CHAPTER 4: COLLISION

EVELYN

Monday morning arrives too quickly. I spent the entire weekend preparing for the Westwood presentation, trying not to think about the fact that I will be seeing Richard again but I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Tonia attempted to convince me it would be fine, that Richard is a businessman who has probably had plenty of one-night stands and knows how to keep them separate from work.

I want to believe her.

My team meets in the conference room at nine. There are five of us working on the Westwood account. I am the creative lead, which means I will be doing most of the talking during the presentation.

"Nervous?" asks Joshua, our graphic designer.

"A little," I admit, which is the understatement of the century.

"Don't be. Your strategy is brilliant. They're going to love it."

If only he knew.

At nine thirty, we load into two cars and drive to Westwood Enterprises headquarters in Century City. The building is glass and steel, modern and intimidating, just like the man who owns it.

We check in at the front desk and are escorted to the twentieth floor. The conference room is sleek and minimalist, with a view of the city that probably costs more than I make in a year.

"Mister Westwood will be here shortly," the assistant says before leaving us alone.

I arrange my notes with shaking hands. I can do this. I am a professional. So is Richard. We will both pretend Thursday night never happened and focus on business.

The door opens.

Richard walks in, and all the air leaves the room.

He is wearing a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt, no tie. His hair is perfectly styled. He looks every inch the powerful CEO.

Our eyes meet, and for one heartbeat, the professional mask slips. I see recognition, heat, surprise.

Then it is gone, replaced by cool professionalism.

"Good morning. I'm Richard Westwood." He shakes hands with each member of my team, working his way down the table.

When he gets to me, his hand envelops mine. Warm. Firm. Familiar.

"Evelyn Hart," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'll be presenting today."

"Miss Hart. Pleased to meet you."

His face reveals nothing, but his eyes tell a different story. He is as thrown by this as I am.

Richard takes a seat at the head of the table. Two other executives file in and sit on either side of him.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Hart."

I stand, smoothing down my navy dress, and click to the first slide of my presentation. I have done this a hundred times. I can do it again.

"Westwood Enterprises has built its reputation on innovation and integrity. Our goal is to translate that into a marketing campaign that resonates with both your current clients and potential new markets."

I talk for twenty minutes, walking through the strategy, the target demographics, the timeline. I am in my element now, confident and clear. My team jumps in at the right moments to discuss design elements and budget projections.

The whole time, I feel Richard's eyes on me. Not in an inappropriate way, but intense, focused, like he is seeing something beyond the presentation.

When I finish, there is a moment of silence.

Then Richard leans forward. "Impressive, Miss Hart. You've clearly done your research."

"Thank you."

"I have a few questions." He proceeds to grill me on specifics, pushing back on certain strategies, asking for clarification on others. His questions are smart, challenging, making me work for every answer.

I love it.

This is the game I am good at.

By the time the meeting ends an hour later, I am energized instead of drained.

Richard stands. "Thank you for the presentation. My team will review everything and get back to you by the end of the week."

"We look forward to hearing from you."

My team packs up and heads for the door. I am following them when Richard's assistant appears.

"Miss Hart? Mister Westwood would like a word. Just five minutes."

My stomach drops. I nod and watch my team disappear into the elevator.

The assistant leads me back to the conference room. Richard is standing by the window, his back to me. The door closes, leaving us alone.

"That was quite a presentation," he says without turning around.

"Thank you. Your questions were challenging."

"I needed to see if you were as smart as I thought you were." He turns to face me. "You are."

The air between us is electric, dangerous.

"Richard, we should talk about Thursday night."

"Should we?"

"Yes. If I'm going to be working with you, we need to establish boundaries."

He walks toward me slowly. "What kind of boundaries?"

"Professional ones. What happened between us was a mistake."

"Was it?"

"Yes. You're a client. I'm your marketing director. We can't... we can't be anything else."

Richard stops inches from me. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that I remember exactly how his hands felt on my skin.

"You're right," he says quietly. "It would be inappropriate."

"Exactly."

