Chapter 86
86:
Dylan’s sudden arrival left Christina momentarily frozen in place. She glanced down and was instantly mortified—she hadn’t changed out of her ridiculous SpongeBob pajamas. For a heartbeat, she was tempted to sink straight through the villa floor and vanish.
When Dylan looked up, his glacial eyes landed on her, taking in the spectacle of her dressed in pajamas. That absurd cartoon smile stretched across her chest, all yellow innocence and lopsided teeth—a jarring contrast to the sleepy, flustered woman wearing it. It was utterly adorable. The thought flashed through his mind before he could stop it. His lips twitched at the edges, betraying the faintest flicker of amusement, but his face quickly settled back into its usual severe composure.
He still looked every inch the untouchable, commanding figure—shoulders squared, jaw set, his presence somehow dominating the room even while sitting.
For a moment, Christina considered retreating—maybe slipping back upstairs and pretending she’d never seen him. But fleeing would only make things worse. Bracing herself, she inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders, forcing a look of careless ease onto her face. She strolled over, doing her best to appear unfazed by the situation. “So, what brings you by?” Her tone was deliberately breezy, though a hint of anxiety trembled underneath.
Dylan stood up slowly, every movement controlled and deliberate. “I brought the car and driver for you,” he replied, his voice low and even as he fixed her with that unreadable gaze.
“Huh?” Christina’s brows knitted, her confusion plain. Sure, she’d agreed to let the driver pick her up yesterday—but Dylan showing up himself with the car? That, she hadn’t expected.
He added, “This one won’t draw any attention. It’s completely unremarkable.”
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Christina arched a brow, half skeptical. “Alright, let’s see what you picked out,” she replied, following him out.
The moment she caught sight of the car, she stopped dead, wide-eyed. The vehicle in question looked like it belonged in a Saturday morning cartoon: small, bubbly, painted in a riot of cheerful colors, its headlights shaped like doe eyes, and a logo grinning up at her like a mischievous mascot. It wouldn’t draw attention? Maybe in terms of price tag, but the design was anything but subtle. It was the kind of car that begged for double takes and selfies.
A faint twitch flickered across Christina’s lips as she tried to make sense of the scene. Under her breath, she grumbled, “You’re assigning a driver to this thing? Isn’t that overkill?”
Dylan, expression unreadable, glanced at her. “Don’t like it?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t already written all over her face.
Christina managed a strained smile, shifting awkwardly. “No, it’s cute, really. I’m just worried your driver might be insulted, driving me around in such a tiny car.”
The driver jumped in without missing a beat. “Not at all, Miss Jones! I’m honored to drive you!” His eager tone left no room for doubt.
Christina forced another smile, lips twitching with reluctant amusement. She’d braced herself for a generic sedan—something practical, maybe a little boring. Never in a million years had she expected Dylan to pick out a car that looked like it belonged in a children’s cartoon.
“You don’t like it?” Dylan watched her reaction, his usually stoic face shadowed by a faint crease of worry. Chloe had insisted this was the perfect choice—affordable, discreet, and supposedly irresistible to women. Given Christina’s fondness for playful pajamas, he’d felt oddly sure she’d fall in love with the car’s cutesy charm. But as he searched her face now, his confidence faltered. Beneath that icy exterior, uncertainty flickered. For a man used to keeping the world at arm’s length, waiting for her approval felt almost unbearable.
A tense beat passed before Christina finally spoke. “It’s… it’s kind of cute. I like it,” she said, the words soft but genuine. She hadn’t expected this—a man as aloof as Dylan, going out of his way to choose something so cute for her. Everything about him, from his home’s severe minimalist lines to his crisp, unflappable demeanor, exuded discipline. Yet here he was, gifting her this car.
Dylan kept his features perfectly composed, but a subtle wave of relief washed through him. “The car’s yours now,” he stated, his voice cool and even.
Christina met his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Then I’ll pay for it. I’ll send you the money, or you can just deduct it from my salary.”
Dylan wasted no time. His lips barely moved as he answered, “I’ll deduct it from your paycheck.”
“Works for me,” Christina replied, not missing a beat.
He adjusted his cuffs, his mind already drifting back toward the office. “I have to get to the office. I’ll head out.”
Christina fell in step beside him. “Sure. I’ll walk you out.”
Then, without thinking, she asked, “Did you have breakfast yet?”
“Not yet,” Dylan answered, his voice clipped and his face still unreadable. But beneath that frosty exterior, a spark of longing flickered—so faint that it was almost invisible. At his side, his thumb traced a slow, unconscious circle against his forefinger, the only hint of his quiet anticipation.
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