Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 27

Lydia POV

I blame hormones.

And ovulation.

And Satan.

Definitely not myself.

“You highlighted this section twice,” he said quietly.

I swallowed.

“What?”

He pointed at the screen.

“This.” His voice dropped lower. “The part about rebuilding credibility through consistent action instead of reaction.”

“Oh,” I said intelligently.

Brilliant contribution, Lydia.

Absolutely Pulitzer worthy.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to look at the screen instead of the fact that he was still entirely too close.

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound normal and not like my pulse had suddenly become a public emergency. “Because that’s usually where most people fail. They think one grand gesture can repair a trust issue when actually it’s repetition that changes perception.” 1

He was quiet for a second.

Then he said,

“That’s brilliant.”

My fingers stopped moving.

I turned to look at him.

And immediately regretted it.

Because his face was right there.

Too near.

Too male.

Too unfairly beautiful for a man with this little emotional range.

“What?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His gaze stayed on mine.

“The framework,” he said. “It’s smart.”

1/7

I stared at him.

And for one genuinely ridiculous second, I forgot how to reply.

Not because he had said anything groundbreaking.

But because I wasn’t used to hearing approval from his mouth directed at me.

Not unless it was accidental.

“Thanks,” I said eventually.

It came out softer than I intended.

His eyes flicked over my face again, slower this time.

Then he asked,

“Do you have more?”

I blinked.

“More what?”

“Your work.”

That caught me off guard.

“My… coursework?”

“Yes.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see it.”

Suspicion returned immediately.

Naturally.

Because what did he mean he wanted to see it?

Who authorized this character development? 2

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No.”

“You’re acting strange.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I looked at him harder.

He still looked wrecked.

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2/7

Still looked off.

But now there was something else there too.

Something quieter.

Less guarded.

And somehow, that made him more dangerous.

I hesitated.

Then slowly turned the laptop fully toward him and opened my project folders.

He shifted from the armchair to the sofa beside me without asking.

Again: too close.

Again: deeply unnecessary.

And for the next twenty minutes, I walked him through everything.

My strategy drafts. 1

My mock crisis response templates.

A stakeholder communication matrix I was embarrassingly proud of.

A campaign recovery outline.

Even my notes on audience trust behavior and narrative repair.

At first, I expected him to lose interest after five minutes.

He didn’t.

He kept asking questions.

Specific ones.

Real ones.

Not the fake “I’m being polite” kind.

The kind that meant he was actually reading.

Actually thinking.

1

Actually taking me seriously.

And I hated how much that affected me.

At some point, I forgot to be defensive.

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Forgot to be irritated.

Forgot, briefly, that this was the same man who had reduced my merger analysis to a “school case study” a few days ago.

Because right now, sitting beside me with his sleeves rolled up and his attention fixed entirely on my work, he

3/7

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looked like someone I had never actually met before.

And that was a problem.

A very stupid problem.

Because this version of Dave?

This version was easier to like.

Dangerously easier.

The gesture did something stupid to my chest.

I looked at his hand.

Then at him.

Then, like the fool I am, I stood too.

5/7

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༽

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if you insult my work again, I’ll push you down the stairs.”

That sounds hostile.”

“That’s because it is.”

He took the laptop from me.

And we walked upstairs together.

My room suddenly felt different with him inside.

Too small.

Even though it wasn’t.

Too aware.

Even though nothing had happened.

Yet.

I moved toward the desk near the window and opened another folder while he stayed standing behind me for a moment before leaning against the edge of the dresser.

I showed him my notes.

My saved drafts.

My rough ideas.

My course dashboard.

And somewhere between me explaining a reputation recovery timeline and him asking why I had grouped audience segmentation the way I did, the energy shifted. 1

Not loudly. 1

Not all at once.

Just… enough.

One second, we were talking.

The next, there was a pause that lasted too long.

And then another.

I looked up from the laptop.

He was closer now.

I genuinely had no memory of him moving.

That felt illegal too.

“What?” I asked again, quieter this time.

He didn’t answer immediately.

6/7

His eyes moved over my face like he was seeing me in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

at should have annoyed me.

Instead, it made me nervous.

The dangerous kind.

The kind that starts in your stomach and moves upward.

“Dave,” I said softly.

Bad idea.

Very bad idea.

Because something in his face changed when I said his name like that.

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