Chapter 10

Orrin’s POV

The night at Le Bernardin replayed in my head like a damn movie as I stepped out into the cool Manhattan air.

Aaliyah’s red dress, the way her blue eyes sparked when she called me out, that half-smile she tried to hide when I teased her—firecracker.

I’d offered to drive her home, practically begged to make sure she got there safe, but she’d shut me down with a sharp, “I’m fine, Orrin. I’ll take a cab.”

Stubborn as hell.

And I couldn’t help but grin as her taxi pulled away, her silhouette fading into the city lights. She was something else, and I was in way too deep.

I was about to my car when a familiar voice called out, “Orrin, you sneaking off without me?”

I turned to see Lila Voss, my sister, striding toward me, her brunette curls bouncing, her smile all mischief.

The paparazzi were already circling like vultures, their cameras flashing, but Lila didn’t care. She threw her arms around me, and I hugged her back, laughing.

“Lila, what are you doing here?” I asked, pulling back to look at her. She was in a stunning orange dress, looking every bit the Hollywood star, but to me, she was just my little sis, the one who’d stolen my comic books as a kid.

“Premiere meeting got pushed,” she said, shrugging. “Thought I’d grab a drink at Le Bernardin. Then I saw you with that blonde bombshell. Who’s she?”

I chuckled, guiding her to a quiet corner away from the flashing cameras. “Aaliyah Monroe. She’s… smart, fierce, and not falling for my charm just yet.”

Lila raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Not yet? Oh, you’re in trouble. She looked like she could eat you alive.”

“That’s the plan,” I said, winking.

Lila and I grabbed a quick drink inside, catching up on her latest movie and my merger deals.

Nobody knew we were siblings—different last names, thanks to her marriage and our decision to keep it private.

It kept the media off our backs, mostly. We laughed, reminisced about sneaking out as kids, and parted ways after an hour.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said, hugging me tight.

“Back at you, superstar,” I replied, watching her slip into her car. I headed home, my mind still on Aaliyah, already planning to call her tomorrow.

But tomorrow came, and she didn’t pick up. Or the next day. Or the next.

Two voicemails—“Hey, firecracker, let’s talk”—went unanswered. Texts, too. Nothing. I wasn’t mad, just… confused.

She’d felt something at dinner, I knew it. Those blushes, that laugh she tried to hide. So why the ghosting? I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d messed up, but how?

A week later, I couldn’t take it. I drove to her office.

The bell jingled as I stepped in, and Tara, her assistant, looked up, her eyes widening as usual.

“Mr. Hayes,” she stammered. “Uh, Aaliyah’s not here. She’s… out.”

I glanced at Aaliyah’s desk. Her laptop was open, a coffee mug beside it, her purse slung over the chair.

I bit back a laugh, reading the room. She was here.

She was probably hiding under the damn desk. It was cute, honestly—her trying to dodge me like we were in some rom-com.

I wasn’t hurt, just amused, and maybe a little relieved. She was fine, just avoiding me.

“Alright,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Tell her I stopped by. And give her this.” I handed Tara a note—“You can’t hide forever, firecracker”—and left, chuckling to myself. She wanted space? Fine. I’d give it to her. For now.

Back at my office, I buried myself in work—meetings, contracts, a new investment in a tech startup. But Aaliyah was always there, in the back of my mind.

A few days later, my assistant, Claire, knocked on my door, her tablet in hand.

“Mr. Hayes, there’s a PR conference in Chicago next week. You want to attend?”

I waved it off, leaning back in my chair. “Pass. I’m swamped.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “The Larson group will be there which means their new partner will also be there.”

I sat up. Aaliyah in Chicago? At a conference where I could “accidentally” run into her?

Hell yes.

“Book it,” I said, grinning. “Keynote slot. Make it happen.”

Claire smirked, like she knew exactly what I was doing. “Yes, sir.”

Chicago was a whirlwind of glass towers and lake wind when I arrived. The conference was at a fancy hotel, all marble and chandeliers, buzzing with PR types in sharp suits.

I was set to speak on day two, but I got there early, scanning every panel for a glimpse of her. I knew she’d be here—Larson’s deal meant she’d be networking, pitching, showing the world she was back. And I wanted to see it.

During a breakout session on crisis management, I spotted her. She was in the third row, scribbling notes, her blonde hair pulled back, her face focused.

Damn, she was beautiful—sharp, determined, that fire I’d fallen for burning in her eyes. I leaned against the doorway, my heart doing that stupid flip again.

She felt me watching, her head lifting, and when our eyes met, hers widened, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Gotcha, firecracker.

I didn’t move, just grinned, letting her stew. She looked like she wanted to bolt, but the room was packed, and she was stuck. Good.

The session dragged, some guy droning about media spin, but I barely heard it. My eyes kept drifting to her—her pen tapping, her lips pursed, that stubborn set to her jaw.

When it ended, I moved fast, cutting through the crowd before she could slip away.

She was gathering her notebook, her movements quick, like she was planning her escape. Too late.

“Aaliyah,” I said, stopping a foot away, my voice warm but teasing. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She froze, her blue eyes snapping to mine, and that flush deepened.

“Orrin,” she said, her tone clipped, but her voice shook just enough to tell me I got to her. “What are you doing in Chicago?”

“Speaking at the conference,” I said, my grin widening. “And maybe hoping I’d find you. You’re harder to catch than a shadow, firecracker.”

Her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile, but she crossed her arms, glaring. “Don’t call me that. And you need to stop showing up like this.”

“Stop?” I tilted my head, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “When you keep running? Come on, Aaliyah, talk to me. You’ve been dodging me for weeks.”

Her eyes flickered, something raw passing through them. “This isn’t the place,” she said, her voice low, glancing at the thinning crowd. “Just… leave it, Orrin.”

I wanted to push, to ask why she’d shut me out, but people were watching, and she was right—this wasn’t the spot.

Still, I couldn’t let her go. “I’m not leaving it,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You’re worth chasing, Aaliyah. And I’m not him.”

Her breath caught, her eyes searching mine, and for a second, I thought she’d crack.

But she shook her head, stepping back, her walls slamming up.

“I have to go,” she said, but her voice wavered, and I knew she felt it—the pull between us.

She turned, her heels clicking on the marble, and I let her go. For now. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.