CHAPTER 10
Derrick rubbed the back of his neck as he poured another cup of coffee, his eyes drifting to the remnants of breakfast still on the table. It had been his and Sandra's first morning together—really together—in a kitchen that had never hosted another woman, much less breakfast after an overnight stay.
He liked the way her presence lingered in the room. Liked the memory of her stepping into his kitchen, sleepy-eyed and wearing his shirt. It was personal. Intimate. Right.
He hadn't wanted to let her go. Not after finally making his intentions known. But it was the right thing to do.
Let her go, and see if she came back.
He scoffed quietly at himself. That kind of sentimental, philosophical thinking wasn't like him. He didn't go in for fortune-cookie wisdom like "if you love someone, set them free." No, he was more of a "hold on with both hands and never let go" kind of man. And yet—he had let her go. Driven her home, even, when every fiber of him had screamed to keep her close.
And he'd kissed her goodbye. A gentle kiss. One meant to soothe rather than ignite. She'd looked too vulnerable, too close to breaking. Passion could wait.
His phone buzzed, drawing him back. Right. He had an important call. Business. He cursed under his breath. His thoughts had been too tangled in Sandra to properly prepare. Bringing on a new partner was necessary—but not exactly convenient at the moment. He'd wanted to ease Sandra into the transition.
Would this complicate things just when she was starting to see him in a different light?
He picked up the phone and headed into his office, forcing his mind to shift gears. Focus now, make room for Sandra later. Because later, he wouldn't be holding back. No more slow play. He'd already mourned his best friend, his partner. It was time to start living again.
He and Clement had built a successful consulting firm, specializing in cost-cutting and restructuring strategies for large corporations. Oil companies were their bread and butter in Houston, but they'd worked across industries. Clement was the charmer, the people person, the frontman. Derrick handled the data, the analysis, the strategy. It had worked. Flawlessly.
But now, Derrick had to take on both roles—or bring in someone who could fill Clement's shoes. That someone was James Brown.
He entered his office and answered the call. "Derrick Chase."
He shut the door behind him and moved to his desk, opening his laptop as James returned the greeting.
"I'm glad you had time to talk," Derrick said. "Did you review the documents I sent over?"
James had been on his radar for years. A solid business mind. He and Clement had both seen the potential. Plans to bring him aboard had been shelved after Clement's death, but Derrick had kept the idea in his back pocket.
James offered some thoughtful feedback and a few new ideas Derrick found promising. They'd met several times now; this was just about sealing the deal. Once finalized, Barkley and Chase would become Chase and Associates, leaving the door open for future growth.
James was capable but unassuming—happy to let Derrick's name stay on the marquee and focus on the operational side of things.
It wasn't about making more time for Sandra, not intentionally. But the shift would free him up, and that mattered now. More than ever.
"Everything looks good on my end," James said. "Just say the word."
"One thing," Derrick said, leaning back in his chair.
"I'm listening."
"I need a few days before we go public. I want to speak to Sandra and Sophia personally."
There was a pause on the line. "Are they going to be a problem?"
Derrick heard the hesitation in James's tone. A touch of skepticism. Maybe even irritation.
"They don't know yet," Derrick replied. "And I want it coming from me. No one else."
"And are they going to resist?"
"No," Derrick said flatly.
"I'll give you a few days. No more."
"That's all I need. We'll meet Monday. My office."
They wrapped the call, and Derrick sat for a long moment in silence. He'd meant what he said—Sandra and Sophia wouldn't interfere. Legally, they couldn't. But emotionally? That was different. He didn't want resentment. He didn't want this decision to drive a wedge between them.
He stood, stretched, and made his way back toward the kitchen. As he passed the front window, movement outside caught his eye.
A car. Sandra's car.
She was still inside it, gripping the wheel, motionless.
His heart stuttered. Something was wrong.
He stepped onto the porch. As soon as she saw him, she opened the door and climbed out. Even from across the yard, he could see she was upset. Pale. Eyes wide and filled with something like sorrow.
Fear clenched his gut. Had he pushed her too hard? Too fast? Was she here to say she couldn't do this? That it was all a mistake?
He hadn't even had the chance to win her, and already he feared he'd lost her.
She walked toward him—then suddenly, she was in his arms.
He caught her, steadied them both, overwhelmed by the feel of her against him. Her warmth. Her weight. Her scent.
He closed his eyes briefly. Held her tighter. Wondered if this was her way of saying goodbye.
"Oh, Derrick," she said, voice cracking on his name.
"What is it?" he asked softly. "Why are you so upset?"
He tucked her hair behind her ear and gently pulled back so he could see her face.
"I was going to the cemetery," she said. "To talk to Clement. To ask for his blessing. To make him understand. It sounds ridiculous, I know."
He shook his head. "It's not ridiculous at all. He was your husband. You loved him deeply. Wanting to share this with him—it's natural."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
It tore at him.
"I couldn't do it," she whispered. "I promised myself I wouldn't go there anymore. That it's not how I want to remember him. It hurts too much."
"You came here instead," he said. "Why?"
She lifted her eyes, glistening with tears. Emotion trembled in her gaze, and he steeled himself for the worst.
"Because I have to try," she said. "We have to try. I won't know unless we do."
Relief hit him like a punch to the chest. It was so intense he nearly staggered.
He tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, anchoring himself in this moment.
She was here. She hadn't run.
And neither would he.