CHAPTER 9

Morgan POV

My eyes didn't move from the presentation screen.

I sat in the sleek conference room, the correct one this time, and stared at the images flickering across the wall.

They ranged from Campaign concepts, target demographics, and brand partnerships.

All of which I knew, I mean this wasn't my first rodeo.

However none of it registered.

Because Damien was sitting two seats away from me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Far enough that I could pretend he didn't exist.

Except he did exist. Very much, and he was talking.

His voice filled the room. It was very professional, straight to the point, didn't dilly dally and quite powerful.

Powerful in the sense as he sounded like a man who commanded billion-dollar empires and expected everyone to fall in line.

"—luxury market positioning with cross-platform integration—"

I nodded like I understood, as if my brain wasn't screaming at me to jet away from him.

Kathy sat beside me, taking notes furiously. Asking questions. Being the professional I couldn't be right now.

Thank God for Kathy.

"Ms. Hayes?"

My head snapped up.

Damien was looking directly at me. Those gray eyes locked on mine with a strange intensity that made my skin prickle.

"I'm sorry, what?" The words came out shakier than I wanted.

"I asked what your initial thoughts are on the aesthetic direction." He gestured to the screen where some mood board was displayed. They were elegant and sophisticated. The kind of thing I should have opinions about.

"It's... nice," I managed.

‘Nice. Great job, Morgan. Very smart of you.’ I internally rolled my eyes.

"Nice," he repeated. "Can you be more specific?"

Heat crawled up my neck. Everyone in the room was looking at me now. Waiting.

"I think the color palette works," I said, forcing my brain to function. "And the styling feels... aspirational without being unattainable. Which is what you want for luxury positioning."

There. That sounded halfway intelligent.

Damien nodded slowly. "And the concept of featuring you in various intimate settings? Bedroom. Bathroom. Private spaces. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

The question hung in the air.

Intimate settings. Private spaces.

My face went hot.

"No," I said quickly. "I've done intimate shoots before. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine.

The idea of being photographed in bedroom settings while Damien Cross potentially watched made my stomach twist into knots.

But I couldn't say that. Couldn't explain why without revealing everything.

"Good." His eyes held mine for a beat too long. "We want you comfortable. This campaign is built around authenticity. Around making our audience feel something real."

Real.

The word felt like a joke.

He went back to the presentation. Discussing concepts and demographics and market penetration like he was talking about the weather. All business. No warmth. No recognition of what we'd once been to each other.

Because to him, we'd never been anything.

I'd been a distraction, a game, something to bed while he plans his future with another.

While to me, he'd been everything.

‘God Morgan you're so stupid.’

I studied him covertly while he talked. Tried to see the man I'd known on that plane six years ago.

He was still there. Underneath the expensive suit and the CEO persona. The sharp jaw. The way his hands moved when he explained something. The intensity in his eyes.

But there was something new too.

A hardness that hadn't been there before. Lines around his eyes that spoke of stress and sleepless nights. A tightness in his jaw that suggested he carried weight no one else could see.

He looked successful.

He looked miserable.

My eyes dropped to his hands as he gestured to another slide.

No ring.

His left hand was bare. No wedding band. No tan line where one used to be.

Nothing.

My chest tightened.

Where was the ring? Where was the wife he'd had on the news six years ago? The pregnant wife with the perfect smile and the diamond that could blind someone?

Had he taken it off? Did he not wear it at work?

Or had something happened?

The questions spiraled through my mind. Each one making the anger in my chest burn hotter.

Because what if they'd divorced? What if his perfect marriage had fallen apart?

What if he was free now?

The thought made me want to scream.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd made his choice six years ago. He'd chosen her. Chosen to erase me like I never existed. Chosen to ignore my calls and send some cold assistant to tell me I was terminated.

Like a business transaction.

And now he sat here. Ringless. Acting like we were some strangers. Like he hadn't fucked me until I screamed his name, and promised me the world.

The anger tunneled deeper. Twisted through my chest like something alive.

I was pissed.

Furious.

How dare he? How dare he sit here looking haunted and tired like he'd suffered? Like his life had been hard?

I'd raised his children alone. Worked myself to exhaustion. Built a life from nothing while he lived in his penthouse and flew on private jets and probably never thought about the girl from the plane.

My hands clenched in my lap. Nails digging into my palms.

