Despite the night I had, it's somehow impossible to sleep once I get home. My mind won't shut off, not even for a second. The image of Savannah slumped in the back seat, Vaughn's clenched jaw, and the cold silence that hangs between us—it all plays on a loop like a film I can't turn off.
Then our argument that added icing to the cake.
I spend the rest of the night buried under a blanket on the couch, eyes burning from the glow of my laptop screen as I scour every article, blog post, and archived thread I can find about Lance Lawrence and the legal hellscape that once linked him to Michael Huxley. It's worse than I thought. Their feud isn't just a business dispute—it's a vendetta. Twisted lawsuits, buried settlements, and rumors of threats swept under the rug.
By the time my alarm blares at six, my limbs feel like they're made of lead. My joints ache, my skin itches from exhaustion, and my eyes are swollen from sleeplessness and allergies. My feet drag across the floor as I get ready, each step heavier than the last.
But will that stop me from showing up for work?
Absolutely not.
I refuse to let Makai see even a hint of weakness. He's not going to win. He won't get the satisfaction.
And that's how I find myself in the elevator, heading to the top floor, back straight despite the burn between my shoulder blades and the fog dulling my senses. I clutch the coffee in one hand, my handbag in the other, and watch the glowing numbers rise.
24… 25… 26…
At exactly 7:59, I practically sprint the last few feet to Makai's office door, raising my hand and knocking just as the clock strikes 8:00 on the dot.
"It's unlocked," comes his voice from the other side—low and already laced with irritation.
I turn the knob and step inside. The familiar scent of warm cologne and roasted coffee hits me all at once. His office is pristine, as always, every surface gleaming under the soft morning light pouring in through the massive windows.
"Good morning," I say as evenly as I can, placing the coffee on his desk and setting my handbag neatly on the chair.
He doesn't look up. "I was hoping you'd be late," he mutters, lips barely moving. "That way I'd have a reason to punish you."
My breath catches.
I blink twice, sure I misheard. Maybe it's the fog clouding my brain. Maybe he's joking—though I can never quite tell with him.
He finally glances up, that ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "As office protocols suggest," he adds coyly, eyes sharp with amusement.
I tilt my head, studying him. Every time I think I have him figured out, he shifts. One moment cold, the next oddly playful. I don't trust it.
"Those shades are too dark for the office," he says, gesturing lazily toward my face. "You'll have to take them off."
If only he could see the glare hidden beneath them—maybe it'd slice him clean in half.
But I oblige, slowly removing the glasses to reveal my swollen, bloodshot eyes. I didn't wear any makeup, I'm too tired to even pretend. I know I look like hell.
He laughs. Not a soft chuckle either, an actual laugh, loud and shameless. The sound bounces off the walls and settles somewhere in my chest, oddly warm.
"You should see your face," he says between laughs, eyes crinkling.
"I know I look horrible," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "But I don't get what's so funny."
"Serves you right for partying the night before a workday," he says, clearly enjoying himself. "You look rough."
"Gee, thanks," I shoot back, shaking my head at him for what feels like the hundredth time.
He's still laughing when I turn to leave. I don't have the energy for his games. The man is too unserious and right now, I don't have the bandwidth to entertain whatever mood he's in.
But then I hear the scrape of his chair, and before I can react, I feel the door at my back and his arm above me, pinning me in place.
"Take a joke, Zuri," he whispers, voice lower than before. "Your smile is way too pretty for you to frown like that."
My eyes snap to his.
He's close. Too close. So close I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across my cheek. His eyes bore into mine, and I feel like a mouse staring into the eyes of a cat that's already made up its mind.
The way he says my name—Zuri. Like it's nothing. I mean…I should be glad but that name belongs to a part of me he can never know about. Frankly, I don't like him saying it.
I ease out from under his arm, heart hammering. "Do you get this close to every one of your assistants?" I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.
His gaze softens, but the smirk returns. "No. But God, Allesha, you are a sight for sore eyes." He winces, then steps back. "I apologize. That was unprofessional. Say the word and I'll stop."
I stay against the door, silent.
Because truthfully, I don't want him to stop. My lips tingle with anticipation, a hunger that burns despite the exhaustion in my bones. But I'm not giving him the satisfaction. Not yet.
He wants flirtation. I want access.
With a man this friendly, I need to switch tactics. He's already too interested. Seducing him would only hand him power. And I can't afford that.
I walk around him with deliberate grace. "I thought you didn't fraternize with employees," I say, tossing the line over my shoulder.
He shakes his head with a smile but says nothing.
I kissed this man once. And he insulted me for it. My lips won't touch his again unless he begs, on his knees if necessary.
I move to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk and stare out at the city. The view is breathtaking, even on a cloudy morning. Towers shimmer with light, the streets far below already buzzing with life.
"Is he your boyfriend?" Makai asks, breaking the silence.
I tense. This is what I didn't want to happen. Stupid Vaughn. Nonetheless, that question tells me everything I need to know—he's curious. Good. That's where I want him.
I roll my eyes, aware that he can see my reflection in the glass.
"You don't have to answer that," he adds quickly. "I just thought—"
"No," I cut him off.
I want to say more—explain that it's complicated, that there's history, but what's the point? Nothing will ever happen between me and Vaughn again. Not like that. What we had is buried under too much pain and incompatibility.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
I turn to face him fully, arms crossed. "I think I'd know if I had a boyfriend. Or do you think I'd lie about it just to appease you?"
The words tumble out before I can stop them. His expression changes instantly, the softness gone, replaced with something cold and calculating.
Regret tastes like dust on my tongue.
He moves to the door and locks it.
I step back.
"I understand we've gotten too comfortable with each other," he says, voice tight. "But think twice before speaking to me in that tone ever again."
I fold my lips together to stop myself from snapping back. Typical. A man with authority getting sensitive the moment he's not fawned over.
I nod.
He steps aside and I reach for the lock, pulling the door open.
"Oh, and Ms. Kingsley," he adds, just as I'm about to leave, "this conversation never happened."
The door slams behind me.
I roll my eyes as I walk to my desk, tossing my bag onto the chair and exhaling.
He'll get over it.