Chapter six.

Bridget walked into Ridge Enterprises at 7:50 a.m. on Wednesday like she was stepping onto a minefield.

The lobby security guard gave her the same polite nod he’d given her every morning this week, but today it felt like he knew. Like everyone knew. She kept her head down in the elevator, staring at the polished steel doors instead of her reflection. She didn’t want to see the faint mark Alexander had left on the side of her neck last night. It was barely visible under concealer, but screaming to her.

The twenty-third floor was already humming. Phones ringing softly, keyboards clacking, the low murmur of early-morning strategy calls. She dropped her bag at the small desk outside Alexander’s office. He’d assigned her on Monday with a curt “This is yours now” as he pretended to organize files while her pulse hammered.

His door was closed. No light under it yet.

She opened her laptop, pulled up the market analysis spreadsheet he’d emailed her at 1:14 a.m. Subject line: *Preliminary due diligence—Acme Logistics. Your first real assignment. Impress me.*

No sign of the man he had showed her the previous day, just the job.

She hated how much she wanted to impress him.

At 8:03 the door opened. Alexander stepped out in a navy suit, tie knotted with military precision, sleeves already rolled to the forearms. He didn’t look at her right away. He scanned the open-plan floor like he was checking for threats, then finally let his gaze land on her.

“Morning, Ms. Callahan.”

“Morning, Mr. Thorne.”

The formality felt obscene after the way he’d had her legs over his shoulders forty-eight hours ago.

He jerked his head toward his office. “In here. Bring the Acme file.”

She grabbed the printed report and followed him inside.

He closed the door, then locked it.

The click sounded louder than it should have.

He didn’t move toward her. Just leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, studying her like she was a balance sheet he needed to reconcile.

“You read the deck?” he asked.

“Twice. Ran the comps myself. Their EBITDA margins are inflated. Private fleet costs are buried in SG&A. I flagged three line items that need audit confirmation before we move to LOI.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Pride, maybe. Or hunger.

“Good,” he said quietly. “You’re quick.”

She lifted her chin. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.” He pushed off the desk, closed the distance between them in two steps. Stopped just short of touching her. “I knew you were sharp. I just didn’t know how much it would turn me on watching you prove it.”

Heat crawled up her throat. She hated how easily he could flip the switch from professional to possessive with one sentence.

She set the report on his desk. “Then maybe you should focus on the numbers instead of my mouth.”

His eyes darkened. “Too late for that.”

He reached past her, deliberately brushing her arm as he picked up the file. Flipped it open. Scanned her notes. His thumb traced one of her red-ink circles, like he was touching her skin instead.

“You caught the depreciation schedule mismatch,” he murmured. “Most analysts miss that on round one.”

“I’m not most analysts.”

“No.” He looked up. Held her gaze. “You’re not.”

Silence stretched.

She broke it first. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“We are.” He set the file down, then stepped closer until her back hit the glass wall behind her desk chair. “This is work. You learning. Me teaching.”

His hand came up, slow enough she could stop him if she wanted. Fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, then tilted her chin so she had to look at him.

“You’re shaking again,” he said softly.

“Because you’re standing too close.”

“Liar.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Not the brutal claiming from Monday, but something slower. Deeper. Like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. She let herself melt into it for three dangerous seconds before she pushed at his chest.

“Alexander. Door’s locked, but the blinds are open.”

He exhaled through his nose. Stepped back. Adjusted himself with zero shame.

“Later,” he promised. Voice rough. “My place. After hours.”

She swallowed then nodded once.

The rest of the morning passed in agonizing professionalism. He called her into a strategy meeting with the acquisitions team. Introduced her as “Bridget Callahan, my new analyst.” Watched her present the Acme overview with quiet intensity. When she finished, he asked sharp, precise follow-ups that forced her to think on her feet. She answered every one. The room nodded. He gave her the barest hint of a smile.

After the meeting cleared, he stayed behind. Closed the door again.

“You were brilliant in there,” he said. No preamble.

She shrugged, but her cheeks warmed. “It’s just numbers.”

“It’s not just numbers.” He crossed to her, cupped the back of her neck gently. “It’s you. Your brain. Your fire. I’ve spent twenty years building this place, and no one’s ever made me want to burn it down the way you do.”

Her breath caught.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Closed his eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “Not just your body. You. The way you fight me. The way you don’t back down. The way you see through bullshit. I’ve never—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I’ve never felt this before.”

She stared at him, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Alexander…”

“Don’t say anything yet.” His thumb stroked the pulse at her throat. “Just know it’s not only sex for me. Not anymore.”

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed on the desk. Patrick’s name flashed on the screen.

Alexander stepped back like he’d been burned. Answered on speaker without thinking.

“Pat.”

“Alex, you busy?” Patrick’s voice was easy, warm. “Just checking in. Bridge okay at work? She’s not giving you too much trouble?”

Alexander’s eyes locked on hers. “She’s… exceptional. Best hire I’ve made in years.”

Patrick laughed. “That’s my girl. Listen, I’m grilling Saturday. You and Bridge should come. Family dinner. Been too long since the three of us sat down together.”

Bridget’s stomach dropped.

Alexander didn’t flinch. “We’ll be there.”

“Great. See you then.”

Then the call ended.

Silence again.

Bridget exhaled shakily. “Family dinner with my dad. After this?”

Alexander rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We’ll handle it.”

“How?”

“Same way we handle everything else.” He pulled her close, kissed her forehead. “Carefully.”

She rested her cheek against his chest for one stolen moment, listening to his heartbeat.

Then she stepped back, straightening her blouse.

“I should get back to the Acme model.”

He nodded. Watched her walk to the door.

Just before she opened it, he spoke again.

“Tonight at eight. My place.”

She paused, then looked over her shoulder.

“Eight,” she echoed as she left the office, her legs unsteady.

Back at her desk, she opened her laptop.

A plain white envelope sat on her keyboard.

No name or return address.

She opened it with trembling fingers.

Inside were two grainy black-and-white photos.

One of her pressed against the foyer wall of his Evergreen Ridge house, Alexander’s mouth on her throat, her legs wrapped around him.

The other was the same, but in a different, close angle.

A single typed note slipped between them.

*Careful who sees.*

Bridget’s blood ran cold.

She looked toward Alexander’s office.

The blinds were still open.

He was watching her through the glass.

And for the first time, the guilt in his eyes looked like fear.