Page 34 of Dallas Rivals

“It’s true, though,” I finally say. “I might not like how you do things, but as long as my animals and my plants stay alive, I’m satisfied.”

Her head lifts at that, and those dark eyes of hers glimmer like wet soil under sunlight. A smile curves on her lips—small, but real.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker—uh, Oliver.”

And I swear, hearing my name in her voice does something strange to my chest.

Something I’m not ready to name.

I nod once, satisfied with her answer.

It’s the first time something I’ve said has made her smile—and the feeling isn’t unpleasant.

Actually, it stirs something low in my stomach.

“Good night, Cala,” I say. It comes out formal, but I don’t feel formal at all.

I feel… lighter.

Freer.

Until I hear her voice again.

“If you ever want to talk about your nightmares, I’m here.”

I freeze.

Then turn fast.

“What?”

Her smile falters. That nervous energy she gets when she knows she’s stepped on a landmine flickers across her face.

“The other night,” she says softly. “I saw you on the balcony… you were having a panic attack. I just wanted you to know that⁠—”

“I don’t have panic attacks,” I cut in, sharper than I intend. “I don’t know where you got that idea.”

How the hell did she see me?

Her expression softens into something almost pitying.

“It’s all right, Mr. Walker.” She presses her lips together, offers a faint, closed-lipped smile. “Have a good night.”

She’s back to calling me Mr. Walker.

I notice that.

But I’m too angry—no, unsettled—to do anything about it.

I turn on my heel and storm off across the grass toward my house, needing walls, distance, control.

Because the thought of her seeing me like that—of her knowing that I’m not made of stone—feels far too dangerous.

I call it a day.

My eyes drift to the window of my office, the Dallas skyline glowing in the dark, and my thoughts—damn them—drift straight to her.

Why did she see me?