Chapter 24: Contract

Andres's POV

I leaned against my desk, arms crossed, repeating the same line in my head like a damn mantra. She’s the most qualified, that’s all. Nothing more.

Jefferson walked in holding a fresh cup of coffee, eyebrows already raised like he could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

“Andres, you sure about putting Rosa on the Creston deal?” he asked, sipping slowly. “That old man is brutal. He’s chewed up three teams this quarter alone.”

“She’s sharp, Jeff. Quick thinker, reads people like a book. Better than half the seniors we’ve got,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “She can handle it.”

Jefferson nodded. That slow, deliberate nod that meant he thought I was out of my mind but wasn’t dumb enough to say it outright. “Qualified, huh? Or is this about something else? After that whole… lagoon situation you won’t talk about.”

I shot him a hard look. “Drop it. This is business. Creston wants someone who won’t waste his time, and Rosa doesn’t waste time. End of discussion.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Jefferson muttered, heading for the door. “Just don’t let whatever’s going on between you two blows up in the boardroom. That old money bastard smells weakness from a hundred yards.”

The door clicked shut. I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair. It’s just business. She’s good at her job. That’s why.

The boardroom felt like a pressure cooker the next morning. Mr. Creston arrived exactly on time, silver hair slicked back, expensive suit screaming old money. He scanned the table like a king inspecting peasants and decided in under sixty seconds that most of us were idiots.

“Mr. Beaumont,” he said, voice gravelly, “I don’t have patience for young guns chasing trends. I want stability. Real stability.”

Before I could respond, Rosa leaned forward slightly, calm as ever.

“Mr. Creston, I went through the projections you sent,” she said smoothly, sliding a folder across the polished table. “You’re not looking for flashy returns. You’re protecting what your father built. That kind of legacy deserves respect, not some PowerPoint full of buzzwords.”

Creston’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t cut her off. That alone was a miracle.

“Go on,” he grunted, scratching his eyebrows.

Rosa adjusted in real time, reading every twitch of his face. “Most firms would push aggressive growth here,” she continued, pointing at a chart. “But I noticed your last three deals focused on long-term partnerships, not quick flips. Am I right?”

The old man actually leaned back, studying her. “You’re not as green as you look, Miss Morales. Most of your generation only cares about fast money.”

She smiled, small and genuine. “Fast money burns out. My aunt raised me on stories about men like your father building something that lasts. That’s rarer than people admit.”

I sat across the table, pretending to review notes, but my eyes kept locking on her. The way she listened when Creston spoke. How she softened her tone when his suspicion flared.

She was rebuilding her whole approach right in front of us, invisible and effortless. Something twisted hard in my chest. It wasn't attraction or pride. Something deeper and it pissed me off.

Creston laughed once, a short bark. “You’ve got spine, girl. Tell me why I shouldn’t walk out right now.”

“Because we actually care about your concerns instead of just your money,” Rosa replied without missing a beat. “Look at page seven. We structured the safeguards exactly the way your father used.”

I jumped in, keeping my tone level. “She’s right, Mr. Creston. Rosa put those together herself after reviewing your history. We’re not here to sell you dreams. We’re here for legacy.”

Creston looked between us, then focused back on her. “You trust this young lady’s judgment, Beaumont?”

“Completely,” I said, and the word came out heavier than I intended.

By the end of the meeting, Creston was shaking Rosa’s hand, holding it a second longer than necessary. “Young lady, you remind me of people I used to respect. We’ll move forward. Draft the papers.”

The door closed behind him. The team let out a collective breath.

Jefferson clapped slowly. “Damn. She actually did it.”

Rosa gathered her files quietly, cheeks slightly flushed. I caught her eye as she passed my chair.

“Good work,” I said, voice low. “You read him perfectly.”

She looked up, holding my gaze a beat too long. “Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.”

That look stayed with me long after she left the room.

Later that evening, the office was empty. Lights low, city humming far below the windows. I sat at my desk, staring at nothing for a while before opening her file for the fourth time this week.

Same sparse details. Her aunt raised her. Work history with some gaps. Nothing indicated that she was in trouble, yet everything felt hidden. I scrolled down to the note I’d made about her phone Quinn saved under one single letter. She never explained it fully, and after our agreement, I hadn’t pushed. I told myself I wouldn’t.

“Fuck,” I muttered, closing the file hard. “What are you doing to me, Rosa?”

I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my eyes. The silence pressed in.

The phone was ringing, and I looked around, and it was just me and the low buzz of the city outside that didn’t give a damn about any of this.

I kept seeing her in that boardroom looking calm and sharp. The way Creston warmed to her. The way something in my chest had shifted when she spoke about legacy like she actually understood it.

Then my mind flashed back to the lagoon. Her pulling me out. Her wet clothes, her anger, her slap on the shore.

“You should’ve left me there,” I whispered to the empty room, remembering. “But you didn’t.”

I stood up and walked to the window. The city lights blurred below, cars were moving, and people were living their small lives. None of them knew Andres Beaumont was sitting up here obsessing over a woman he wasn’t supposed to trust. A woman with secrets. A woman who saved him even when he fought her.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over her contact. I didn’t call. Instead, I spoke to the glass. “Stay out of my head, Rosa. We have a deal. Secrets stay buried. This… whatever this is… stays buried too.”

But even as I said it, I knew it was already too late. That change in my chest wasn’t going away. It was getting stronger.

I closed the file for good, grabbed my jacket, and killed the lights. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the boss and the assistant.

We will go back to being professional and distant.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.