. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Dash knows you helped me, Mark. I ended up telling him.”

  Mark arches a brow at me, those arrogant gray eyes of his seeing everything, and telling nothing. His lips twitch slightly, and his gaze shifts back to Dash. “You clearly don’t want to kick my ass, but you do want to size me up. I’m a man who appreciates privacy,” he states. “Yours and mine.”

  “Unfortunately,” Dash replies, “Allie’s ex, does not.”

  “A dangerous quality in a man who lives to cause trouble,” Mark comments.

  “Which is why I am choosing a preemptive strike rather than a reactive one,” Dash replies. “Tomorrow morning there will be an interview exposing my fight club research for the next Ghost novel.”

  Mark’s lips quirk. “Knock the wind right out of his sails. I like it. I do have a file of information on the ex, just in case, he’s a problem. You might find it worth a look.” He motions toward the offices. “Let’s go sit down and chat.”

  I’m stunned in that moment to realize that Mark Compton cared enough about all of this to actually try and help.

  We follow Mark to his office and gather around a small conference table. Mark slides a file toward Dash, a file already on the table, almost as if he expected him to visit. Dash opens it and flips through the pages before glancing at Mark. “While I already know this information, I’m curious why you do.” Dash slides the file toward me, his attention remaining on Mark.

  Mark’s answer comes without hesitation. “If Brandon is looking to stir up trouble for Allie, he could shift his attention to her employment, and therefore, my operation. He has to be dealt with. Furthermore, Allie has my mother’s favor. That means she has mine.”

  “How is she?” I ask.

  “She’s a warrior,” he replies. “And she’s putting up a good fight. She’ll be happy to know you are as well.”

  “I appreciate what you did last night,” Dash interjects. “And for your discretion. I owe you one.”

  “I’m not a man who likes to ask for favors,” Mark responds. “I don’t, however, dislike the idea of having them owed.”

  Dash laughs. “Smart man.”

  Mark doesn’t reply. He fixes me in a steely look. “You’re not coming back.”

  “I want to work here. I love this job and—”

  “You’re not coming back.”

  “I want to work for you in Nashville.”

  He studies me a long, intense moment, that turns into five, and then says, “Good thing I talked to Tyler Hawk today and made that happen. You’ll handle his auctions, but all high-ticket items that are better run through the auction house directly should be looked at closely and with loyalty to us. Tyler understands this. This is a service to his clients. Anything his clients want auctioned for profit just plain comes to us. Details in your email, but be prepared for an expectation that you work for us, not him.”

  I blink, not completely surprised, but still surprised that this all came together this easily. “Thank you. This is exactly what I’d hoped for.”

  He stands and we follow him to his feet. “Then I suggest you get on a plane and make this last-minute mess of an auction Tyler Hawk has placed on our heads go over in a manner worthy of Riptide.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You already did,” he surprises me by saying. “My mother has been talking to your mother and it’s helped.”

  This twists me in a few knots. Queen Compton is a powerful, strong, beautiful woman, weakened by the same illness that tried to break my equally powerful, strong, beautiful mother.

  As if Mark reads my mind, he says, “Yes, going home is a good thing, Ms. Wright.”

  I’m reminded then that Mark lived in San Francisco when his mom became ill. He too went home.

  “Can I see her before I leave?”

  “Her immune system is low. She’s not feeling well today, but call her tomorrow.”

  “I will,” I say. “I absolutely will.”

  Dash and Mark shake hands and I have this moment where I’m taken aback by how good-looking and intensely male both of these men are, and yet, how different. Mark is absolutely the guy who bets on the fight and Dash is the guy who does the fighting. And yet, I have this sense that these two are more alike than might initially appear to be the case.

  I’m also aware that these two men have worked together and helped me close this chapter of my book. I’m now opening the door to a new life and a new chapter.

  It’s a long time later and Dash and I have talked about Mark, Brandon, and our future over pizza, and we’re now in the air, inside a private jet, snuggled into our seats. After napping a bit, I wake up to find Dash has laid his seat back and is resting. I raise my seat, dig in my briefcase and manage to pull out Allison’s journal that I hadn’t even realized I’d brought with me. I didn’t, did I? I mean, I guess I did.

  I open to a page and start reading:

  In life, there are forks in the road. You choose left, and it could be right. You choose right, and it could be wrong. I know I write the same thing over and over, but that’s what’s happening in my head. I’m on replay and the only one I have to talk to is myself.

  When I first met him, he was left, and left was right. I’d lost everyone in my life. My mom—God, I miss her, she was all I had left. My father the year I graduated college. My sister when I was still in college. She and I had been like the two musketeers. If you count her cat Molly, then well, the three musketeers. I loved that cat too and even she is gone. But back to him, because let’s just face it, he still consumes me. It’s as if I was a lonely star in a pitch-dark night sky, so very alone, and this light appeared beside me. He appeared in my life.

