Chapter three
734 Words
Damien
The building was empty.
Power was back. Security was back. The city was still screaming under the storm.
And I was alone in my office with a silk tie that wasn't mine.
Black. No tag. Expensive, but not designer. The kind a woman buys because it looks right with a blazer, not because a brand told her to.
Maya's.
She'd shoved it in her bag, or thought she had. She missed one. It was looped around the leg of my desk.
I picked it up.
It still smelled like her. Citrus. Rain. Something warmer underneath. Something I'd had my mouth on thirty minutes ago.
Shit.
I sat. Hard.
My boardroom had seen hostile takeovers. Lawsuits. Death threats. I'd never paced in it.
I paced now.
47th floor. Glass walls. Manhattan lit up like nothing happened. But something did.
I broke Rule #1.
Never want what you're supposed to destroy.
I'd wanted Maya Chen the second she slid that folder across the table three weeks ago. I'd wanted her more when she didn't flinch.
Tonight I took her.
On my desk. With twenty minutes on the clock and security three floors down.
Reckless. Stupid. Unforgivable.
And I'd do it again.
My phone buzzed.
Her.
No name in my contacts. Just the number.
Subject: Clause 7.
Body: We need to talk.
No "Mr. Hale." No formal sign-off.
Clause 7. My personal guarantee.
She wasn't emailing about the acquisition.
She was emailing about the desk.
I stared at the tie in my hand.
A CEO doesn't reply at 1:14 AM. A CEO sends his lawyer. A CEO pretends it didn't happen.
I typed anyway.
Subject: Re: Clause 7.
Body: My office. 8 AM. Alone.
Send.
Idiot.
My CFO would have a stroke. Legal would quit. The board would use this to force me out.
I didn't care.
Because I could still feel her wrist in my hand. The silk loose. The way she'd said my name when she broke.
Maya.
Not Ms. Chen. Not analyst. Maya.
I opened my desk drawer. Dropped the tie inside. Closed it.
Like that would help.
My laptop was still on. Her folder was open. Clause 4. Clause 7. Her handwriting in the margins. Sharp. Aggressive. Underlined twice.
She fought with a pen like other people fought with fists.
I should destroy her company. It was the play. It was the win.
Instead I was holding her tie and drafting emails at 1 AM like a teenager.
My intercom buzzed. Night security.
"Sir? You need anything?"
"No."
"Coffee? The storm-"
"Go home."
"Yes, sir."
Silence again.
I walked to the window. Rain. Lightning. The same storm that locked us in.
I could still see her. Hair down. Blazer on wrong. Mouth swollen. Eyes furious and wrecked and refusing to look at me.
Documents.
That's what I'd told security.
The lie tasted like ash.
Because it wasn't documents. It was her. Under me. Against me. Saying my name like she meant it.
My phone buzzed again.
Her.
Subject: Re: Re: Clause 7.
Body: 8 AM is a board meeting. Try 7:30. My terms haven't changed.
She was negotiating. Even now.
God.
I smiled. I shouldn't have.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Clause 7.
Body: 7:30. Alone. If you're late, I file.
Bluff. Empty. I wasn't filing anything.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Clause 7.
Body: You won't.
She knew.
She always knew.
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass.
What was I doing?
Chen Analytics was bleeding. She was desperate. I was the shark.
But she'd looked at me tonight like I wasn't the shark. Like I was the storm. And she wanted to get hit.
That was dangerous.
For both of us.
My assistant would be in at 6. She'd see me. She'd see the state of the office. Papers. The laptop on the floor. My shirt still missing a button.
I could have it cleaned. I could have it erased.
I didn't.
I left the tie in the drawer.
Rule #3 of the boardroom: Never keep trophies.
I broke that one too.
Because at 7:29 AM, I wanted her to walk in and see it.
I wanted her to know I hadn't let go.
I opened a new email. No subject.
Body: Wear black.
Send.
Then I killed the lights, sat in the dark, and waited for 7:30.
For the only person who ever made Damien Hale forget the rules
- Writer
