Chapter 4

Daniel Ford's pov

I arrived at the private club just after nine.

The usual suite was already prepared—low lights, expensive whiskey on the side table, two women waiting exactly as arranged. One brunette, one blonde.

Both beautiful in the polished, temporary way I preferred. No names needed. No expectations beyond the night. I had done this more times than I could count. It was clean. Efficient. Exactly the way I liked my evenings to end.

I loosened my tie, poured a drink, and nodded toward the bed.

They moved without hesitation, shedding dresses, climbing onto the sheets with practiced smiles. One reached for my belt.

The other trailed her fingers down my chest. I should have been hard already. I should have been thinking about nothing except how quickly I could finish and send them away with the usual envelope of cash.

Instead, my mind kept dragging itself back to the woman who had stood in my office that afternoon with rain still in her hair and mascara streaked down her face.

Natasha Whitmore.

The image of her red-rimmed eyes refused to leave. Someone had made her cry hard enough that the evidence was still visible hours later. The thought landed with a sharp, unexpected anger. Who the fuck had done that to her? And why did I care?

I didn’t care. I never cared. Women were temporary. Emotions were a liability. That rule had kept me free and in control for years.

My phone vibrated on the side table. Grandfather’s name lit the screen. I almost ignored it. Then I answered, because the old man had a way of becoming more persistent when ignored.

“You’re at that club again,” he said without greeting. His voice was sharp enough to cut. “Instead of doing something useful with the girl I placed in front of you.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m busy.”

“Busy wasting time. That girl is perfect...intelligent, resilient, and far too pretty to be left walking around unclaimed. Make her yours before some other man realizes what he’s looking at and takes her.”

I let out a short, humourless laugh. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think faster. Don’t be a fool, Daniel. Women like that don’t stay available forever.”

The call ended.

I stared at the dark screen for a moment longer than necessary, then set the phone down.

The two women were still on the bed, naked, waiting. One crawled closer and reached for me again."Come....let me please you."

I caught her wrist. “Out,” I said.

She blinked. “What?”

“Take the money on the table and leave. Both of you.”

They exchanged glances, clearly expecting the usual game of persuasion. The blonde smiled and tried to press herself against my chest. “Come on. We can make you forget whatever’s bothering you.”

Something cold and sharp rose in my throat.

“Get the fuck out. Now.”

The volume of my voice did the rest. They scrambled for their clothes, snatched the envelope, and left the suite without another word. The door slammed behind them.

Silence settled afterwards.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. This had never happened before. I had never sent women away before the night even started. The fact that it was happening because of a woman I had known for less than twelve hours irritated me more than I wanted to admit.

I picked up the phone again and called the number that had been added to my contacts that afternoon.

She answered on the third ring, voice quiet and cautious. “Mr. Ford?”

“Fix my schedule for tomorrow,” I said. “There’s a gala in the evening. You’ll be attending with me. Adjust everything accordingly and have the details ready by morning.”

A short pause. “Understood.”

I ended the call before either of us could say anything else.

I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes.

Fucking around had always been easy. Simple. No attachments, no complications, no one lingering in my thoughts after they left.

Tonight the entire system felt broken. I only wanted one woman in my head, and it was the wrong one...the weird assistant my grandfather had forced into my office.

I would ask her tomorrow if she was seeing anyone. At the gala. I would take what I wanted, fuck her once, and discard her the way I discarded everyone else. That was the plan. I was sure that was going to keep her off my mind.

Exactly the way things were supposed to work.

But underneath the plan sat certainty. "if I ever found the person who had put those tears on her face, I would tear them apart without hesitation."