What the CEO Lost When He Let Me Go

Chapter 5

Soren’s hand settled at the small of her back as the crowd parted for them. Maren kept her stride even, the silk of her dress sliding against her skin with each step. The Bellamy Skyline Club hummed with money and curiosity, every glance tracking the woman on the rival CEO’s arm. Crystal clinked against crystal somewhere to her left. A waiter moved past with a tray of champagne flutes, the bubbles catching the low light like tiny warnings.

“Lowell Design just took the Henderson site,” Soren said, voice pitched for the nearest cluster of investors. “Calloway’s offer was prettier on paper. Numbers don’t lie.”

A ripple moved through the listeners. Maren let the statement land without correction. The contract had been hers to close; the announcement was Soren’s to weaponize. Lennox would hear it within minutes. She pictured the way his jaw would tighten when the words reached him, the same way it used to when a deal slipped sideways during their marriage. Five years had not dulled the image.

The air shifted before she saw him. Lennox stood twenty feet away, storm-gray eyes locked on the point where Soren’s fingers rested against her spine. The platinum band on his right hand caught the light when his fist tightened around his glass. Someone laughed too loudly near the bar. Maren registered the sound without turning. Her pulse had already begun to climb.

Soren leaned closer. “Dance with me. Let them watch.”

Maren allowed it. The floor cleared a fraction as they moved. Soren kept the contact light, but the message was not. Lennox tracked every turn. Maren felt the weight of that gaze on the curve of her waist, the line of her throat, the place where her dress dipped low between her shoulder blades. She kept her expression neutral, the same mask she had perfected in boardrooms and bedrooms alike. The music shifted, strings and a low bass line that vibrated through the soles of her shoes. Soren’s palm stayed steady at her back. She counted the seconds until the song would end.

When it did, Soren brushed his mouth against her temple, a deliberate press that would photograph well. The warmth of his breath lingered a moment longer than necessary. Maren did not pull away. Lennox was already cutting through the room.

Maren slipped free of Soren’s hold and headed for the corridor that led to the private elevators. She needed the contract files on her phone before the next wave of questions. The hallway was quieter, lined with dark wood and low sconces. Her heels clicked once, twice, against the polished floor. She reached the elevator panel just as a hand closed around her wrist.

Lennox spun her. The impact of his body against hers drove her back against the wall. His mouth found hers without permission or warning. The kiss was hard, edged with five years of absence. Maren’s phone slipped; it clattered on the carpet. She tasted the scotch on his tongue and the anger beneath it. His hand came up to cradle the back of her skull, fingers threading through the careful twist of her hair until pins threatened to loosen.

Her hands came up to his chest, not to push him away but to feel the rapid beat under the suit. Lennox made a low sound and pressed closer, one thigh sliding between hers. The silk of her dress rode up. His palm skimmed her bare leg, stopping at the lace edge of her stocking. The contrast of his warm fingers against the delicate fabric sent a pulse of heat straight through her. She remembered this grip. She remembered how it used to anchor her in hotel rooms after late-night flights and strategy sessions that ran until dawn.

“You let him touch you,” he said against her mouth. “In front of everyone.”

Maren bit his lower lip. “You gave up the right to care.”

He answered by dragging her higher against the wall. Her legs opened around his hips. The hard line of him pressed where she was already wet. Lennox rocked once, deliberate, and the friction pulled a sharp breath from her. His fingers found the clasp at the side of her dress and worked it open. Cool air hit her skin. He cupped her breast through the thin bra, thumb circling until her n****e tightened beneath the silk. She arched into the touch without meaning to, the motion instinctive and too familiar.

The elevator dinged. Neither moved.

Lennox shoved the fabric aside and lowered his head. His mouth closed over the peak, teeth grazing. Maren’s head tipped back against the paneling. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him there. Heat pooled low and insistent. She felt him reach between them, undoing his belt with one hand while the other stayed braced beside her head. The rasp of leather against fabric cut through the quiet. His breath was uneven against her breast, the same ragged rhythm she had once known in the dark.

The doors began to slide open.

Soren’s voice carried from inside the car. “Maren. The board just called. Henderson wants to renegotiate before the ink dries.”

Lennox froze. His breath was hot against her bare breast. Maren’s pulse hammered in her throat. Neither of them spoke. The elevator doors stayed open, Soren’s silhouette visible in the threshold, the line of sight direct. The scent of Lennox’s cologne mixed with the sharper edge of scotch and the faint trace of her own perfume where it had transferred to his collar.

Lennox’s hand tightened on her hip, possessive even now. Maren’s fingers were still locked in his hair. The moment stretched, raw and unfinished, while the three of them measured what had already been seen.

Soren’s expression did not change. “We need to move. Now.”

Lennox’s storm-gray eyes lifted to hers. The question in them was older than the divorce and sharper than any contract. Maren’s dress hung open between them. Her skin burned where his mouth had been. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow for the three of them and everything that had just shifted.

She slid her hand down to his wrist and removed it from her body. The loss of contact left a colder space than the air warranted. Lennox stepped back half a pace, belt still undone, chest rising hard. Soren waited in the open elevator, one hand holding the door.

Maren straightened the silk over her skin with steady fingers. Her phone lay on the carpet between Lennox’s polished shoes. No one bent to retrieve it.

The next move belonged to whoever was willing to claim it first.