A contract with the CEO

CHAPTER-2 one reckless night

(Scarlett Johnson – First Person POV)

I should’ve left.

That thought came to me at least three times between stepping off the balcony and walking back into the noise of the room.

Each time, I ignored it.

Not because I didn’t recognize it for what it was—a warning—but because warnings only matter when you have something to protect.

Tonight wasn’t about protection.

It was about getting through it.

Still, something felt… off.

Not wrong. Just shifted.

Like the air had changed slightly, and I couldn’t quite place why.

I moved through the room without really engaging, picking up a glass I didn’t plan on finishing just to give my hands something to do. Conversations blurred into each other—names, laughter, business talk dressed up as casual conversation.

None of it stuck.

What did stick was awareness.

Of him.

I didn’t look for James Devon.

That would’ve meant I cared.

But I noticed him anyway.

Across the room. Near the center now, surrounded by people who looked like they needed him to acknowledge them just to feel relevant.

He wasn’t smiling.

Not really.

Just that controlled expression—like everything around him was something he tolerated, not enjoyed.

I took a slow sip of the drink, eyes dropping for a second.

When I looked up again, he was already looking at me.

No hesitation.

No pretending.

Just… there.

Like he expected me to notice.

I held his gaze this time.

Didn’t look away.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t give him anything easy.

Something in his expression shifted again.

Subtle.

But I caught it.

And then, like earlier, he said something to the people around him and started walking toward me.

Again.

I should’ve moved.

I didn’t.

⸻

“You’re still here.”

His voice was lower this time. Closer. Like the space between us mattered more than it should.

I tilted my head slightly. “Should I not be?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

His eyes moved over me briefly—not in a way that felt cheap, but not exactly respectful either. More like he was… assessing again.

“On what you expected from tonight,” he said.

I let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “You assume I expected something.”

“Everyone here does.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

That earned me the faintest reaction—not a smile, but something close enough to notice.

“You’re not easily impressed,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “Should I pretend to be?”

“Most people do.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I noticed.”

There was something in the way he said that.

Not flirtation.

Recognition again.

It made me uncomfortable in a way I didn’t like.

Because it meant he was paying attention.

Too much attention.

⸻

“You drink?” he asked suddenly.

I glanced down at the glass in my hand. “I’m holding one.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

I hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Tonight?”

I looked back at him. “Is that an order?”

His gaze didn’t shift. “Do you only respond to those?”

There it was again.

That push.

That quiet challenge.

I should’ve shut it down.

Instead, I lifted the glass slightly. “Depends who’s giving them.”

His jaw tightened—just slightly.

Like he didn’t like the answer, but also didn’t hate it.

“Finish it,” he said.

There it was.

Not loud.

Not aggressive.

But unmistakably an instruction.

I stared at him for a second.

Measuring.

Deciding.

Then I did it.

Not because he told me to.

But because I chose to.

That difference mattered.

The burn hit sharper than expected, sliding down my throat and settling somewhere low in my chest.

I placed the empty glass back on the tray of a passing waiter without breaking eye contact.

“Happy?” I asked.

His eyes darkened slightly.

“No,” he said.

That answer lingered longer than it should’ve.

⸻

The next drink came easier.

And then another.

I wasn’t drunk.

Not yet.

But the edges of the room softened slightly. The noise blurred into something less sharp, less intrusive.

Or maybe it was just him pulling my focus.

“Why are you really here?” he asked at some point.

Not casually.

Not lightly.

Like he actually wanted an answer.

“Work,” I said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He stepped closer.

Close enough now that I could feel the shift in the air between us.

“You don’t talk like someone who does this for survival,” he said.

Something about that hit wrong.

Sharp.

I felt it before I could filter it.

“You don’t know anything about what I do for survival,” I replied, quieter now.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did.

Not softer.

Just… more focused.

“You’re right,” he said after a second.

That should’ve ended it.

It didn’t.

Because neither of us moved.

And suddenly the space between us felt smaller than it should’ve.

⸻

“I don’t like this place,” I said without thinking.

It slipped out.

Too honest.

Too unguarded.

His gaze flicked to my face. “Then why stay?”

I hesitated.

Because the real answer wasn’t something I said out loud.

“I don’t like leaving things unfinished,” I said instead.

Something in that answer landed.

I saw it.

And then something shifted in him again.

Decision.

That was the only word I could attach to it.

Like he’d reached some kind of conclusion.

“Come with me,” he said.

