Trapped Between Two CEOs

Chapter 2

He looked at me through the cutout of his mask for a long, quiet second, his dark eyes measuring me in the dim light.

“I’m not.”

“Then why stay?”

“Leaving would require talking to the person who brought me.”

I almost smiled, the sharp edge of my mood softening just a fraction. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

I stayed right where I was, leaning slightly toward him, and he didn't move away. Soft string music floated across the terrace, punctuated by the refined chatter of auction bids drifting from the main floor.

“You don’t talk much,” I observed.

“I don’t usually need to.”

“Lucky for you, I’m exceptionally good at filling silence.”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch, taking me in. “I noticed.”

I took a deliberate step closer. Not enough to crowd him, but just enough that he couldn't ignore the sudden shift in proximity. “Are you always this closed off, or is it just the mask talking?”

“Both.”

“Try harder.”

He was quiet for a moment, the silence between us heavy with unspoken tension. Then he spoke again: “You’re persistent.”

“I get told that a lot.”

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes,” I replied, keeping my eyes locked on his. “It depends on the target.”

I tilted my head, watching the stoic outline of his jaw. “What do you do when you’re not standing in dark corners at high-society fundraisers?”

“Work.”

“That’s infuriatingly vague.”

“It’s accurate.”

I leaned my hip back against the cold stone railing, looking out over the flickering city skyline below us. “I’m starting a new job next week. An internship at a massive company. My boyfriend absolutely hates it.”

He glanced over at me, a subtle tilt of his brow visible beneath the black leather. “Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I’m still furious and you’re currently the only person here who doesn’t already know the whole tedious backstory.”

He didn’t answer right away. He seemed to weigh my words, letting the ambient noise of the party wash over us. Then he said quietly, “Boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“And yet here you are, out on a dark terrace talking to complete strangers.”

“I’m not talking to strangers,” I corrected, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m talking to you.”

Something in the way he stood shifted a small, almost imperceptible adjustment in his posture, but I felt the sudden intensity of it immediately.

“You’re not very careful,” he warned softly.

“Tonight I don’t feel like being careful.”

He studied me through the narrow slits of his mask. I didn’t look away for a single second.

“What’s your name?” he asked finally.

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

“Then don’t ask.”

A short, quiet breath left him almost a laugh, low in his chest. “Fair enough.”

We stayed there for a long time. I asked him about the city skyline, and he gave brief, measured answers at first, gradually expanding into longer, richer observations. I shared carefully sanitized pieces of the argument with Kieran, leaving out any real names or recognizable details. He listened intently, offering no unsolicited advice or empty judgment. Every time I thought he might finally cut the conversation short and walk away, he remained right where he was.

After a while, he remarked almost casually, “You smell nice, by the way.”

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “It’s vanilla and cedar my absolute favorite. Although my boyfriend constantly complains about it and prefers me using lavender.”

He didn’t comment on the mention of my boyfriend this time. He just held my gaze for a beat longer, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

Inside, the music shifted, growing louder and more rhythmic as a larger crowd began drifting toward the central dance floor.

I nodded toward a quieter, softly lit hallway visible through the open glass doors. “It’s getting far too crowded out here.”

He looked over at the hallway, then brought his dark eyes back to mine.

“You’re still not ready to leave,” he noted. It wasn't a question.

“No.”

He pushed himself off the stone railing in one smooth movement. “Come on.”

I followed without hesitation. We walked past the glittering auction tables, navigating around masked guests laughing over champagne, and slipped down the short corridor lined with warm sconce lights. He reached out and opened a heavy door at the far end with the practiced ease of someone who already knew it would be unlocked.

It opened into a small, private lounge an intimate space featuring a plush velvet couch, warm dim lighting, and a floor-to-ceiling glass view of the city night. The door closed behind us with a quiet, solid click, shutting out the rumble of the fundraiser.

I walked in and set my empty glass down on a side table.

He stood a few feet away, hands casually resting in his pockets, watching me with a quiet intensity.

“Do you always lead strangers into empty, locked rooms?” I asked, turning around to face him.

“Do you always follow them?”

“Tonight, yes.”

He took a deliberate step closer, closing the distance between us. I stood my ground, refusing to step back.

“Are you still angry at him?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave in the quiet room.

“Yes.”

“And you’re using me to burn it off.”

“Maybe.”

“At least you're honest.”

“I don’t see the point in lying to someone whose name I don't even know.”

He reached up, extending two fingers to gently brush against the outer edge of my black mask. He didn't try to pull it off he just felt the texture of the silk against my skin, his touch deceptively soft.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

His hand slid slowly down from the mask, coming to rest against the side of my neck. His palm was warm, firm, and steady. My pulse spiked wildly against his thumb.

I rose onto my tiptoes at the exact moment he leaned down toward me.

The kiss was not soft.

It was fierce, electric, and completely consuming.