Trapped Between Two CEOs

Chapter 4

The dream had me again.

His mouth. The exact, possessive way he held me open. That low, gravelly voice commanding me to come on his c**k. I was right there on the edge, body shaking, when the real world brutally cut in.

“Arielle. Get up.”

Brianna’s voice echoed sharply from the doorway. She was already fully dressed, impeccably put together.

I gasped awake, sitting bolt upright. My body was still tight, skin flushed, and the sheets felt damp between my legs.

“You’re going to be late,” she said, checking her watch. “First day. It’s past seven already.”

“Shit.”

I pushed the covers off in a panic and bolted straight to the bathroom. Cold water splashed over my face to wash away the lingering sensation of his touch. Brushed my teeth in record time. Hair yanked up and secured into something that at least looked intentional. I threw on the sharp blouse and pencil skirt I had laid out last night. No time for anything more.

Brianna held out a stainless steel travel mug the second I hurried into the kitchen.

“Black coffee. Text me when you get a second.”

“Thank you.” I grabbed the mug and practically ran out the door.

The corporate headquarters was all towering glass, polished marble, and quiet, imposing money. Morning light bounced blindingly off the reflective floors. A towering security guard nodded once as I scanned my temporary ID. The woman behind the front desk checked my name off a list, slid an access badge across the marble counter, and pointed toward the high-speed elevators without offering a smile.

Three other new interns were already waiting near the bank of doors. A tall guy with a faded scar near his left eyebrow. A girl with tightly braided hair holding a pristine leather notebook. Another guy who kept nervously refreshing his phone like it might save him from the pressure.

The scarred one glanced over as I approached. “You vance?”

“Yeah. Arielle.”

“Elias.”

The girl offered a concise nod. “Naima.”

The phone guy didn't even look up fully, just muttering, “Leo.”

The elevator doors chimed and opened. We stepped into the sleek steel cabin. No one attempted to fill the heavy silence. The ride up to the executive floors felt far longer than it should have.

Harlan, the senior operations manager, was already waiting for us near the central hub, a clipboard resting in his hand. He looked like the kind of man who had been awake and working since five in the morning.

“Corporate Strategy and Business Development,” Harlan announced, his voice devoid of fluff. “You will provide research and coordination support. Vance, Reed you’re on research with me. Diallo, Whitmore coordination. Your desks are clearly marked. Sit down. Don’t wander around. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He turned on his heel and walked away. We followed like ducklings in a line.

The floor was already moving at a breakneck speed. Keyboards clicking rapidly. Someone on a call two rows over speaking in a low, lightning-fast voice about Q3 revenue numbers. A woman in a sharp gray blazer walked past carrying three thick folders, completely ignoring our existence. The glass-walled offices along the far perimeter showed senior executives already deep in meetings, sleeves rolled up, screens glowing with market data.

My assigned desk had a small white card with my name neatly printed on it. I sat down and opened the company-issued laptop. The first assignment file was already waiting in my inbox a competitor snapshot, basic market share analysis, and recent corporate filings. I pulled a yellow highlighter from my bag and got to work reading through the data. Elias sat two desks down, focused on his screen. Naima and Leo were positioned further along the coordination side. No one spoke a word.

I tried desperately to keep my mind trapped inside the numbers. Highlighted a key line of text. Crossed out another. But the vivid memories of that private lounge still sat directly under my skin, impossible to scrub away. Once, when I shifted in the ergonomic chair, the leftover physical ache between my thighs made me reflexively press them together. I kept my eyes glued to the screen, forcing my breathing to stay even.

Around ten o'clock, the atmosphere on the floor abruptly changed.

Harlan’s voice carried over the cubicles, quiet but loaded with authority. “CEO walk-through. Stay at your desks. Keep your eyes on your work. Absolutely no introductions.”

Conversations died instantaneously. Someone nearby closed a laptop lid a little too hard. A mid-level analyst two rows over hastily straightened a stack of papers that were already perfectly straight.

I instinctively looked up, glancing toward the wide glass corridor.

He was walking alongside two senior executives. Dark, tailored suit. White shirt, no tie. Same towering height. Same effortless, commanding way of moving like he owned every square inch of the floor beneath his feet.

I knew who he was before Harlan even opened his mouth.

My highlighter stopped mid-stroke, ink bleeding into the paper.

Harlan’s low voice came from right behind my shoulder.

“Mr. Montclair. Our new CEO. Took over the firm last month.”

Vale.

Zayden Montclair.

Kieran’s ruthless direct rival.

The highlighter slipped from my paralyzed fingers and rolled uselessly across the wooden desk.

He kept walking past our section, chatting with his team. Didn’t glance our way. Didn’t slow his stride for a second.

I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it.

The anonymous man who had buried himself inside me just days ago was now the man who signed my paychecks.