Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear by Yan Stellar
Chapter 1
2:00 p.m. sharp. If there's one thing I could rely on Dakota Lennix for, it was punctuality, or at the very least, the desperate attempt at it. I glanced at my wristwatch, then back at my monitor. No movement. No clattering heels in the hallway. No scent of overpriced Starbucks wafting through the door. Strange.
I took a sip from the bitter espresso I'd brewed myself an hour ago. It wasn’t the same. Starbucks had a habit of tasting like synthetic joy. Not my favorite, but it was a ritual now. Two cups at 2 p.m., like clockwork, and she knew it. I'd never asked her to memorize my coffee patterns. She just did. She always did. Five years under my employment, and Dakota had more rhythm to my schedule than I did.
I stood and walked toward the massive window of my office, looking down at the congested city below. I watched the street traffic absently, wondering if she'd slipped on those ridiculous heels again. Why she insisted on those when she had to run through New York with duffel bags was beyond me. But then again, Dakota rarely did things for practicality.
A knock. Two short taps.
I turned just in time to see her stumble in, breathless, hair slightly undone, two bags slung across her shoulder, and the blessed sight of two lattes trembling in her hands. Without a word, she placed the drinks on my desk, slid the duffel bags beside it, and stood ramrod straight, catching her breath as though she hadn't just sprinted through six blocks.
I raised my hand and pointed to the window. She got the cue instantly and lowered the blinds with the remote. Good. She hadn't lost her touch. I took a sip. Warm, extra foam. Slightly shaky hand judging from the uneven lid. Still, it was drinkable.
I gestured for her to sit. She obeyed, pulling out her notepad. Her hair was a mess, her blouse slightly wrinkled, but the woman could take instructions better than most interns I'd burned through in the last decade.
"Cancel all of my meetings until Saturday," I said, setting the cup down, "I'm going to Vancouver." I saw her shoulders tense. She was rearranging her world in real-time, flipping through mental calendars and contact lists.
"What's your plan in Vancouver, Mr. Denver?"
"Just book a ticket for me," I replied. "You’re not coming." That perked her up. The glimmer in her eye betrayed her poker face. A short reprieve from hell. She was practically celebrating internally, probably already planning to sleep in, eat cake, and pretend her boss didn’t exist for 96 blessed hours.
"Earliest flight tomorrow. Last flight Saturday," I added. She scribbled it down without looking up.
"Do you need anything else?" I took another sip. The coffee wasn’t as hot as I liked.
"You’re in charge of checking the construction while I’m gone."
Her pen froze. Then, hesitantly: "Isn’t that Bob’s job?"
I leaned back in my chair, eyeing her. "I just fired him. He brought two girls into his office and had sex when he was supposed to give me an update." Her eyes went wide. She looked genuinely disappointed, not in him but in her imagined four-day vacation evaporating before her very eyes.
"Send me the tickets," I said, watching her gather her things. "You know what to do."
She nodded, but I could see the slight frown twitch at the corner of her lips. I waved her off. Dakota walked out without another word, and the room grew silent again. For a moment, I stared at the closed door. Five years. She'd become too essential. And I hated how much I noticed.
Ten minutes later, she returned. Knock. Entry. Same rhythm.
"Mr. Denver, I think I have to go to LA tomorrow morning." I looked up from my monitor. Her tone was unusually soft. A whisper of something personal. I arched an eyebrow.
"Why is that?"
"My grandfather is dying. My dad just called me earlier. I have to go home." A beat of silence.
"Go," I said simply. "You have two days. Ask Cindy to replace you."
"Her name is Cynthia." I waved her off.
chapter
She left the ticket details on my desk before walking out. I stared at the slip of paper for a second. LA. Dying grandfather. Unexpected, but not unreasonable. Still, a little voice in my head questioned the timing.
I turned back to my laptop, but the coffee had already gone cold.
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Chapter 2
The suitcase clicked into the trunk, and the door opened with that distinct soft hydraulic sound I’d heard a thousand times. Dakota didn’t say a word as she moved around to the other side and slid into the back seat beside me. Good. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and neither was she.
