All the ways i have wanted you

Scarlett The September wind off Lake Michigan had teeth. Scarlett Monroe pulled her cashmere wrap tighter around her shoulders and took a long, slow sip of her wine. The Peninsula Hotel's rooftop terrace was supposed to be a refuge—a fifteen-minute break from the chaos of the Medical Innovation Summit. A chance to breathe before she dove back into the swarm of handshakes, PowerPoints, and last-minute crises. But the wind had other plans. It whipped her dark hair across her face and sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. She turned her back to the lake and leaned against the railing, watching the Chicago skyline glitter against the black water. From up here, the city looked peaceful. Orderly. Exactly how she liked things. Order. That was her religion. Her superpower. Her cage. At thirty years old, Scarlett had built Monroe Events from a laptop in her studio apartment into the most sought-after luxury event firm in the Midwest. She had coordinated galas for senators, product launches for Fortune 500s, and weddings for people whose flower budgets exceeded most people's annual salaries. Her color-coded schedules were legendary. Her crisis management was almost supernatural. Her reputation was iron. And this summit—the North American Medical Tech Conference—was her biggest coup yet. Three days. Four hundred attendees. Thirty-seven speakers. A sponsorship roster that read like a Who's Who of healthcare innovation. Everything was running exactly as planned. She should be feeling triumphant. Instead, she felt hollow. Scarlett took another sip of wine and let her gaze drift across the terrace. Couples huddled together against the cold, their laughter carrying on the wind. A woman in a red dress leaned into her companion, and he wrapped an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. When did you get so good at being alone? She didn't have an answer. Somewhere between building an empire and protecting her heart, she had forgotten how to let anyone close. Her last serious relationship had ended three years ago—amicably, quietly, because even the breakup had been too polite to leave a mark. She was thirty years old, successful beyond her wildest dreams, and completely untouchable. The wine was empty. She set the glass on a passing server's tray and straightened her shoulders. Time to go back inside. Time to be the woman everyone expected her to be—sharp, composed, and utterly unshakeable. She turned toward the glass doors. And stopped breathing. He was standing ten feet away. Even in the dim terrace lighting. Even after twelve years. Even with the wind and the noise and the crowd between them. She would have known him anywhere. Dominic Blackwood. The broad shoulders that had replaced the lanky frame of a seventeen-year-old boy. The sharp jawline that could cut glass. The way he stood—still, assessing, like he was calculating every variable in the room before he made a move. And the eyes. God, those eyes. Dark. Intense. Sweeping over the terrace like he owned every corner of it. They found her. Scarlett felt her heart slam against her ribs. Hard. Violent. The kind of impact that left bruises. He's supposed to be in Boston. Her mind scrambled for the information she had read somewhere—a business magazine, a late-night Google search she would never admit to. Dominic Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Medical Technologies. Based in Boston. Net worth north of three hundred million. Widely considered the most ruthless young executive in the medical tech sector. He had built an empire. So had she. And neither of them had spoken a single word since graduation night. He started walking toward her. Scarlett forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to stand still. She would not run. She would not flinch. She had faced down angry clients, last-minute venue cancellations, and a kitchen fire that threatened to burn down a five-star gala. She could handle one man. Even if that man was the only variable she had never been able to calculate. He stopped a foot away—close enough that she could smell his cologne. Cedar and smoke and something darker. Something that made her think of late nights and tangled sheets and all the things she had never let herself imagine. "Scarlett Monroe." His voice was deeper than she remembered. A low, cultured rumble that she felt in her chest before her brain processed the words. Twelve years ago, he had been quiet. Hesitant. The boy who watched from two rows behind her in AP History. This was not that boy. This was a predator. "Dominic." She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I didn't expect to see you here." "My firm is the lead sponsor." A pause. His gaze traveled over her face like he was cataloging every change. "I assumed you knew. You are the event coordinator, after all." The slight edge in his tone made her spine straighten. There he is. The boy who used to challenge every answer she gave in class debate. The one who looked at her like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve. "I handle logistics," she said coolly. "Not the sponsorship roster. That would be my assistant's domain." "Of course." His mouth curved—not quite a smile. "You always did delegate efficiently." "And you always did show up unannounced and expect everyone to adjust." A beat of silence. The wind whipped between them, carrying the scent of the lake and the distant noise of Michigan Avenue traffic. Somewhere behind her, a woman laughed. A glass shattered on the stone floor. The world continued to spin. But in the space between Scarlett and Dominic, time had stopped. Then he laughed. It was a quiet sound—barely more than an exhale—but it transformed his face. The icy CEO facade cracked, and for just a moment, she saw the boy who had once stayed after school to help her study for a history final. Even though he had already aced it. Even though he had no reason to stay. "Twelve years," he said, "and you still don't pull your punches." "Twelve years," she replied, "and you still think you can just walk into a room and take control." "Is it working?" Scarlett held his gaze. The question hung between them, loaded with everything they hadn't said in the decade since graduation. The almost-confession in the library. The dance they never finished. The letter she had written and never sent. I have a dinner, she thought. I have responsibilities. I have a life that doesn't include you. But she didn't walk away. "I have a dinner with the keynote speaker in twenty minutes," she said instead of answering. Dominic tilted his head. A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. "I have a penthouse upstairs with a bottle of '82 Bordeaux. The keynote speaker can wait." "Dominic—" "Twenty minutes, Scarlett." He stepped closer. Inches between them now. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that if she leaned forward just slightly, she would be pressed against his chest. "That's all I'm asking. Twenty minutes to see if the fire is still there." The fire. As if he didn't already know. As if the way her pulse was racing wasn't answer enough. As if the memory of that one dance—the way his hand felt on her lower back, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room—hadn't haunted her for twelve f*****g years. Scarlett looked toward the glass doors. Maya Park, her assistant, was standing just inside, waving frantically. The dinner. The schedule. The carefully constructed life where everything made sense and nothing surprised her. Then she looked back at Dominic Blackwood. The one variable she had never been able to calculate. The one man who had ever made her want to throw away her color-coded schedules and just feel. "Twenty minutes," she said. His smile this time was real. Dangerous. And utterly devastating. "I'll hold you to that, Monroe." He turned and walked toward the elevators. He didn't look back to see if she would follow. He didn't need to. Somewhere deep in her chest, Scarlett understood that he had never been unsure about her. Not in high school. Not now. He had just been waiting for the right moment. Twenty minutes. She straightened her dress. Smoothed her hair. Ignored Maya's frantic gesturing and the confused look on the keynote speaker's assistant's face. And followed him inside. The conference could wait. The fire couldn't. ---