Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear

Chapter 12

Back in New York, I stepped into my office and told myself it was just another Monday, but it wasn't. Edna greeted me with her usual efficient calm, handed me my schedule, and I dove straight into a stack of contracts, chasing the illusion of focus.

But all I could think about was her.

That kiss and the way her lips had tasted like cherry chapstick. The way she’d looked at me right before it happened—like it wasn’t acting at all.

I pressed the intercom. “I need my coffee.”

While I waited, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The memory played on loop: her lips moving toward mine, soft pressure, her hand cupping my jaw. Every logical part of my brain shouted it was just practice—but my body had its own opinions. I opened my eyes with a groan.

“Get it together, Jacob,” I muttered. This wasn’t supposed to be anything. A charade. A distraction. A time-delayed ticking bomb that would self-destruct in two years or less. But now? My thoughts were slipping rapidly.

Edna brought in my iced latte and I chugged half of it before diving back into files. I buried myself in meetings, site updates, even legal logistics, anything to keep Catherine out of my head.

Didn’t work.

I lasted until 9 p.m. before heading to the gym, burning through reps like my life depended on it. I needed the endorphins. I needed clarity. I needed to stop picturing Catherine in that rain-soaked tank top. I gave myself two full days of discipline: work, gym, sleep, repeat.

No distraction, no texts and no flights. It barely helped. I returned to Toronto two days later, mentally armored.

We were supposed to start planning the wedding. That’s all.

***

“Hey, Grandpa,” I said, slumping into the armchair across from him.

He didn’t waste a second. “When will you move to LA? What do you need from me?”

“Wow. Not even a ‘welcome back.’”

“I’m serious. You can’t keep leaving Catherine alone while you bounce between Toronto and New York, boy.” He looked at me in disbelief, as if he and Tim didn’t just arrange the whole thing.

“I’m working on it,” I snapped. “These things take time.”

“Take less time,” he replied, flat. Catherine entered the room then, looking casual, comfortable, confident. She gave me a small nod before walking into the kitchen. I stood, needing a buffer from Joseph’s pressure.

“She’s not like the girls you play around with, Jacob,” he warned quietly. “Treat her like a placeholder, and she’ll slip right through your fingers.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? So I walked into the kitchen to talk to her, she was talking to the maid, flipping casually through her phone and asking for ingredients.

“So,” I asked, leaning against the counter, “what’s our plan for today?”

She glanced at me. “Wedding dress fitting. Thirty minutes. You coming?”

I opened the fridge. “Sure.”

“You have a 3 p.m. meeting and dinner with Mr. Annoying,” she added with a huff, sounding way too much like Dakota again.

I laughed. “Why so sarcastic, babe?”

She glared. “Moon day. Don’t test me.” Right. Girls and their hormones. Got it. She flipped through her notebook, muttering about guest lists and deadlines.

“You make it sound like a real wedding,” I said lightly.

“It’s a lot of work for something that’s fake,” she shot back. I walked over and started to massage her shoulders.

“Relax.”

She moaned softly. “That feels nice…” And I stepped away instantly because that was dangerous territory.

“Be ready in thirty,” she said, disappearing upstairs. I stared after her to see if she felt the same feelings that I felt or was it just me, or was she getting too good at pretending?

I sat back down with my grandfather to relax and just to clear my head.

“Be nice to her,” he said sternly. “She’s not like the others.”

“I know.”

“She won’t chase you. If you don’t hold her close, she’ll walk away.”

That one hit me because I knew it was true. And maybe, just maybe…

…I didn’t want her to walk away.