Chapter 2

JENNA

His hand is warm.

That's the first thing I notice—warm, steady, confident, like he's done this a thousand times.

I'm not sure why I take it.

Maybe because I'm new here.

Maybe because something about him feels inevitable.

We step into the cold night, and his hand doesn't let go.

He doesn't rush.

He just walks beside me, matching my pace, like the city belongs to him and he's decided to lend me a piece of it.

The streets are quieter here, away from the bar noise, just the hum of traffic and the occasional siren somewhere blocks away.

"Where are you staying?"

"On 82nd. A small apartment. I just moved in."

"Montana to Manhattan. That's a hell of a jump."

"Yeah. I'm still adjusting."

"You will. This city tests you. But if you survive it, it becomes yours."

"Is it yours?"

His jaw tightens. "It used to be."

There's a story there, something sharp, but I don't push.

"Why did you come to New York?" he asks.

"My parents died when I was little. My grandparents raised me in Montana. They always wanted me to chase something bigger."

He looks at me, really looks, and something in his expression softens.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Pain doesn't care about time."

"Do you have family? Besides the friends who dare you into things?"

"A mother. A company full of people who report to me. Not much else."

"That sounds lonely."

"It's efficient."

"That's not the same thing."

He glances at me sideways. "No. It isn't."

We walk another block before he speaks again.

"My father built the company. Died when I was twenty-six. I took over three days after the funeral."

"That's fast."

"Grief doesn't pay shareholders."

"Neither does silence, but you're doing plenty of that too."

That earns me the smallest laugh, low and surprised, like it escaped before he could stop it.

"What about you? Why were you at the bar tonight?"

"My friends dragged me out."

"Because of the dare?"

He stops walking.

He turns, eyes dark. "You heard that."

"I didn't mean to."

"It doesn't matter. I didn't choose you because of the dare."

"Then why?"

He steps closer. "Because you were the only woman in that bar who wasn't trying to be seen."

"I wasn't hiding."

"You were. But not from me."

"I'm not used to this."

"To what?"

"Men like you. Confident. Intense. Dangerous."

"You keep using that word. Dangerous."

"Because it fits."

"Has anyone actually hurt you? Or is this a general policy?"

"General policy. Works well so far."

"I'll try not to ruin your streak."

A slow smile curves his lips. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"Yes."

He leans in, his breath brushing my ear. "Good."

We start walking again, the air between us charged now.

"So what do you do," I ask, "when you're not being dared into things?"

"Run a company. Sit in meetings that could've been emails. Disappoint my mother."

"Sounds thrilling."

"You have no idea."

"Do you like it? The company?"

He considers the question longer than I expect. "I like winning. I don't know if that's the same as liking it."

"That's a very rich-person answer."

"I am, in fact, a very rich person."

"I noticed the coat."

"Everyone notices the coat."

At my building, I stop at the steps.

"This is me."

He watches me with an intensity that makes my pulse race.

"Thank you for walking me home."

"You shouldn't walk alone at night. Not in this city."

"I'll be careful."

He steps closer. "I don't want you to be careful. I want you to be safe."

He's too close.

Too much.

"Jaxon."

His eyes darken when I say his name.

"Say it again."

"Jaxon."

He exhales slowly, like the sound does something to him.

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and the world tilts.

"Tell me to leave."

I can't.

I don't want to.

"Say something," he murmurs. "Anything. Tell me to stop."

"I don't want you to stop."

"Then tell me what you do want."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"You don't have to know. Just feel."

He leans in, close enough to taste his breath, close enough to fall.

I want to kiss him.

Fear grips me instead.

I pull back. "I can't."

He freezes—not angry, just still.

"Because you're a virgin," he says quietly.

I nod, embarrassed, waiting for the mood to shatter completely.

"Is that a problem?" I ask.

"No." His voice is rougher now. "It's the opposite of a problem."

"Then why do you look like someone just cancelled your flight?"

"Because I want you, and wanting you the way I want you isn't something I get to have tonight."

He steps back, hands raised slightly. "Jenna, I'm not going to touch you. Not like that. Not tonight."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve more than a dare. And I'm not that man with you."

"Who are you with me?"

He hesitates, then whispers, "Someone I don't recognize."

"Go inside," he says, stepping back to give me space.

I turn toward the door, my hand trembling on the handle.

"Jenna."

I look over my shoulder.

"I'm glad I met you tonight."

"Even with the dare?"

"Especially with the dare." A pause. "I would've found you eventually. The dare just sped it up."

"That's either very romantic or very unsettling."

"With me, it's usually both. You'll get used to that, if this becomes a habit."

"Is it going to become a habit?"

"I hope so."

"Goodnight," he says.

"Goodnight."

I slip inside, leaning against the door, breathless.

I don't know what tonight was.

But I know one thing—I'm not going to forget him.

I press my palm flat against my chest, half expecting to still feel his hand there.

I don't sleep much.

**

The next morning, nerves buzz through me.

First day at my new job.

I dress carefully—white blouse, black skirt, hair pulled back.

I take the subway, rehearsing my introduction, and stare up at the building in awe.

Vale Industries, gleaming in silver letters across the glass.

"Hi, I'm Jenna Hart. I'm the new executive secretary."

"Welcome. You'll be working on the top floor. The CEO's office."

My stomach flips.

CEO.

"Is he—" I clear my throat. "What's he like?"

The receptionist gives me a look that's half sympathy, half warning. "Brilliant. Terrifying. Fair, if you do your job." She lowers her voice. "Don't be late. Ever."

"Noted."

"And don't take it personally if he doesn't say good morning. He doesn't say good morning to anyone."

"What if he already has?"

She blinks at me like I've grown a second head, then shakes it off. "Then congratulations. You're already ahead of the entire fortieth floor."

I nod, filing that away like it might matter.

I take the elevator up, my heels clicking softly down a sleek hallway.

I knock on the largest office at the end.

"Come in," a deep voice calls.

I open the door and freeze.

Jaxon is standing behind the desk.

His eyes widen.

My breath stops.

He whispers my name like a curse and a prayer at once, like he can't decide which one it is yet.

"Jenna?"