Chapter 62: Wish Me Luck

NORA’S POV

I pushed open the back door of Rusty’s Diner, stepping out into the quiet alleyway as my Saturday shift finally ended.

The crisp evening air felt good against my skin after six hours working the hot grill and serving busy booths. I tightened my coat, adjusted my tote bag strap, and stepped out onto the main sidewalk.

A tall figure was leaning against the brick exterior wall directly under the yellow streetlamp.

Knox.

He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his ankles crossed over his sneakers as he watched me approach. He had been waiting outside for me to clock out.

"No, Sheridan," I said before he could even open his mouth, keeping my stride steady as I walked past him toward the crosswalk.

Knox pushed off the brick wall, matching my pace effortlessly. "You haven’t even heard what I have to say, Bennett."

"I told you ’no’ at the counter an hour ago, Knox," I countered, stopping near the curb to face him head-on under the streetlamp. "Your father invited you to a private quarterly business dinner with Harold Orwell and Vanessa at the Grand Harbor Club. The last time I was in the same room as your father, I spoke back to him, rejected a check he offered for me to leave you, and he looked at me like I was a minor inconvenience."

Knox stopped in front of me, his tall, broad frame casting a long shadow across the pavement. His dark gaze held mine steadily under the yellow streetlamp.

"I’m not asking you to be nice to him, Bennett."

"I’m not walking into a high-society firing squad just to help you make a point, Knox," I said firmly, folding my arms over my chest. "Your father hates me, Harold Orwell thinks I’m a distraction, and Vanessa would love nothing more than to see me humiliated in front of Briar’s wealthiest donors."

Knox didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t get angry or try to pull his usual arrogant teasing. He just leaned back against the iron lamp post.

"If I show up tomorrow night with Vanessa, my dad wins," Knox said softly, laying out the raw facts without a single drop of melodrama. "He takes back total control over my draft clearance, my signature, and my future. He wants me broken, compliant, and under his thumb before Monday morning."

I stared at him. The cool evening breeze rustled the chestnut curls around my face as his words hung in the quiet air between us.

"And if I show up with you," Knox continued, looking straight into my eyes, "he knows he doesn’t own me."

The sidewalk went quiet while the sound of traffic echoed far away.

I looked at Knox... not the famous Briar hockey captain or the wealthy heir who owned the ice, but the guy who had spent hours in Study Room 4C working through visual supply curves and who had sat silently beside me on the dark ice last night after losing everything.

He wasn’t begging; he was just fighting for his independence against a father who treated his life like a corporate contract.

"Fine," I said, folding my arms tighter over my chest.

Knox blinked, a brief flicker of genuine surprise passing through his dark eyes. "Fine?"

"On one condition, Sheridan," I added, stepping a half-step closer so he could hear every word clearly. "I am going as myself. I am not playing quiet, meek, or polished for Garrison Sheridan or Harold Orwell. If your father starts a fight, I’m not holding back."

A slow, sharp smirk tugged at the corner of Knox’s lips, a familiar, dark glint returning to his eyes.

"I wouldn’t ask for anything else, Bookworm.".

—

Sunday afternoon arrived faster than I wanted.

Inside our dorm room, Priya was pacing around my bed, holding up two different dresses she had pulled from her personal wardrobe.

"If you’re crashing a Sheridan-Orwell business dinner at the Grand Harbor Club, you are not wearing a casual sweater, Bennett," Priya insisted, holding out a sleek, dark navy dress with a structured neckline and tailored seams. "You’re wearing this."

"Priya, it’s a corporate dinner, not a fashion show," I said, adjusting my thin-framed glasses as I pulled my hair back into a polished, elegant style.

"It’s a war zone," Priya corrected sharply, setting the dress on my bed with absolute conviction. "You’re walking into the lion’s den with Garrison Sheridan and Vanessa Orwell. You need armor."

Before I could argue, a sudden knock echoed against our front dorm door. ℴ

Priya walked out into the small hallway to open it. I heard a muffled exchange at the door before Priya walked back into the bedroom, holding a small brown paper bag that had been left at the front desk by a campus delivery courier.

"This just came for you," Priya said, handing the bag to me with a curious, raised eyebrow.

I opened the bag.

Inside was a box of dark chocolates from the Kingston bakery near Oakhaven, the same one Drew and I used to visit after our high school study sessions. Beside the chocolates was a fresh bouquet of white daisies.

Tucked into the ribbon was a folded handwritten card.

I pulled out the card and opened it. Drew’s neat, familiar handwriting covered the white paper inside: I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, Nora. Some things haven’t changed since AP Chem. — Drew.

My breath hitched slightly in my throat as I read the lines.

"What is it?" Priya asked softly, watching my expression closely.

"Just... an apology," I murmured. "From Drew."

Priya raised an eyebrow, a dry, knowing smirk touching her lips. "State’s captain sending daisies and chocolates to your dorm right before you crash a billionaire business dinner? That boy has terrible timing."

I stared at the card for three long seconds. The quiet memories of Oakhaven, high school chemistry labs, and Drew’s familiar, easygoing smile flashed through my mind, contrasting with the turbulent, high-stakes world of Knox Sheridan.

Slowly, I folded the card back up, sliding it inside my top dresser drawer beneath my academic notebooks.

I turned back to the mirror, pulling on the dark navy dress Priya had chosen and sliding my arms into my long coat.

Down out front, a sleek black vehicle pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the darkening campus evening.

"Wish me luck," I said, grabbing my clutch bag.

Priya grinned, giving me an encouraging nod. "You don’t look like you need it, but good luck."

I stepped out the door to go into the lion’s den with Knox.