Not a question.

Of course not.

I stared at him.

“You say everything like it’s already agreed to.”

“That’s because it usually is.”

“And if I say no?”

A pause.

Not long.

Just enough to matter.

“Then you say no,” he said.

Simple.

But not dismissive.

That… threw me.

Because it meant the choice was real.

And somehow that made it more dangerous.

I should’ve said no.

I didn’t.

⸻

The hallway outside was quieter.

Darker.

The noise from the event faded with every step, replaced by something heavier. Stiller.

I was aware of everything.

The sound of my heels.

The distance between us.

The way he didn’t look back to check if I was still following.

Like he already knew I would.

That annoyed me.

More than it should’ve.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

Of course.

I almost rolled my eyes.

⸻

The room he led me into wasn’t part of the main event.

Private.

Dim lighting. Minimal space. Clean.

Expensive, but not showy.

It felt… controlled.

Like him.

I stayed near the door.

Didn’t step fully inside.

Not yet.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You hesitate now?” he asked.

I crossed my arms slightly. “I don’t walk into rooms without understanding them.”

“And you think you understand anything out there?” he asked, nodding toward the direction of the party.

Point.

Still didn’t mean I was walking in blindly.

I held his gaze. “Explain it, then.”

Silence.

Then—

“This is where I go when I don’t want to be watched,” he said.

Honest.

Again.

That shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

Because it meant he was choosing to let me see something real.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

⸻

I stepped inside.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded louder than it should’ve.

And just like that, everything outside stopped existing.

No noise.

No crowd.

Just him.

And me.

And the kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for pretending.

⸻

“You don’t relax,” he said.

I let out a small breath. “Neither do you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t need to.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a lie.”

That almost got a reaction.

Almost.

“You challenge everything,” he said.

“I question things that don’t make sense.”

“And I don’t make sense?”

I looked at him.

Really looked this time.

“At all,” I said.

Something in the air shifted again.

He stepped closer.

Closer than before.

Close enough that I could feel the heat of him without touching.

It should’ve made me step back.

It didn’t.

That was my first mistake.

⸻

“Then why are you still here?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer right away.

Because I didn’t have a clean answer.

And I didn’t like that.

“Maybe I’m curious,” I said finally.

“About what?”

“You.”

The word sat between us.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Careful,” he said, low. “Curiosity tends to get expensive.”

I almost smiled.

“Then maybe I can afford it tonight.”

That was the second mistake.

⸻

Everything after that happened slower than it should’ve.

Or maybe faster.

I couldn’t tell.

All I knew was that the space between us disappeared.

Not rushed.

Not messy.

Just… inevitable.

Like we’d both been circling it all night and finally got tired of pretending we weren’t.

There was no softness to it.

No gentle build.

Just tension snapping into something physical.

And even then, it wasn’t about emotion.

It was about control.

And losing it.

Just a little.

Just enough to matter.

⸻

At some point, I stopped thinking.

Which didn’t happen often.

Not like this.

Not with someone like him.

And that should’ve been enough to make me stop.

It wasn’t.

Because for once, I didn’t want to be the one calculating outcomes.

I didn’t want to think about consequences.

I didn’t want to be careful.

So I wasn’t.

⸻

Later, when everything settled into something quieter, something slower—

I didn’t stay.

That part was instinct.

Always had been.

I got dressed in silence, movements precise, controlled again.

He didn’t stop me.

Didn’t ask me to.

Didn’t say anything at all.

And somehow, that felt more intentional than words.

I paused at the door.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to mean anything.

Then I left.

⸻

The elevator ride down felt different.

Heavier.

Not regret.

Not yet.

Just… awareness.

Like something had shifted and I didn’t know how to name it.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Rylee.

Of course.

“Update. Now.”

I stared at the screen.

Thought about what to say.

Then typed:

“Still alive.”

Pause.

Then another message:

“Bad decision though.”

I didn’t send anything else.

Because I didn’t know how to explain that it didn’t feel like a mistake.

Not completely.

⸻

By the time I stepped out into the night, the air felt colder than before.

Sharper.

More real.

I exhaled slowly, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

And for a second—just a second—I thought about going back.

Not because I wanted more.

But because something about the way he looked at me before I left…

Didn’t feel finished.

I shook the thought off immediately.

No attachment.

No expectations.

No consequences.

That’s how nights like this were supposed to work.

⸻

I didn’t know then how wrong that was.

Or that by morning—

Everything would change.