Julio merged onto the main road, smooth and punctual, just the way I preferred it. I stared out the tinted window for a moment, watching the skyline shrink behind us. New York had a pulse, and for five years, Dakota Lennix had been a beat in it. She’s steady, reliable, caffeinated. But recently… things were starting to stutter.
“You have two days, Dakota.” I said it as fact, not as warning. Though let’s be honest with me, those were often the same.
“Yes, Mr. Denver.” Her voice was clipped. Submissive, as always. But I knew her too well by now. I could hear the fatigue behind her tone. She wasn’t breaking down, but she wasn’t holding it all together either.
My eyes didn’t leave the window when I asked, “I think this is your fourth time saying your grandfather is dying. Is this some kind of joke?” It was a cruel thing to say. I knew that, but I said it anyway.
“I’m sorry, Mr.Denver. I’m really sorry it’s hard to see my grandfather like this.” She looked down, knowing damn well she’s using the same excuse again. I could feel that her head is full and that she’s hesitating to say something, there’s a tension hanging in the air between us. She looked up to me and I was hoping she would explain her situation, “I'm sorry, Mr. Denver, but this time he's in the hospital with machines attached to him. I think this time his condition is getting worse and worse.”
Machines. Worse and worse. The words hung in the car like fog. I tapped a finger against my thigh. A soft rhythm, controlled. “If I find out that you're lying,” I said flatly, “you will be fired.” I meant it. But I also didn’t want it to come to that.
She responded without flinching. “Yes, Mr. Denver.”
What struck me most wasn’t the fear in her voice, it was the disappointment. She knew I didn’t believe her, and that stung her more than the threat. She had been with me for five years. People don’t stay that long unless they’re loyal or delusional. With Dakota, it was a cocktail of both.
I leaned back in the seat and folded my arms. My phone buzzed with some report I already knew the results of. I ignored it. Instead, I glanced briefly at her reflection in the window. Tired eyes. Pulled-tight ponytail. A woman who hadn’t slept, eaten, or exhaled in more than a few days.
And still, she’d packed my suitcase, checked my schedule, handled the flight arrangements. Perfect execution. She always delivered. That was the damn problem.
When we arrived at the private terminal, my team was already waiting — two assistants from the airline, clipboard and tablet in hand. Efficient, just how I liked it. I stepped out of the car without saying anything. Dakota moved quickly, grabbing my luggage from the trunk. One of the airline staff took it from her before she could drag it more than two steps.
“Have a safe flight, Mr. Denver,” she said, voice sweet, almost too sweet. I ignored her, not because I was angry, but because I couldn’t afford the indulgence of kindness. Not with her. Kindness gave people ideas. People like Dakota needed boundaries, not approval.
I followed the attendants into the terminal without looking back. If I had, I might’ve seen her loading her own luggage out of the car, standing there like an afterthought. The same woman who’d planned my entire week down to the minute.
She wasn’t part of the machine anymore, not for the next 48 hours. And yet, for the first time in five years, the machine felt strangely… empty.
Mid-flight, I pulled out my tablet and opened the files Dakota had sent earlier. Construction updates, meeting notes, itineraries. She hadn’t missed a detail. Not even the contact sheet for the Vancouver site lead — something I hadn’t even asked for.
I set the tablet aside and leaned my head back against the seat. The plane hummed around me, low and constant. It was supposed to be relaxing.
But all I could think about was her voice in that car.
“My grandfather is dying…” I wasn’t a sentimental man, but something about the way she said it made me uneasy. Like she was trying too hard to stay composed. Or maybe trying too hard to convince herself she still cared.
Dakota rarely took time off. When she did, she kept working remotely. She responded to emails faster from a hospital bed than most of my staff did from their desks.
If this was real… if this was different… I might’ve misjudged her. And that didn’t sit well with me.
I hated being wrong. Especially about her.
***
Two days, I had said. Two days to check on a dying man. Two days to untangle whatever past she never talked about.
I closed my eyes. Somehow, I had the feeling those two days would stretch into something else entirely. Something that might change the terms of our arrangement. Or end them altogether.
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