Page 63 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
“I like Pilar. She sees this as more than a project,” Ivy says. “She called it a civic reframe, not a renovation.”
I nod. “She also didn’t flinch when you said you wanted gallery lighting that doesn’t intimidate.”
She smiles. “I’m learning how to ask for things I actually want.”
God, she floors me when she says things like that. Not with drama, just soft power. A woman coming back to herself, and letting me witness it.
There’s something in the way she looks at this space, at each line on a blueprint, that reminds me she’s not just healing. She’s rebuilding, and not just professionally. I see it in the way she commands a room now, in the ease with which she challenges opinions without softening the blow. Ivy doesn’t second-guess herself the way she used to. And somehow, that makes me want her even more.
***
Later that night, we’re seated at a benefit dinner hosted by a local arts council. It’s the first public appearance we’ve made since the headlines broke, since Derek’s arrest and our announcement of the new foundation project. Eyes follow us from the moment we arrive, and the whispers aren’t subtle.
The venue glows under golden lights suspended from exposed beams, casting everything in a soft, burnished warmth. Ivy steps into the room in a midnight-blue satin dress that moves like water and draws attention without demanding it. She doesn’t flinch under the weight of it. She owns the space.
A former Wilson Foundation board member, Gregory Lang, corners me near the bar. He’s tall, trim, with a politician’s smile and a roving eye. His handshake is firm, practiced.
“Jack,” he says, swirling his scotch. “Quite the statement you two made. Starting over. Tearing down what your father and brother built.”
I hold his gaze. “We’re not tearing anything down. We’re building something that reflects what it should’ve been.”
Lang’s expression tightens. “Rebranding isn’t rebuilding. The foundation’s name was legacy. Yours. Derek’s.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, Ivy steps up beside me. Her hand slips into mine, not possessively, but with purpose.
“That’s the thing about legacy,” she says calmly. “It only means something if it holds up under pressure. We’re not rewriting history. We’re choosing to stop repeating it.”
Lang chuckles dryly. “And the press just eats that up, don’t they?”
Ivy tilts her head. “They seem to like integrity these days. It’s rare.”
He mutters something into his drink and steps away. Ivy turns to me, her eyes steady. “You okay?”
I nod, the corner of my mouth twitching. “You handled that like a CEO.”
“Good,” she says, lifting her champagne flute. “Because this thing we’re building? I’m not playing the assistant.”
She’s half-teasing, but it lands right in my chest. “You never were.”
***
After dinner, we walk to the car slowly, the city moving around us. Ivy slips her arm through mine, her heels clicking against the sidewalk in rhythm with my steps.
“Do you ever worry it’s all too fast?” she asks. “That we’re forcing a clean start when nothing ever really comes clean?”
I pause before answering. “I don’t want clean. I want honest. This space, this future, it won’t be spotless. But it’ll be ours. And that’s enough.”
She exhales, leaning her head briefly on my shoulder. “Okay, then. Let’s get our hands dirty.”
The city blurs outside the car window as I drive Ivy home. Not to my penthouse. Not yet. She’s still staying at her brother’s place, in the same building as me, and as much as I want to pull her into my apartment, to keep her close, I don’t push. She’s had enough of people trying to control her choices.
I walk her to the door. She unlocks it and turns, leaning against the frame. Her eyes are soft in the dim hallway light, tired but steady.
“Thanks for today,” she says. “It felt... like something real.”
I nod, but my voice sticks in my throat. I want to ask her to stay the night. I want her in my space, in my bed, where I can convince myself that the chaos of the last few months is behind us. But I don’t say it. Not yet.
Instead, I brush her cheek with the back of my hand. “Get some rest, Ivy.”
