The Alpha's Filthy Secret.

- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN -

Sloane.

I walk down Fourth Street holding Zane's hand. The afternoon heat reflecting off the glass storefronts, buy tucked between a dry cleaner and a boutique sits an old fashioned bakery. It looks out of place, it's wooden sign painted in faded lettering.

Zane tugs my wrist, pointing his shoe toward the display window.

"Mommy,"

"No,"

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask,"

"Yes, I do,"

"Cake."

"Exactly."

A low chuckle comes from behind the counter as I push the glass door open. The shop smells of yeast, cinnamon, tea and sugar.

An elderly man stands behind the display case, wiping his hands on a white apron. He has dark hair streaked with grey, soft grey eyes and a gentle smile that reaches his eyes.

"For the young man who's the first customer of the day," The baker says, reaching into a glass jar and slides a small cinnamon across the counter toward Zane.

I step foward, placing my hand in Zane's shoulder. "He doesn't need sugar."

Zane looks up at me with wide eyes, looking completely betrayed.

The baker chuckles, leaning his forearms on the glass counter. "Then perhaps his mother should eat it."

A small laugh escaped my lips. The warmth in the shop feels simple, unhurried and entirely free of corporate games. I ended up buying a box of blueberry tarts, a box of cupcake and two loaves of sourdough before leasing Zane back out into the sun.

We turn the corner toward the quiet street where my sedan is parked.

Roan stands near the passenger side of my car, holding a paper coffee cup and a doughnut on the other. He looked simple, wearing a plain white t-shirt and dark jeans, looking relaxed against the car door.

He stops when he sees us approach. His gaze drops from my face down to Zane holding my hand. His eyes widen for half a second, a quiet controlled shift in his expression before his composure settles back into place. He does not panic or ask questions. He looks down at Zane with calm, respecful understanding as if he recognized the reason why a top editorial model keeps her personal life locked.

Zane stops and slightly hides behind me, he studies Roan's face, his dark eyebrows pulling together.

"You are Roan," he says with a small smile as recognition overtakes his features. He steps out and look up at Roan. "Are you mommy's friend?"

Roan looks down at him,lowering his height slightly. "I hope so."

I look over at Zane who seems to be thinking about Roan's response, his eyes sweeps over Roan's outfit and the coffee cup in his hand. "Okay."

A small smile touches my lips as I look back at Roan who straightens up, offering me a brief nod. He does not ask who the boy's father is or asks why I am hiding him. He simply steps aside, opening the car door for us without prying into the space I kept locked.

That restraint warms me more than any grand gesture ever could.

"See you later, Eva," he says softly, then looks down at Zane. "Hope to see you around too little man."

Zane giggles. "Me too, Mr. Roan."

_

At two o'clock, I leave Zane with Sarah at the penthouse and step into the executive conference room at the agency.

Orson stands at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his tie loosened.

"The deal either Rhys Global creates structural risk," Orson says, throwing a legal folder onto the glass table. "If Roan Rhys pulls his distribution software next year, our entire European line sits vulnerable."

Julian leans against the doorframe, sipping his iced tea. "Funny how you're worried about vulnerability now, Orson. You had Zero complaints when Blackridge Capital bought fifty one percent of our voting shares."

Orson's face flushed red.

"That was an institutional buyout! This is an unhedged partnership! I am calling am emergency board review for Friday morning."

"Call whoever you want," I say, picking up my tablet from the table. "The escrow funds cleared three hours ago. The contract stands."

Orson glares at me, his mouth opening to object, but I turn on my heel and walk straight out the door before he can start another agrument.

I arrived back at my apartment building at six in the evening.

As I reached for my front doorknob, I spot something lying on the floor mat.

A small paper flower, folded out of yellow parchment.

My jaw tightens. I pick it up, crush the paper in my palms, and drop it into the hallway trash chute near the elevator. Another fan trick. Another persistent stalker leaving origami in a secure building.

I step inside, locking the deadbolt behind me.

Zane sat on the living room rug, building a tower out of wooden blocks.

I set my bag on the island counter. "Did you finish your sourdough snack?"

Zane doesn't look up from his blocks. "Mommy, why does that man keep following you?"

I freeze. The blood drained from my face so fast my ears rang.

"What man?"

He points a small, wooden block toward the living room window overlooking the street four floors below. "The man with the dark coat. He stands by the trees."

I walk straight to the glass, pulling the heavy drape back.

The sidewalk below in empty. Only parked cars and dry autumn leaves blowing across the asphalt.

Nobody is there.