Chapter 5

For four agonizing weeks, silence was the only answer Jason received.

He had set Mark on Celeste’s trail with unlimited resources, ordering every asset, contact, and surveillance channel turned inside out. Yet she remained a ghost, vanishing into the underbelly of the city without a footprint. The uncertainty ate at Jason from the inside out. Terrified that his presence would draw Celeste’s crosshairs directly to Selina, he had deliberately stayed away from the corporate tower, appearing only in brief, erratic bursts when the gnawing urge to see her overcame his restraint.

Today was no different. He arrived late in the afternoon, intending only to confirm with his own eyes that she was breathing before retreating into the shadows once more.

When he reached the executive floor, her desk sat conspicuously empty. A spike of adrenaline hit his chest. Stepping into his private office, he pressed the intercom buzzer on his desk.

“Selina. In my office, please.”

Two minutes later, a crisp knock sounded against the frosted glass.

“Come in,” he called, bracing himself.

The door opened, and Selina stepped through. The sight of her—alive, unharmed, holding an illuminated tablet against her chest—released the iron band around his ribs, even as the cold, guarded expression on her face delivered a fresh sting.

“You asked to see me, Mr. Williams?” she asked, her voice as smooth and emotionless as glass.

Jason leaned against the edge of his mahogany desk, studying the rigid posture she held. “I need a comprehensive debrief on the Peterson account and the general status of the floor during my absence. Mark gave me an overview, but I suspect he left out operational details.”

It was a blatant excuse. He only wanted to hear her voice, to keep her in the room for another five minutes.

Selina barely glanced at her tablet, her thumb swiping methodically across the screen. “Mr. Mark was thorough, sir. Every file is up to date, every contract has been processed, and there are no pending anomalies. You are completely caught up.”

She looked directly into his eyes, a gaze stripped bare of the warmth that had lingered in her apartment a month ago.

Jason tilted his head, intrigued despite the knot tightening in his gut. “Are you angry with me, Miss Woods?”

Selina let out a dry, breathy scoff. “Angry? Why on earth would I be angry with my employer? That would be entirely unprofessional.”

A faint, self-deprecating smile pulled at Jason’s mouth. He pushed off the desk and began to close the distance between them with slow, measured strides. “You are furious about something, Selina. What is it?”

He stopped just a few feet away, crossing his arms, keeping the leash tight on every instinct urging him to pull her against him.

Selina inhaled deeply, her chin lifting in defiance. “Mr. Williams, I have neither the right nor the desire to hold personal grievances against my boss. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn't share them with you.”

“So you admit there is something.” Jason took another step, eliminating the remaining space until the subtle scent of vanilla and jasmine radiating from her skin filled his senses. “Is it work-related? Or did I do something personal to earn this icy treatment?”

Selina’s breath hitched. Overwhelmed by his proximity, she turned sharply to walk away.

Instinct overrode restraint. Jason reached out and caught her upper arm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was unyielding.

She froze, turning back to face him, color rising along her high cheekbones. “There... there is an executive gala tonight,” she stammered, her composure splintering. “The Peterson board and their associates will be in attendance. Should I submit your cancellation notice?”

Jason didn't answer immediately. Instead, his hand slid down from her arm, his fingers lightly brushing her wrist before he guided her a step closer.

“This is better,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, velvet timber. “Are you still angry with me?”

Her dark eyes searched his, full of questions he couldn't answer. A loose strand of hair had caught against the glossy sheen of her lower lip. Jason lifted his hand, his knuckles brushing her warm cheek as he gently tucked the stray lock behind her ear.

His thumb hovered, then pressed against the contour of her bottom lip, tracing the soft swell before gliding across the upper one.

The contact sent a shockwave through him. He could feel the slight tremble running through her frame.

“Your gloss is sticky, Selina,” he whispered, his thumb resting right at the seam of her lips. “Is this why you're angry?”

Selina parted her lips to answer, and the tip of his thumb slipped past them. The hot, wet brush of her tongue met his skin.

Jason’s head tilted back slightly on a ragged exhale, a low groan catching deep in his throat. When his gaze snapped back down to hers, the professional veneer was entirely gone, replaced by raw, unvarnished hunger.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he said, his second hand coming up to cup the nape of her neck, fingers weaving into her hair to draw her face inches from his. “You really shouldn't test me, Miss Woods.”

Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them. Selina didn't pull back. Her eyes drifted shut for a single, suspended second, leaning instinctively into the firm cradle of his hand.

For the past month, the memory of his stare in her apartment had haunted her sleep. Every time he failed to show up at the office, or worse, walked past her desk without a single glance, she had convinced herself it was a fantasy, a humiliating delusion. Yet here he was, pulling her apart with a single touch, confirming every silent promise that had passed between them.

Selina opened her eyes. Deliberately, she pressed a soft kiss to the side of his thumb before gently slipping it from her mouth.

“I just needed to know it wasn't all in my head,” she whispered, watching his chest rise and fall beneath his tailored shirt. “That’s all.”

Jason’s jaw hardened, his pulse visibly thudding at the base of his throat. “Believe me... it isn't in your head.”

Then, with an effort that felt like tearing muscle from bone, Jason stepped back. His hands fell away, and he retreated behind the barrier of his desk, fighting to regain command of his breathing.

“But we cannot cross this line,” he said, his tone tight, strained by the secret weight he carried. “I cannot do that to you.”

Selina felt the phantom warmth of his hands turn to ice on her skin. A quiet humiliation washed through her, but she swallowed it down, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her hair with practiced efficiency.

“Understood, sir,” she said, her voice completely even. “That is the only appropriate answer. I will notify the Peterson organizers that you won't be attending tonight's function.”

“Don't cancel,” Jason countered, looking up as his composure settled back into place. “We are going.”

Selina paused. “We?”

“Yes. You will accompany me. I'll have a car dispatched to your apartment by six, along with a gown suited for the venue.”

“If I am attending in an official capacity, there is no need for a car or a dress,” Selina replied smoothly, her pride flaring. “I have appropriate attire, and if I don't, I am fully capable of purchasing my own. I will meet you at the venue, Mr. Williams.”

Jason frowned slightly. “You will be expected to remain at my side throughout the evening as my personal assistant.”

“Then I will fulfill my duties, sir. I'll see you tonight.”

She offered a crisp, formal bow. Jason hesitated, then mirrored the gesture. Without another word, Selina turned on her heel and exited the office.