  At first, I thought it was the sex.

  The sex was intense. The way he touched me, the way he demanded more, and more, and more, and somehow, I set aside every fear and inhibition and gave him everything and more. I felt safe with him, safe in finding a new side of me, a new part of me. How many people can any of us say in life did that for us?

  I glance over at Dash and suck in a breath, emotions tightening in my chest. He makes me feel all those things, all the same things Allison felt for whoever this man was she was dating. Tyler, I think, of course. Dash told me she was seeing Tyler.

  I glance back at the page and continue reading:

  I loved him. I believe he loved me, too. I still love him and yet, we are no more. I saw a part of him that was real, flawed, human, and he didn’t just push me away, he pushed me far away and shoved the door shut. And now that sky is darker than ever and I’m nothing but a fallen star. I have to let him go. I have to just let go. But it hurts. And I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to date. I’ve prayed for someone who will carry me away, even just drown me in sex, please God, let me feel something other than pain.

  Fear jabs at me, fear she might have hurt herself, and I quickly turn the page.

  The next page reads:

  I’m alive again. I met someone new. He’s not him, but there are similarities. He’s an older, more mature version of the one I loved. Maybe that doesn’t mean love again, but I’m lost in the moment. It feels wrong for reasons I can’t make myself write down. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll write about this at all. Maybe that means it absolutely is wrong. Or maybe it means it's right enoug
h that I can just live in the moment and not write it all down. We’ll see…

  I shut the journal and slide it into my bag. She was starting over. The way I’m starting over. For me, it feels right. But that’s not what Allison said. She said something about her new relationship felt wrong. And now she’s gone. I’m going to find her. And I’m going to continue finding myself.

  In Nashville…

  PART TWO:

  NASHVILLE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  There are moments in life that feel eternal. Some are painful. Some are blissful. Some are just plain surreal. The moment I walk back into the Nashville apartment and it feels like home, is one of those surreal moments. Waking up Monday morning next to Dash in our bed is another surreal moment. Sitting at our kitchen island, him shirtless because I’m in his shirt, drinking coffee, and reading Dash’s headline story on any number of news sites, is more a time of relief.

  Brandon cannot use Dash’s fighting against him. Dash took his power from him, or anyone else. Dash’s cellphone rings for about the tenth time, and as he has every time before, he eyes the caller ID, and declines the call. “More reporters,” he says. “More film people.”

  “Should you talk to the film people?”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I’ll play hard to get with everyone but you, baby.”

  “You play that game well, including with me, back in New York, at that fight club.”

  “I followed you the minute you walked out of my room,” he argues.

  “And let me go.”

  “Only long enough to pull out of the fight I should never have been in to start with. You whipped my ass and I deserved it.” He motions to the story on my computer screen and says, “And now I can’t go back. It’s no longer a secret.” He angles his chair toward me and twists me around to face him, his hands on my upper thighs. “One of the reasons I did that story was to make sure you knew I’m done with that. I’m with you. At our home. I will never pull that bullshit again.”

  “It was bullshit, Dash Black.”

  His lips curve. “So long as you tell it how it is, baby.”

  I laugh. “You know I will.”

  “Good. Since I became a public figure, most people blow smoke up my ass. I don’t like it. You and Bella keep things real and keep me grounded.”

  “Maybe a little smoke is a good thing considering how exceptional you are at self-hate.” I press my hand to his face. “We’re going to work on that. Maybe one day you’ll love you as much as I do.”

  He captures my hand, his energy sudden sharper, darker. “Or maybe one day you’ll learn to hate me, too, Allie.”

  In other words, the things he didn’t tell me about the night his brother died are the parts that hurt the most. They’re also the parts he feels I can’t handle, because he can’t handle them, But I don’t tell him any of these things, I don’t push him to tell what he’s not ready to tell. I simply say, “Never.”

  My cellphone rings where it rests on the counter, and when I would ignore it, Dash glances at the caller ID and says, “Your mother. I’m guessing she read my interview.” He kisses my hand. “Talk to her, cupcake.” He stands and walks to the coffee pot, filling his cup and warming mine.

  I answer the line with, “Morning, Mother.”

  “Oh my God. I read the interview with Dash.” I glance at Dash and nod, letting him know he nailed it on the reason for her call. “He practically said he wanted to marry you.”

  I’d expected her to worry about his fighting, but no, she went straight to a place I haven’t dared. And now there are butterflies in my belly. “No,” I say. “He did not.” And when I feel Dash’s eyes on me, I quickly try to frame the conversation. “He tried to keep it all hush-hush, but he gets too much attention not to have rumors start he didn’t need right now.”

  “You’re ignoring the marriage thing.”

  “That plot point doesn’t spoil anything,” I say talking about the book, and where the fighting comes into play, rather than a wedding ring.

  “He’s right there,” she assumes. “Of course, he’s right there, you live with him. He loves you.”

  “That’s true,” I confirm.

