4: Late Breakfast

She pulled away, her chest heaving. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then enlighten me," he said, spreading his hands. "But I suspect you won't. Because the truth is inconvenient, isn't it? That you made reckless, irresponsible choices and now you expect the world to accommodate them."

Olivia's vision blurred. She would not cry. She would not.

Cyprus glanced at his watch. “I skipped breakfast this morning,” he said lightly, almost conversationally, as if he were commenting on the weather. “In vain, it seems. I had hoped to watch my staff competently handle a project I’ve invested a considerable amount of money in.” His grey eyes flicked to her face, sharp and assessing. “Instead, I witnessed a parade of shocking incompetence. So, I’m going to have a late breakfast.”

For a heartbeat, Olivia simply stared at him. Her mind lagged behind his words, struggling to find the connection between his empty stomach and her presence in this room.

“And what,” she demanded finally, incredulity edging her voice, “does that have to do with me?”

Cyprus rose from his chair in one fluid motion, buttoning his jacket with infuriating calm. “Nothing,” he replied easily. “Unless you intend to waste more of my time.”

Her temper, already stretched thin, snapped. “Are you seriously going to abandon this meeting after I came all this way?” she shot back. “I flew in this morning. I came straight here from the airport.”

He paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “You can leave now and let that sacrifice be entirely in vain,” he said. “Or you can join me.”

And with that, he walked out of the conference room. Olivia stood there, her mouth parted, fury and disbelief tangling in her chest. For several stunned seconds, she didn’t move. When did Cyprus become so… caustic?

Yes, he had always been arrogant but once upon a time, that arrogance had been wrapped in charm, in a dangerous sort of magnetism that made people forgive him far too easily, her included.

The man she was dealing with now felt colder, like someone who had shed any pretense of kindness along with whatever softness he might once have had.

Olivia stood frozen, her hands trembling, the contract crushed against her chest. You're standing right in front of me, she wanted to scream after him. You're the father you're mocking.

Grinding her teeth, Olivia grabbed her bag and hurried after him.

She caught up just as he reached the elevator, one long hand lifting to press the call button. He turned at the sound of her heels, and his mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Wise choice,” he said, eyes flicking over her face with unmistakable satisfaction. “Breakfast it is.”

She stalked past him into the elevator, stabbing the ground floor button harder than necessary. “Do you treat all the models you sign this way?” she asked acidly. “If so, I’m surprised Saint Liman isn’t on a permanent blacklist in the industry.”

Cyprus leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms folding loosely across his chest. The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in a space heavy with tension. He looked her over so slowly she felt it like a physical touch. Heat sparked in her chest.

“I find,” he drawled, “that I have to be extra nasty to the gorgeous ones.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are,” he murmured.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto the ground floor. Olivia stepped out first, her spine rigid. “Give me the address,” she said shortly. “I’ll go there myself. I came with a car. The driver’s been waiting for me.”

Cyprus followed her at an unhurried pace. “Dismiss the driver,” he said. “I’ll take you home after we’re done.”

She stopped so abruptly he nearly walked into her. Slowly, she turned to face him, her heart pounding treacherously hard. Being alone in a car with Cyprus, trapped in close proximity with no escape, was a very bad idea.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said tightly.

“I wasn’t asking,” he replied, his voice mild but edged with steel.

She hesitated, torn between indignation and an unexplainable flutter of nerves. “I can find my own way back.”

Cyprus glanced at his watch again, impatience sharpening his expression. “I don’t have all day to stand here waiting for you to reach a decision.”

Her eyes flashed. “You should have thought of that before hijacking my day.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and strode across the lobby, every step fueled by controlled rage. Flora’s driver looked startled when she approached, but Olivia forced a polite smile and told him he could return home: she would find her own way back.

By the time she returned to Cyprus, her composure was firmly back in place, though it cost her effort. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice clipped.

He studied her for a moment, clearly enjoying the tension simmering under her calm exterior. “I hope you like English cuisine,” he said, smirking.

Moments later, they were in his car. Olivia sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands clasped in her lap as Cyprus pulled smoothly into traffic.

As they drove, he shifted seamlessly into business mode, his tone turning authoritative. “You’re already familiar with the broad details of your role, I assume,” he said. “You’ll be the face of Saint Liman’s new joint jewelry and perfume collection.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Over the next four months,” he continued, eyes on the road, “you’ll promote both collections in both print and digital events. You’ll be on every Saint Liman advertisement worth a damn.”

“I’m aware,” she replied, though her thoughts were spiraling. It would be four months of seeing him. Four months of working with him. Internally, panic tightened its grip. How was she supposed to survive the next few months spending most of her days with this colder version of Cyprus Blackwell?

How was she going to hide the existence of her children from him?

She stared out the window, willing her heartbeat to slow. She shifted in her seat, then forced herself to speak. “Do you intend to oversee this project for the entire four months?”

Cyprus’s gaze slid from the road to her face. He didn’t answer immediately, which somehow made her question feel like a mistake.

“Why?” he asked at last. “Thinking of backing out if my answer is yes?”

Her lips thinned. “Anyone would be tempted to back out if they found out they’d be working closely with a man as unbearable as you.”

A corner of his mouth lifted as one dark brow rose. “You’ve known me for a few hours, Livienne,” he replied. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. Oh, but she did. She knew exactly the kind of man he was. The kind who took what he wanted, women included, and discarded them without a backward glance simply because he could.

Instead of saying any of that, she rolled her eyes and turned toward the window, fixing her gaze on the passing cityscape until her reflection blurred. It felt safer than looking at him any longer.

But Cyprus wasn't done. "That performance in the conference room—defending Victor, calling me out. It was unexpected." He paused. "It makes me wonder if you were angling for something."

Her spine stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" His voice dropped, teasing. "You show up late, defend a man you barely know, and conveniently find yourself alone with the CEO. Ambitious women know exactly how to get what they want."

Her hands curled into fists. "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Cyprus's gaze swept over her with deliberate slowness, lingering on her lips, the column of her throat, the way her chest rose and fell with barely contained fury. "Favors. Special treatment. A bigger cut." His voice roughened. "Maybe something… more personal, more suited to the bedroom than the boardroom. You're not the first model to use charm to negotiate."

She felt heat crawl up her neck. "You're disgusting. I was defending someone you were publicly humiliating," she said through gritted teeth. "That's called basic decency."

"And here I thought you were just trying to impress me."

She laughed incredulously. "Why would I want to impress you?"

"Because I sign your checks." His grey eyes gleamed. "And a smart woman knows that getting on her boss's good side is the quickest path to advancement."

The meaning of his words hung between them. "Let me be clear," she said sharply. "If I wanted to trade favors, I certainly wouldn't choose a man who treats his employees like garbage."

There was a gleam in his eyes. "So you have thought about it."

Her face burned. "That's not what I—"

"You said 'if,'" he interrupted smoothly. "Which suggests you've considered the possibility." His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. "The question is, Livienne, what exactly were you imagining?"