Chapter Seven - Defiance & Bargain

 

(Logan’s POV)

I was exactly thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds late. I counted every single one of them as I walked toward the Executive Lounge, dragging the delay out like a fine torture.

Damian Blackwell liked control. He liked precision. He liked knowing where every piece on his chessboard was, and right now, the most powerful piece, the one he’d just admitted he couldn't afford to lose, was wandering around enjoying the mild Chicago evening.

The air still tasted like him. Not just the musky, expensive cologne, but the scent that had erupted from him in the elevator: stormy cedar and the sharp tang of his rage. I ran my tongue over my lower lip, remembering the brutal, demanding pressure of his mouth. He called it a "physiological response to panic." I called it a lie. It was a kiss that had cracked the foundation of my revenge.

Don’t flatter yourself, Cross. I will take you apart piece by piece.

The threat from the previous meeting had been a raw, vibrating shock of pure sexual dominance. It should have terrified me. Instead, it had been a key, a secret to a door I never knew existed. Damian wasn't just my target; he was the first person to ever look at me and see not just talent, but something to tame. And the fledgling wolf buried deep in my core, the part the bite had awakened, had actually thrilled at the challenge.

I pushed open the door to the lounge.

Damian was standing exactly where he had been before, arms crossed, staring out at the city lights. He looked like the world’s most powerful silhouette, all slicked-back hair and tailored angles. The way he held himself, rigid, restrained, told me the truth: he was fighting the tension harder than I was. Good.

“Look who decided to show,” he clipped, turning around. His gray eyes were chips of ice, instantly assessing and dangerous. “You’re late.”

“Am I?” I feigned surprise, pulling off my hood and shrugging. “Must have gotten held up. Maybe I was reflecting on my future employment prospects. You know, since you just threatened to fire me and make my life a living hell.”

I walked toward the expensive leather couch and deliberately dropped onto it, stretching my legs out, settling in like I was about to watch a movie. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, but I forced my face into the arrogant mask that always maddened him.

Damian walked toward the coffee table, planting his hands on it and leaning over. The distance was small enough to be a warning.

“Let’s dispense with the theatrics, Logan. You know why you’re here. You know what happened in the elevator was an anomaly that will not be repeated. You are an employee. I am your owner. End of discussion.”

“End of discussion? When you’re the one who dragged me here?” I laughed, light and mocking. “You’re scared. You’re terrified of the anomaly. Because I didn’t just kiss back, Damian. I kissed harder. I felt what you wanted, and it wasn’t professional.”

I watched his jaw tick. It was the only visible crack in his facade.

“You have no idea what you felt,” he ground out. “You’re a brat using provocation to get attention. I gave you attention. Now the debt is paid. Focus on the championship.”

“My focus is perfect,” I retorted, sitting up and meeting his gaze, letting all the cold, calculated revenge seep into my green eyes. “My focus is on making sure your face is all over the news every time I score, forcing you to shake my hand and praise the asset you can’t control. My focus is on making you look like a winner just so I can rip the rug out from under you later.”

He stiffened. “You misunderstand the dynamics of control. I will crush you first.”

“No, you misunderstand,” I countered, leaning forward and mimicking his intensity, using the exact words I knew would dismantle his argument. “I am your greatest weapon right now. If I falter, if I get too distracted by my revenge, or by Julian Drake, or by the strange, primal things that happen when your hands are on me, you lose the championship. The Titan deal collapses. Your rivals—Elias—they all win.”

I watched him blink, recognizing the cold, strategic logic. It was the only language he understood.

“So, what’s the solution?” I continued, my voice dropping, pulling him into the conspiracy. “You can’t control me by threatening me, because I thrive on defiance. But you can control me by ensuring I’m physically and mentally optimized to win for your team.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, waiting. “Get to the point, Cross.”

“The point is simple: Forced Proximity,” I said, relishing the way the phrase sounded in the tense silence. “You and I both know the tension between us is volatile. It’s affecting my sleep, my focus, and my compliance. If you want me delivering miracles on the ice, you need to channel that energy.”

I paused, letting the implication hang. Channel the energy.

“I propose secret training sessions,” I articulated, making it sound entirely professional and necessary. “High-intensity, private meetings. Away from the rink, away from the eyes, where we can resolve this tension without risking your reputation or my contract. You can coach, command, and discipline my energy. And I get to use you as my personal motivation. It ensures I stay focused on winning, and it keeps me away from Julian’s tempting offers.”

It was the most brazen, self-serving, and utterly manipulative proposal I’d ever made. I was packaging explicit, forbidden sex as a corporate strategy.

Damian’s chest rose and fell heavily. The owner in him was raging against the manipulation, but the pragmatist was recognizing the brilliant, terrible necessity of the deal. His eyes were suddenly dark, fixed on my mouth.

“You are suggesting I breach every ethical code I hold just to satisfy some base animalistic urge and secure a championship?” he demanded, his voice barely a rasp.

“I’m suggesting you do what you always do, Boss,” I challenged, using the title intentionally. “You prioritize control and victory. I’m giving you a way to kill two birds with one stone. You get to monitor your asset, and I get to drain the distracting sexual energy that you created in that elevator. We call it performance conditioning.”

He stood back, finally breaking the proximity, running a weary hand through his slicked-back hair, slightly messing it up. It was a sign of distress.

“And you think this arrangement will curb your appetite for revenge?”

I gave him a slow, cold smile. “It will fuel it. Every time you touch me, every time you take me, I’ll remember how much power I have over you, how much you risk just to satisfy a need. It’s the ultimate way to dismantle the untouchable Mr. Blackwell from the inside. I get to play the game and win the war.”

It was a total lie. I wanted him. But my strategic mind needed to believe it was a calculated risk.

Damian walked back to the window, staring out at the Chicago skyline he owned. The silence was thick with unspoken desire and calculated risk.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice heavy with defeat, though his words were a harsh victory. “But we operate under my rules. Absolute secrecy. Absolute compliance. And you will not speak of this to Julian or anyone else. If anyone suspects, the deal is off, and your contract will be the least of your worries.”

“Deal,” I confirmed, feeling a wicked, primal satisfaction curl in my gut. I had just tricked my enemy into becoming my secret lover, all under the guise of corporate sabotage.

He turned back, and his gaze was hotter now, stripped of the corporate chill. It was purely predatory. “I’ll send you the address of the training facility. Tonight. Don’t be late, Logan.”

I stood up, adjusting my hoodie. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”

I walked out feeling triumphant, reckless, and terrified. I’d managed to secure the intimate access I craved, but I had just stepped into the owner’s territory, knowing he intended to use his full power to dominate me. The war had just gotten infinitely more dangerous and impossibly more thrilling.