Chapter 4: The CEO

Ava

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Silence

Pin-drop silence.

If I thought people were focusing on me before, the whole world was doing it now.

To Mr Sinclair’s credit, he doesn’t move, almost as if he’s completely unfazed that I’ve touched him. But I’ve dealt with men who mask their emotions in the past, and there’s no denying the glimmer of rage in his eye.

If I should be scared, I don’t feel it. Seeing him barely react only makes my itch to harm him grow. To my left, a lady who was carrying glasses of champagne around the room has now frozen. I take a glass off the tray and throw the drink in Mr Sinclair’s face, causing the audience to gasp.

This shocks him a bit more, and he takes a graceful step back with his jaw clenched.

Good.

“Listen,” I say, “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but you don’t phase me. If you think you can throw a few thousand dollars at me and then treat me however you want, you’re greatly mistaken. Why don’t you find some other poor helpless girl to fuck with because it surely wouldn’t be me.”

Even though I know high-end events like these don’t allow recordings, it seems this legendary fight has allowed people to forget that rule. I watch as Axion tech phones go up in the crowd, the most expensive phones on the planet, and seeing them makes me realize just how rich these people are.

Mr Sinclair’s glance shuffles around the room, and I see what I think is caution settle in his grey irises.

“Stop yelling.” He warns in a low tone only I can hear, “It’s not a good look for us.”

I snort. Us? All of a sudden we’re in this together? I flex my hand with the need to hit him again, but hold myself back.

Somewhere in my head is a quiet, anxious voice telling me I actually do need to lower my tone. Reminding me what’s at stake if these videos leak and my ex-lover finds me.

But then Mr Sinclair whispers, “You’re a lot stupider than I thought, Mi Valienta” and any caution I had flies out the window, even as that nickname does something to my insides I can't explain. .

“Brave.” I correct him, stepping closer “I’m way braver than you think.”

“Your “bravery” is going to cost me my already shattered reputation. What do you think people are going to say when a video of a woman slapping me gets to the press?” He whispers lowly, his deep voice full of anger and… worry? Do stoic, sexy billionaires worry?

I peel my glance away from him to stare around the room, and I hate that my heart jolts as I face the thousands of people present, the flash of their cameras blinding me in return.

Oh no.

Since “the incident”, I’ve done everything I can to make sure my ex-lover doesn’t find me, but if these rich assholes post this video online and it goes viral, Sinclair has a point. It will ruin hsi already bad reputation.

And me? Well, I’ll be worse than dead.

I look back at him, trying hard to remember where exactly I know him from. Sinclair. The name rings a bell, a warning one.

Almost as suddenly as the worry in his grey eyes appeared, it disappears. Instead, he wears a thoughtful look. I can tell the gears in his head are spinning, trying to find a way out of this situation he’s worried will spoil his reputation.

Finally, his eyes widen, and it’s like something clicks, because he turns back to me with a sort of determination I can only define as terrifying.

“I can’t believe you’re about to make me do this.” He whispers to me.

I want to ask him exactly what it is he’s about to do, but I’m not as quick to speak as he is to move.

He closes the gap between us, cupping my face with rough hands. I let out a small gasp at the lack of space that now exists between us.

“What are you doing?” I ask, shocked that I’m a little breathless.

“Fixing your fucking mess.” He mutters.

Before I can think of my next reply, he crashes his lips to mine.

What the fuck?

I hear the clicks of cameras and “awws” of people around us as Mr Sinclair holds onto me for dear life.

I want to push him away, or.. at least I think I want to push him away, but his lips are surprisingly soft, and a shiver runs down my spine as my hands find themselves in the waves of his hair.

His fingers skillfully knot in my thick red hair, tangling and pulling me closer in one incredible move. His mouth moves expertly against mine, and I have no choice but to follow his lead.

I hear a second wave of cameras go off, and I should care, but I’ve never lost myself in a kiss like this before. A tingling feeling ignites in my lower belly, leaving me burning for more.

Suddenly, Sinclair breaks away. The look in his eyes is impassive, as if he didn’t have the same exhilarating experience I just had, and this pisses me off, my hand begging to slap him again.

How could I feel something so raw for him one minute and something so spiteful the next? My confusion and caution mingle, and I back away from him slightly.

“What was… What the hell did you do that for?” I whisper-yell, a mix of anger and something else I can’t explain twisted in my chest.

“Like I said,” He whispers back with a hoarse voice, “I’m fixing your fucking mess.”

Without another word, I run for the doors. I don’t stop to see if anyone has followed me or to take my art back home, I simply move as quickly as my flower heels will let me.

It’s only when I get outside and see the banner for the evening that I stop in my tracks, panting like a madwoman.

I was super early, so I never got to see them put up the banner in honour of the sponsor and owner of the event, and if I had, I may have just turned home and risked getting kicked out by The Madame, because right there on the banner is Sinclair’s full face. Alongside that, written in bold, red print, it says the entire event is paid through Axion tech.

Because Sinclair is the fucking CEO of Axion Tech.

I stumble over the sidewalk in horror as all the pieces click together: his familiar face, his powerful presence, all the money he had to throw at a few paintings.

Not only that, but I remember the news story from 4 years ago, the one that played in the background during “the incident” about a billionaire getting a divorce.

I look at the top of the banner, swallowing my nausea as I do, because larger than everything is his full name…

Leonel Sinclair.

That Leonel from the news.

“Ava Jade Allard.” I whisper to myself as I try not to faint, “You are so fucking dead.”