4

ETHAN

The door opens again.

She steps back into the executive meeting room, and my attention snaps straight to her.

For half a second, everything else disappears.

The long table. The city view outside the glass walls. The papers scattered in front of me.

None of it matters.

She walks directly toward me with steady steps, and something tight pulls inside my chest because my brain instantly goes somewhere dangerous.

She came back for me.

She feels this too.

I rise from my chair just as she reaches the seat she used earlier. I'm taller than her by enough that she has to tilt her head slightly upward, but she doesn't back away.

Not even when there are only inches between us.

I stare down at her, and my breathing immediately turns heavier. My heartbeat starts slamming hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.

Then her scent reaches me again.

Soft perfume. Warm skin. Something clean and addictive beneath it.

The closer she stands, the worse it gets.

The air between us feels charged. Thick. Like every nerve in my body suddenly woke up at once.

Energy rolls off her in waves, pressing into me so hard I can barely think straight anymore. My lungs pull in deeper breaths until I'm practically panting in front of her.

She leans forward slightly.

For one reckless second, I honestly think she's about to touch me.

Instead, her shoulder barely brushes against my chest as she reaches for her padfolio on the chair beside me.

The small contact shouldn't affect me this much.

But it does.

It really fucking does.

She opens the pocket of the padfolio, pulls out a business card, and presses it into my palm. Then she folds my fingers around it herself.

"My email is on there," she says calmly. "You can send me a memo explaining what you need done."

Her tone stays cool, but there's heat underneath it. Defiance. Pride.

"You may be my boss, but I'm a fourth-level director in this company at twenty-nine years old. I didn't get handed this position because of a trust fund. I earned it." Her eyes lock onto mine. "Don't underestimate my talent."

Then she turns toward the door like the conversation is over.

No chance.

I grab her lightly by the shoulder before she can leave and pull her back toward me.

Her body bumps against mine, close enough that my entire body tightens instantly.

My face hovers only inches from hers.

"Is that honestly what you think?" I ask quietly. "That a trust fund is the reason I'm here?"

Sophie's hazel eyes flick across my face slowly. My eyes. My mouth. Then back to my eyes again.

"If the shoe fits."

The answer should annoy me.

Instead, it only pulls me in deeper.

"Six o'clock tonight," I tell her. "Don't be late."

Her brows draw together immediately. "Late for what?"

"The top floor."

She blinks once. "What's on the top floor?"

"I'll send you the elevator code." I keep staring at her. "Go home first if you want. Change clothes. You don't need to wear work stuff."

Her expression hardens again.

"So I'm supposed to cancel my evening plans and work all night?"

I shrug slightly. "I thought talented people usually had strong work ethic too."

"You're an asshole," she mutters under her breath.

"Grade A."

Her glare sharpens.

My mouth is so close to hers now that if either of us moved even a little, we'd kiss.

Every instinct in me wants to close the distance.

I don't.

Barely.

I force myself to release her shoulder.

"And what if I don't show up?" she asks carefully.

"What do you think happens?"

"Nothing." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Your uncle respects me. He knows what I bring to this company. He wouldn't want me leaving for rival firms."

A short laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Because she's right.

Completely right.

I wouldn't fire her.

Hell, I probably couldn't even if I wanted to.

But she has no idea how much power she suddenly has over me already.

"Succession," I remind her. "Eventually he won't be here anymore. You understand that, right?"

The words leave my mouth cold and sharp.

Immediately, I hate myself for saying them that way.

Sophie's eyes narrow.

"Maybe I should leave for a rival firm now then."

Shit.

My pulse jumps hard inside my chest.

That is absolutely not where I wanted this to go.

I straighten slightly. "So you have talent, but no work ethic and no loyalty?"

Her jaw tightens.

"Wow," I continue. "Maybe Ethan's uncle was wrong about you after all."

She swallows hard before answering.

"You are genuinely the biggest dickhead I've ever met in my entire life."

I grin before I can stop myself.

"You can call me Mr. Calloway."

She shakes her head slowly like she can't believe I'm a real person, then turns toward the exit again.

"Six o'clock," I call after her. "Don't be late."

She keeps walking.

"And put on some fucking clothes."

She throws me one last furious glare before storming out of the executive meeting room.

The door slams hard enough to echo through the room.

Silence crashes down afterward.

I look at my still-clenched fist and slowly open it.

Her business card sits in my palm.

The moment I notice her cell number printed underneath her email, something stupidly excited twists inside me.

Jesus Christ.

Without thinking about whether this is a bad idea, I pull out my phone, save her contact information, and send her a message.

"Bring your laptop tonight."

Then I wait.

One minute passes.

Then another.

My phone finally shows that the message was delivered.

I tap my fingers against the conference table while staring at the screen like an idiot.

A few more long minutes crawl by before her reply finally appears.

"Who said I'm coming?"

A slow grin spreads across my face.

"Is that your no-work-ethic side talking?"

Her response comes back fast this time.

"Says the trust-fund CEO."

I lean back in my chair and stare at the text.

She really believes I had everything handed to me.

That none of this cost me anything.

"You sound jealous of my trust fund."

The second I send it, regret immediately punches me in the face.

Another arrogant comment.

Another stupid attempt to provoke her.

And the funniest part is that I don't even have a trust fund.

Her next reply appears almost instantly.

"Go fuck yourself."

My jaw tightens hard enough to ache.

No, sweetheart. That's supposed to be my job.

I drag a hand down my face.

Fuck.

Stop it, Ethan.

She is your employee.

I force myself to type something normal.

"The elevator code is 68524. Don't share it with anyone else."

I stare down at the message thread afterward.

Nothing good is going to happen tonight.

I knew it the second I invited her upstairs.

And somehow, knowing that only makes me want tonight more.

Another message appears.

"No one would care about the code if it involves you."

That one lands harder than it should.

I exhale sharply through my nose.

"Sushi, tacos, or pizza?"

No response.

Minutes drag by painfully slow.

I shift in my chair again, restless now.

"Fine. You can work all night and starve. Your choice."

This time, she answers.

"Thai."

I stare at the message for a second longer than necessary.

Then I immediately search Eastern Garden Restaurants that deliver nearby.

A huge list pops up on my screen.

Too many choices.

Since I'm still fairly new to Seattle, I have no idea which places are actually worth ordering from.

"Pick the restaurant and tell me what you want."

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Then appear again.

Finally, her response comes through.

"You're still assuming I'm going to show up."