CHAPTER TEN: Too late... I'm already in.

HOPE

I wasn't stupid—I knew Bob didn’t like me. The way he brushed past me in the hallway like I was some stray hair on his shirt told me all I needed to know. But it didn’t matter. Ace had given me a job, and whether he was trying to test me or trap me, I wasn’t going to fail.

The protester case file was a mess. Clara had left behind notes and charts, all organized in her uptight, clinical style. I tried contacting her once—just to be polite—but she had barely concealed her irritation. I got the message.

Instead of calling her again, I did what my gut told me to.

I went straight to Ace.

Every. Single. Time.

At first, he was clearly irritated.

“You have Bob and Clara for a reason,” he said without looking up from his laptop the first time I barged into his office with a question.

“Clara made it clear she’s too busy,” I replied calmly, dropping the file on his desk. “And Bob? I don’t think he’d mind watching me fall flat on my face.”

That made him pause. His lips curved faintly before he leaned back in his chair.

“And you think I won’t?”

I shrugged. “I think you’d be too intrigued to let me.”

That earned me a silent stare, the kind that always made my stomach flip in all the wrong—and right—ways. He didn’t say anything after that, just pointed to the chair across from him and gestured for me to explain what I needed.

That became the rhythm.

I’d walk in, uninvited. Drop a question. Stand my ground. And more often than not, end up sitting across from him while we “worked.”

But nothing about it ever felt like work.

Ace had a way of looking at me that made me forget what I’d walked in for. The way his eyes trailed over my face, or how his fingers would brush mine when he handed over a pen… it all felt intentional. Like he was pulling on a thread just to see how long it would take me to unravel.

He stopped acting annoyed by the third visit.

By the fifth, he started teasing me.

“You just like sitting across from me,” he murmured once, leaning forward until his knee brushed mine. “Don’t you?”

“Only when you’re useful,” I said, though my voice betrayed me.

And I hated how warm my skin got every time he touched me—accidentally, casually, repeatedly. Like when he leaned over to point at something on my file and his chest brushed my arm. Or when he took my pen without asking and let his fingers linger longer than they should’ve.

Today was no different.

I was in his office, sitting in his chair because apparently mine had a “wobble.” A wobble that didn’t exist until he told me to switch places.

He stood behind me, one hand resting lightly on the top of my chair, the other braced on the desk beside me as I scribbled down a name I’d found linked to the fake protesters.

“You’re focused,” he said low, close to my ear.

I didn’t look up. “Someone has to be.”

He chuckled—quiet, deep.

Then I felt it—his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. Slow. Deliberate.

I froze. Every part of me buzzed like live wire.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, voice velvet.

I swallowed, blinking at the paper like it could save me.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Mm.” He moved away, finally. “Keep doing it like this, and you’ll be more than just an assistant.”

The way he said that… I didn’t dare ask what more meant.

I waited a few minutes after he sat back behind his desk to breathe again.

This was bad.

Really bad.

Because I’d walked into that room wanting answers about counterfeit files and shell companies, but walked out thinking about the way he tucked my hair like he owned me.

And I didn’t hate it.

God help me, I didn’t hate it.

*******

ACE

It was close to midnight when I saw the glow beneath her office door.

She was still working.

The Mason Enterprise wasn’t just a building—it was a kingdom. And most people didn’t last a week in this part of the palace. Not with all the buried secrets and hungry wolves. But Hope? She was handling it better than I expected.

And she kept coming to me.

Every visit. Every stolen glance. Every challenge.

She didn’t run from the fire. She lit her own.

I pushed open the door without knocking.

She looked up from her desk, startled. Her oversized white button-down—the one she’d clearly borrowed from the laundry cart—was barely buttoned to the center. Her bare thighs peeked beneath the hem, one leg tucked under her, the other dangling freely. She was barefoot.

"You're still here," I said, shutting the door behind me.

“I wanted to finish up the report on the fundraiser files,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She tried to sound casual, but her voice caught slightly at the end.

She felt it too.

That damn pull.

I walked closer, eyes locked on her face. “You didn’t call for help this time.”

“I’m learning,” she said, lips curving.

My gaze dropped to her mouth. The memory of it haunted me more than it should. I hadn’t kissed her. Not yet. But I wanted to.

Hell, I needed to.

“Stand up,” I said quietly.

She blinked at me but obeyed.

I took a slow step forward, closing the distance. “Why do you keep coming to me, Hope?”

“Because you give answers,” she whispered, looking up at me through her lashes. “And maybe because I like pissing you off.”

My jaw ticked. I reached out and dragged my knuckle along her jawline, tilting her chin up. Her breath hitched.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“Then show me,” she dared, voice barely a breath.

That was the last thread of restraint I had.

I backed her into the desk in two steps.

My hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her breath tangled with mine, and before either of us could think twice, my lips crushed hers.

It wasn’t soft.

It was claiming.

She responded instantly—hands fisting the front of my shirt, mouth opening to me like she’d been waiting all damn week. I groaned into her as I slid my hand up her side, fingers brushing beneath the fabric of that ridiculous shirt she wore. Her skin was warm, smooth, maddening.

When her fingers threaded into my hair and tugged, I lost it.

I lifted her effortlessly and set her on the desk, stepping between her legs, my mouth trailing fire along her neck.

“Tell me to stop,” I muttered against her skin.

She didn’t.

She pulled me closer.

Our breaths were fast and uneven. Her thighs tightened around my waist, and I felt her nails drag down my back through my shirt. That little whimper she gave when I bit her lower lip nearly undid me.

But this was dangerous—she was dangerous.

I forced myself to still, forehead resting against hers.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes dazed.

“You don’t belong in my world, Hope,” I whispered, breath brushing her cheek.

“Too late,” she said, breathless. “I’m already in.”

Damn her.

I kissed her again—slower this time, deeper. One hand buried in her hair, the other gripping her hip like a lifeline.

If she stayed any longer, she’d burn everything down.

And I’d help her do it.