Chapter 12

Elena’s POV

The jet touched down with a gentle thud that still made my stomach flip, but this time I didn’t grip the armrests like my life depended on it.

Jonathan’s technique had worked. After breathing in and out for a few minutes, he ended up talking to me about a lot of things and it actually kept my mind from going into a full blown panic.

I hated that it had worked but deep down I was grateful too, even if I’d never admit it out loud.

“See?” he said as we taxied toward the terminal. “Not so bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, unbuckling my seatbelt. “You weren’t the one convinced we were going to plummet into the ocean.”

“We were never going to plummet into the ocean.”

“My brain doesn’t care about logic when we’re thirty thousand feet in the air.”

He smiled and for a moment he looked almost human. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Next time. The way he said it as if we will be traveling together permanently made my stomach drop. He always had a way of making me feel a lot of things in a short amount of time and it was infuriating.

We got down and made our way through the private terminal, where customs took one look at Jonathan’s passport and waved us through without question. Apparently being a billionaire meant you didn’t have to wait in line like normal people.

Outside, a black car was already waiting, and within minutes we were pulling up to a hotel that looked like it cost more per night than my monthly rent.

The lobby was all marble and gold, with massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and staff members who moved like they’d been trained to look and act as good as robots. It was almost frightening.

I walked up to the reception desk while Jonathan hung back, checking something on his phone.

“Good evening,” the receptionist said with a bright smile. “Checking in?”

“Yes. Reservation under Hart.”

She typed something into her computer, her smile never wavering. “Ah, yes. The Executive Suite. Just one moment while I get your keys.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry, did you say suite? Singular?”

“Yes, ma’am. The Executive Suite on the top floor.”

“There should be two rooms,” I said, glancing back at Jonathan, who was now standing right behind me. “I booked two separate rooms.”

“I canceled one of them,” he said calmly.

I turned to stare at him. “You did what?”

“I canceled one of the rooms,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We don’t need two.”

“Jonathan…”

“You’re my personal manager,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “We’re going to be working late tonight, preparing for tomorrow’s meeting. It makes more sense for us to be in the same suite so we can work better together hmm?”

The receptionist was watching us with that same pleasant smile, clearly trying to pretend she wasn’t listening to every word.

I wanted to argue. Sharing a suite was completely , and totally inappropriate and crossed about a dozen professional boundaries.

But he was already walking toward the elevator, and the receptionist was handing me the key card with a polite nod.

I had no choice but to follow.

The suite was ridiculous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. A living area with plush couches and a dining table. A full kitchen. And yes, as I’d suspected, only one bedroom.

One bed.

A massive king-sized bed that looked like it could comfortably sleep four people, but still. One bed.

“I’ll take the balcony,” Jonathan said, dropping his bag on the couch. “You can have the bed.”

I set my bag down and turned to face him. “This is insane. We can’t share a suite.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s inappropriate.”

“Says so?”

“Says me, says everything and everyone, and anyone half decent.”

He shrugged, loosening his tie. “We’re adults, Elena. I think we can manage to be in the same space without it becoming a scandal.”

I wanted to argue more, but he was already pulling out files from his briefcase, spreading them across the dining table like we were going to get straight to work.

Which, apparently, we were.

I sighed and joined him at the table, pushing aside my discomfort and focusing on the task at hand.

We spent the next two hours going over projections, reviewing contracts, and preparing talking points for tomorrow’s meeting. Jonathan was sharp, focused, asking questions that forced me to think faster and deeper than I had in months.

It was exhausting. But it was also exhilarating.

“We’re missing something,” he said suddenly, flipping through the stack of papers. “The financial breakdown from Q3. Where is it?”

I frowned and checked my own files. “It should be here.”

“Well, it’s not.”

I mentally retraced my steps, trying to remember where I’d put that specific document. And then it hit me.

“It’s in the car,” I said. “I must have left it in the folder I was reviewing on the way here.”

Jonathan glanced at his watch. “The driver’s gone for the night.”

“I’ll go get it,” I said, standing up. “I have the keys to the trunk.”

“Elena, it’s late…”

“I’ll be fine. It’ll take five minutes.”

Before he could argue, I grabbed my jacket and headed out.

The parking garage was dimly lit and eerily quiet, my footsteps echoing off the concrete as I made my way to the car.

I found the folder exactly where I’d left it, tucked into the side pocket of the backseat. I grabbed it and turned to head back inside when I heard the low and rumbling sound of thunder.

It sounded like the sky was cracking open.

I looked up and saw the first flash of lightning, followed immediately by the sound of rain. The rain was really heavy.

I froze.

No. No, no, no.

There was another crack of thunder, which was louder this time, and the lights in the garage flickered.

My heart started pounding, my breath coming faster as the storm intensified. I tried to move, tried to make myself walk back toward the elevator, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Thunderstorms had terrified me since I was a child. The sound, the unpredictability, the way the world seemed to shake and tremble like it was falling apart.

I pressed my back against the car, gripping the folder so hard it crumpled in my hands.

Another flash of lightning. Another deafening crack of thunder.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

And then, suddenly, I was being lifted off the ground.

Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against a solid chest, and I looked up to see Jonathan’s face, his jaw set with determination.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice cutting through the roar of the storm.

And for the first time that night, I believed him.