A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 103: CHAPTER HUNDRED &THREE

KYLE

My office smelled like stale coffee and tension.

Not unusual.

I’d been back for three hours, and I’d read the same line of the quarterly report six times. The numbers weren’t the problem—they never were. My head just wasn’t in it.

I leaned back in the chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I stared at the ceiling like it might offer a solution. It didn’t.

I reached for my phone out of instinct. Notifications. Emails. Three missed calls from Mark.

Nothing urgent.

Then I scrolled past a photo I didn’t remember taking.

Until I did.

The flyer. From Ashley’s store.

Midtown Animal Shelter. Adoption Event. Donations Needed.

I’d snapped the picture while she was distracted, talking about floor placement or scent notes or something I wasn’t really listening to because I’d been too focused on her face—on the way her voice softened when she mentioned where she got her cat. Like it meant something. Like it still mattered to her.

And now, apparently, it mattered to me.

I stared at the image for a second too long, thumb hovering over the screen like it might bite me.

I wasn’t good at this kind of thing. The whole… doing something just to be kind. No angle. No deal. No PR strategy. Just because someone I cared about cared.

But maybe I wanted to try.

Even if it was small.

Even if I didn’t fully understand what the hell we were doing.

Ashley didn’t ask me to help.She never did. But maybe that was exactly why I wanted to.

I locked my phone, set it down, and leaned forward again—elbows on the desk, hands steepled. My reflection stared back at me from the dark screen.

No strings attached, we’d said.

Maybe.

But the thread between us?

It was definitely still there.

The knock on my door wasn’t even a knock—it was a push, sigh, and enter combo that only one person on this planet could get away with.

Mark.

His expression was unreadable, though the slight twitch at the corner of his eye hinted at restrained frustration.

“I’ve been calling you,” he said, voice clipped and professional. “Three missed calls, and your 3:00 with the R&D consultant was moved to—”

“Mark,” I said, cutting him off without looking up from my phone.

He paused mid-step, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves like they were part of a mental reset. “Sir?”

I tapped the screen a few times, zooming in on the photo of the flyer I’d taken—crooked, a little blurry, stuck on a bulletin board with a neon pink pushpin. “What do you know about animal adoption events?”

There was a long silence. Long enough that I finally glanced up to see Mark standing completely still, blinking like a man who’d just heard his boss say he wanted to join a circus.

“…I’m sorry, sir. Could you repeat that?”

I turned the phone toward him. “Animal. Adoption. Events. You know—save a kitten, support a shelter, all that stuff.”

He stepped closer to glance at the screen, then straightened so abruptly it looked like his spine snapped into place. “Did you… take this photo?”

“Yes.”

“Of a cat shelter flyer?”

“Yes.”

“In a store window?”

“Mark,” I said, slowly lowering the phone to the desk, “if I wanted a full timeline of the photo’s forensic background, I’d ask a crime lab. I’m asking you about logistics.”

“Right. Of course.” He adjusted his glasses, clearly buying time. “Are we… considering a partnership for PR purposes? A corporate sponsorship initiative? Maybe part of a community outreach angle?”

“No. This is personal.”

His pen stilled against the clipboard. “So… just to clarify, this has nothing to do with the company?”

“Nothing.”

“I see.” He nodded slowly, though it was obvious he did not see. “Then you’d like me to…?”

“Find out what they need. The shelter. Supplies, food, donation options. Quietly. No corporate logos, no press release, no ribbon-cutting.”

“And how should I—?”

“Anonymously. Use one of those vague aliases you set up for private inquiries. ‘J. Westbrook’ or whatever. Just don’t mention me.”

Mark hesitated, then scribbled something on his clipboard with the kind of energy that suggested he’d be burning this page later. “Understood. I’ll handle it.”

I watched him fidget slightly—unusual for someone who ran his day like a Swiss train schedule.

“You seem… unsettled.”

He stopped mid-flick of the pen. “No, sir. Just… caught off-guard.”

“Why?”

“Well, with all due respect,” he said carefully, “you once referred to cats as ‘aloof freeloaders with superiority complexes,’ and dogs as ‘clingy interns that breathe too loudly.’”

“…Did I really say that?”

“At a shareholder dinner. Right after the main course. The CFO’s wife had just adopted a Golden Retriever.”

“Hmm,” I muttered. “Well. People evolve.”

Mark didn’t reply. But the disbelief on his face said Do they, though?

I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping absently on the desk. “You ever had a pet?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I was allergic to fur as a child,” he said, then added, “And also, I just… don’t trust anything that stares at me while I eat.”

I snorted. “So that’s a no to adoption events?”

“Correct. Although I once helped my neighbor build a birdhouse. It was deeply unpleasant.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You helped build a birdhouse?”

“I was guilt-tripped into it. There were muffins involved.”

“…Right.” I returned to my phone, scrolling past the details on the flyer again. “Well, good thing I’m not asking you to bond with anything. Just find out what they need.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

Mark turned to leave but paused at the door. His voice came slower this time, measured. “Just to be clear… you’re not planning to adopt anything yourself, are you?”

I looked up.

“Because if you are, I might need to revise the building’s pet policy,” he added. “And possibly alert Facilities. And probably HR.”

I didn’t answer—just arched a brow and kept my expression unreadable.

Mark visibly swallowed. “Very good, sir.”

Then he left, the door closing behind him with the softest click, like he didn’t want to wake the imaginary animal he now suspected I was hiding under my desk.