  “And you love him.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I say, and then change the topic, moving away from the awkwardness of this conversation being had in front of Dash. “You spoke with Mrs. Compton?”

  “You mean Dana,” she says. “Yes. She’s a lovely person. And I understand everything she feels. I’m so thankful you connected us. I think we’re going to be friends for life and we’ve only just met each other.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s weathering the storm. Right now, her doctors are happy with her progress, but her case was worse than mine. I’m praying our lifetime of friendship is a long one. I’m hopeful that it will be.”

  My mother and Queen Compton come from two different worlds, one from money and power, while my mother has lived a humble life, and yet, I see them both as nurturing in their own ways. “I pray so, too, Mom. She’s been really inspiring to me. She was also there at a bad time in my life.”

  “When you broke up with Brandon.”

  “Yes.” Guilt stabs at me. “Mom, I never told you—”

  “That he was your father’s agent?”

  My eyes go wide. “You knew?”

  “Of course, I knew. Your father couldn’t wait to call and gloat about you being there in New York with him.”

  “Mom—”

  “It’s okay, honey. I knew you’d want to know him at some point. I didn’t keep him away from you. And I’m sorry he disappointed you.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because I know him. No other way. I promise.”

  “I’ll tell you the story, but not over the holiday.”

  “No. Not over the holiday. Let’s embrace our new family with Dash and Bella. And if you don’t get a ring for Christmas, I’ll be as shocked as I would have been if your father was a changed man. Love you, honey. Come to Sunday brunch soon.” She groans before I can answer and says, “Your stepfather is calling me. He lost his glasses. They’re probably on his head.”

  We laugh and say our goodbyes.

  Dash sits back down beside me and sips from his cup as I do the same. “That sounded like an interesting conversation.”

  “She knew I’d connected with my father.”

  “How?”

  I set my cup down and rotate to face him more fully. “He told her. God, I feel bad, Dash. Like I betrayed her.”

  “From what I know of your mother, I think she’s pretty forgiving. When did your father call her?”

  “Back when I first connected with him. I had no idea.”

  “And was she angry?”

  “No. She said she expected me to connect with him at some point in my life. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt when it was happening.”

  “There’s an old saying. If you love someone, set them free. If they don’t come back, they were never yours. That’s not exact, but you get the idea. You came back to her. She knows you love her.”

  “Like you came back to me?” I dare to challenge.

  His hands settle on my legs. “You are the calm in the storm that no one else but you knows is my life. And I’m sorry if I made you feel anything but how important you are to me, Allie. I was lost in the emotions my father made me feel. I didn’t want you to get trapped in a storm of my creation.”

  “But you agree now that we have to ride out the storms together, right?”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “Together.”

  The doorbell rings, and Dash groans. “That’s going to be Bella.” He pushes to his feet, effectively ending our conversation.

  Considering I’m barely dressed, I say, “I’ll go shower.”

  He lifts me and helps me off the stool, before he says, once again. “Together, Allie.”

  The doorbell rings again and he growls under his breath. “My damn sister.” He heads for
the door and I hurry upstairs.

  A few minutes later, I’m under the stream of the shower and I’m replaying Dash’s vow of together to me. The problem is he also told me I might end up hating him. Until he dares to tell me everything, to bare his soul, we are vulnerable. And that’s about trust. He doesn’t trust me to love him in the good, bad, and the ugly. No. He’s not going to ask me to marry him. And even if he did, I couldn’t say yes, not yet. Not until I know we don’t just weather the next storm together. We survive it.

  And there will be another storm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Turns out our visitor was not Bella, which I discover when Dash joins me in the shower. I don’t have a lot of time to ask who the heck was at our door so early either, because his mouth is on my mouth and his hands are all over my naked body. And he’s naked. Of course, he’s naked, we’re in the shower. And how can I think of anything when he’s naked? A storm is coming all right, and at least for now, it’s a good kind, right here under the spray of water, in our very own bathroom. I lose myself in the moment, in Dash, in being home with him, and everything good that makes me feel.

  Not such a long time later, after dressing in one of my favorite black skirts, a black blazer, and a pale peachy blouse, I find a huge box on the kitchen counter.

  “From my publisher,” Dash says, joining me at the counter, now dressed in black jeans and a matching T-shirt. “A congratulations for the great press.”

  “They really do kiss your ass, don’t they?”

  He laughs. “Yes, well, one poor-selling book and they’ll forget my name.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “I didn’t like that about publishing.” I tap the top of the box. “What is it?”

  “A shit ton of pastries and tickets to the next Keith Urban concert here in Nashville.”

  Now he has my attention. I abandon the idea of a pastry for breakfast, focused on what matters. “You’re kidding me. When?”

  “Two weeks. Fifth row. There are four tickets. I figured we could take your mom and stepdad if you think they’ll like it?”

  “My God, yes, Dash. They’ll be elated but what about Bella?”