"There's just one problem."

"What's that?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

My breath catches. "Richard..."

"I know. I know all the reasons this is a bad idea. But when you walked into this room today, all I wanted to do was cancel the meeting and take you somewhere private."

"We can't."

"I know."

But neither of us moves. We stand there, the tension building until it is almost unbearable.

Richard's phone rings, breaking the spell. He steps back, pulling it from his pocket.

"Excuse me. I have to take this."

He answers the call, and his expression changes. Becomes colder, harder.

"Anthony. This isn't a good time."

Anthony. My Anthony. Ex-Anthony.

Why would he be calling Richard?

"No, I haven't made a decision yet. I told you I needed time... Yes, I understand the timeline... We'll discuss it later. Goodbye."

He ends the call and looks at me. I must have gone pale because his expression shifts to concern.

"Evelyn? What's wrong?"

"Why was Anthony Blake calling you?"

Richard's eyes narrow. "You know Anthony?"

"He's my ex-fiancé. The one I told you about. The one who was sleeping with my cousin."

Understanding dawns on Richard's face, followed by something darker. "Anthony Blake is your ex."

"Yes. Why is he calling you?"

"Because I'm his mentor. I've been advising him on his business ventures for the past two years."

The room spins. Of course. Of course Anthony's mentor would be Richard Westwood. Anthony has talked about Westwood before, about how brilliant he is, how much he is learning from him.

I never made the connection because I never knew Richard's first name.

"This is impossible," I whisper.

"Evelyn."

"No. This is too complicated. Anthony is your protégé. I'm your marketing director. We can't... there's no way this works."

"So we don't tell anyone."

"What?"

Richard steps closer again. "We keep it private. What happens between us stays between us. No one needs to know."

"That's insane."

"Is it? You want me. I want you. We're both adults. As long as it doesn't affect our professional relationship, I don't see the problem."

"The problem is Anthony. If he finds out I'm sleeping with his mentor, he'll lose his mind."

"Good." Richard's voice is cold. "From what you've told me, he deserves to suffer a little."

"Richard, I can't do this for revenge."

"Then do it because you want to. Do it because Thursday night was the most alive you've felt in months. Do it because when I touch you, you forget everything else."

He is right, and that is what scares me.

"I need to think."

"Take all the time you need. But Evelyn?" He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm not good at waiting."

His phone buzzes again. He glances at it and sighs.

"I have another meeting. My assistant will show you out."

I nod, grateful for the escape. I need air. I need space to think.

I make it to the elevator before my legs start shaking. As the doors close, I catch one last glimpse of Richard standing in the hallway, watching me with those intense gray eyes.

My phone rings. Tonia.

"How did it go?"

"He was there."

"Of course he was there. It's his company."

"No, I mean, it's complicated. Anthony is Richard's protégé."

"What? Anthony the Asshole knows your one-night stand?"

"Apparently Richard has been mentoring him for two years."

Tonia is silent for a long moment. Then she starts laughing.

"Tonia, this isn't funny!"

"Oh, it's a little funny. Your cheating ex-fiancé is being mentored by the man you slept with. That's poetic justice right there."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Did Richard say he wanted to see you again?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to see him again?"

I think about Richard's hands on me, his mouth on mine, the way he made me feel powerful and beautiful and wanted.

"Yes."

"Then see him. Forget about Anthony. He doesn't get a say in your life anymore."

She is right. Anthony gave up any claim to me when he climbed into bed with Sylvia.

But this is more than just Anthony. This is my career, my reputation, my future.

Can I really risk all of that for a man I barely know?

The elevator doors open. I step out into the lobby, and my phone buzzes with a text.

Unknown number: *Dinner tonight? I promise to keep my hands to myself. Unless you ask me not to. - R

I should say no. I should be smart and professional and keep this strictly business.

Instead, I type: Where and when?

His response is immediate: My place. 8 PM. I'll send a car.

I stare at the message, my finger hovering over the reply button. This is my last chance to walk away. To do the sensible thing.

I hit send: *I'll be there.