Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear

Chapter 10

I needed water and distance from everyone, especially my grandfather.

I made my way into the kitchen, still groggy, expecting a quiet morning. Instead, I found Dakota—no, Catherine now—already inside, leaning casually against the counter, mid-call. She spoke in rapid, confident tones, nothing like the calm secretary voice she used to wear like armor.

She looked like she owned the place. Which, unfortunately, she sort of did now.

I grabbed a glass and filled it, casting her a quick glance as she hung up. She smiled at me like we weren’t two time bombs forced to sit at the same dinner table.

“Morning.” I almost choked hearing her.

“Morning,” I managed, trying not to sound irritated.

“What’s your plan today?” she asked, walking closer.

“No plans. Why?”

“I’m heading to LA tomorrow. You’ll be back in New York?”

“Tomorrow.” I nodded.

“Good. I need time to work at the office and figure things out before the wedding.” She was so casual, so composed, like she was planning a board meeting and not our impending forced marriage.

“You’re agreeing to this?” I asked.

“To the arrangement?”

She smirked. “Obviously. You did too.” She turned to the espresso machine, casually prepping coffee like she’d done it a hundred times.

“You need coffee. You’re always grumpy without it.” Before I could reply, Joseph walked in, grinning like he’d caught us holding hands under the table in kindergarten.

“What a great future wife you have there, Jacob. Always knew you two were meant for each other.” I didn’t respond. Catherine offered him coffee. He declined. Said he was off to feed Jody, his parrot, like it was a normal thing billionaires did before breakfast.

Once we were alone again, I turned to her. “What’s your intention here, Catherine?”

She didn’t even blink. “To make my grandfather happy.”

“He doesn’t look sick to me.” Her smile faded slightly. “You didn’t see him in the hospital.”

“And now you’re suddenly okay with marrying someone you worked under for five years?”

“I’ve known you for five years. That counts for something.” She handed me the cup.

I took it, sipped. Strong and perfect. Just the way I like it. Damn her.

“You didn’t like the idea when Brad showed up.”

“Because it was Brad.”

“And now that it’s me?”

“I still don’t like the idea,” she said. “But I know you. At least enough. And if this makes my grandfather happy, I’ll go along with it.” I stared at her, trying to read between the lines, but she gave me nothing.

“You’re hiding something,” I said.

“I’m not.”

“This is frustrating.”

She shrugged, sipping her own drink. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk. Really talk.” I exhaled, long and slow.

“We need to talk. Get ready. We’re going out.” She nodded and disappeared upstairs.

I finished my coffee quickly, went to my room, and took the fastest shower of my life. Black T-shirt. Leather jacket. Denim jeans with minimal effort, but maximum message. I waited downstairs, flipping through my phone until I heard her heels on the staircase. I stood up and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Tank top with jean jacket, denim shorts and those legs. Not what I expected.

“Where are we going?” she asked, snapping me out of it. I grabbed the keys and led her to the garage.

“Park. We’ll take a walk.”

“It might rain,” she warned, looking at the sky.

“We’ll beat it.” She nodded, calm and collected as ever.

The drive was silent for a while. She stared out the window and I turned on some music, low enough that it didn’t interrupt our thoughts. Eventually, I asked, “Why did you run away to New York?”

“My family wanted me to take over the company. I wanted to live on my own terms first. Build something without the Ashton name.” I nodded.

“How about you?” she asked, turning slightly in her seat. “Why hide behind ‘Kyle Denver’?”

I smirked. “Another long story. Maybe you’ll get it in pieces.”

She chuckled softly. “You still never let me follow you to Canada. I guess now I know why.”

I nodded again. “Two companies. Soon to be one. That’s the goal.”

“I never pegged you for a billionaire heir either,” she said, studying me like she was reading a chart.

“Same,” I said honestly. “You hid well.”

She turned her eyes back to the road. “It wasn’t easy.”

“So… who’s the real you?” I asked.

She laughed. “It’s Catherine. A little sassy. A little bitchy. A lot stubborn.” I laughed too. Couldn’t help it.

“Dakota’s my middle name,” she added. “She was the mask. Sweet. Patient. But Catherine… Catherine is wild.”

“You’re being too honest.”

“Sorry. It’s the caffeine,” she said, smirking. I looked at her again, really looked at her this time. Same face, same voice, same woman, but everything had changed. And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to see the truth behind the disguise…

…and I didn’t hate it.