"—which brings us to the timeline," Damien was saying. "We're looking at a twelve-month campaign with quarterly releases. The first shoot is scheduled for two weeks from now. Location hasn't been finalized yet, but we're considering several options."

Twelve months.

One year of this. Of sitting in meetings with him. Of pretending I didn't know him. Of keeping my boys hidden.

One year of slowly losing my mind.

"Any questions?" Damien looked around the room. His eyes landed on me again. "Ms. Hayes?"

"No." The word came out flat. "No questions."

He studied me for a moment.

Then he nodded. "Good. Jennifer will coordinate all the details with Ms. Lawrence. We'll be in touch about the shoot schedule."

The meeting was over. Finally.

Everyone else started gathering their things. Kathy was already talking to Jennifer, her voice bright with professional enthusiasm.

I didn't stay seated.

I stood up before anyone else could move. Before Kathy could ask if I was okay or Damien could look at me again with those eyes that saw nothing.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

My vision was blurred with rage.

I'd always imagined meeting him again. Thought of what I'd say or not say. Thought if I'd scream or fight him for breaking me or even thank him for giving the greatest gift of all the boy—

I slammed into something solid, pushing me to the floor.

Strong hands caught my arms, steadying me before I could fall backward.

"Whoa there." The voice was boisterous. "Careful, sweetheart."

I looked up.

The man holding me was almost as tall as Damien. Dark hair, similar features. But where Damien was all sharp edges and cold professionalism, this man was smiling and warm.

Stark opposite as well as almost twins.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at me.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, pulling back. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No need to apologize." He didn't let go right away. His hands lingered on my arms just a second too long. "Running into beautiful women is the highlight of my day."

Heat crept up my neck. Was he—was he flirting?

"I should really—" I tried to step around him.

He moved with me. Still smiling. Still blocking my path.

"At least let me get your name," he said. His voice had dropped lower. More intimate. "So I know who to thank for brightening my afternoon."

Oh God. He was definitely flirting.

"It's alright, love," he continued when I didn't answer. "You don't have to tell me. I'm patient. We'll run into each other again. Literally, if I'm lucky."

He winked.

Actually winked.

A throat cleared behind us.

Sharp. Annoyed.

I turned.

Damien stood in the doorway of the conference room. His expression was thunderous. Those gray eyes locked on his brother, because this had to be his brother, they looked too similar, with barely contained fury.

"I'm sorry for my brother's dirty behaviour," Damien gritted. "He's just leaving. Just as he came."

The temperature in the hallway dropped about twenty degrees.

The man holding my arms finally let go. But his smile didn't fade.

"Damien," he said cheerfully. "Always a pleasure to see you too, brother."

"Marcus." Damien's jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might crack. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not particularly." Marcus, apparently that was his name, glanced back at me. "I was just getting acquainted with your lovely guest."

"She's not a guest. She's working for the company. Which means she's off-limits to your usual bullshit."

The words hit like a slap.

Off-limits.

Like I was property. He doesn't have any right to decide who could talk to me.

The anger in my chest flared hotter.

"It's alright," I said. My voice came out colder than I intended. "I was just leaving anyway."

I tried to move past both of them.

Marcus stepped aside easily. "Hope to see you around, sweetheart."

Damien didn't move.

I had to brush past him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Close enough to remember everything I was trying to forget.

"Ms. Hayes."

His voice stopped me.

I didn't turn around. Couldn't.

"Yes?"

"The contract includes a morality clause. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep things professional while you're working with us."

Professional.

The word felt like a knife between my ribs.

I finally turned to face him, meeting those gray eyes head-on.

"Of course, Mr. Cross," I said sweetly. "Completely professional. That's what this is, right? Just business."

Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read.

"Exactly."

"Morgan!"

Kathy appeared at my side, slightly breathless. Her hand wrapped around my elbow.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said quickly. "But we really need to go. We have that other appointment."

We didn't have another appointment. Kathy was lying, giving me an escape.

Thank God for Kathy.

"Of course." I forced a smile. "Mr. Cross. It was... enlightening meeting you."

I let Kathy pull me away before he could respond.

We headed for the elevator. I could feel his eyes burning on my back.

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. Just before they closed, I caught one last glimpse of Damien.

He was still standing in the hallway.

Watching me.