CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Twenty Seven:The Executive Floor

Abigail Macron

Chapter Thirty: The Executive Floor

The drive downtown on Friday morning felt like an escort to an interrogation. Jasmine sat in the back of the town car with me, her eyes fixed on her tablet, though she hadn't flipped the page in ten minutes. Outside, the glass towers of the Los Angeles financial district rose like giant mirrored monoliths against the smoggy blue sky, reflecting the morning sun with a blinding glare.

"He's overplaying his hand," Jasmine said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the tires as the car descended into the secure underground executive parking structure of the Macron Building.

"Caleb doesn't overplay," I murmured, my fingers tightening around the strap of my designer handbag.

"Using a compliance audit to cancel your weekend with the underwriter’s son? It's transparent to anyone who actually looks, Abby," she warned, turning her head to look at me, her expression grim. "Your dad didn't question it because he thinks Caleb is a machine. But machines don't alter multi-million-dollar timelines just to keep a girl in the city."

The car ground to a halt in the private VIP bay. The driver hurried to open the door, and the dry, concrete-scented air of the garage rushed in.

The executive elevator was entirely keycard-restricted, bypassing the fifty floors of corporate middle management to deposit us directly onto the penthouse level. The doors slid open with a soft, electronic chime, revealing a vast expanse of polished white marble, floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the entire Los Angeles basin, and the quiet, high-stakes hum of corporate wealth.

"Miss Macron," my father’s executive assistant greeted me with a professional nod from behind a monolithic quartz desk. "Your father is currently on a video conference with Tokyo in the main boardroom. Mr. Caleb is waiting for you in his private office to begin the trust verification."

"Thank you, Sarah," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and perfectly trained.

I turned to Jasmine, but she was already backing toward the lounge area. "I'll be right here," she murmured, giving me a long, warning look. "Don't take too long."

I walked down the long, carpeted corridor of the west wing alone. This wasn't the estate; this was the true heart of my father's power. Every door was heavy mahogany, every wall lined with original abstract art meant to convey absolute, unyielding stability.

At the end of the hall sat the double doors to the Chief Operating Officer’s suite. I didn't knock. I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, the latch clicking shut behind me with a heavy, vacuum-sealed finality.

The office was massive, dominated by a minimalist slate desk and a sweeping, panoramic view of the downtown skyline. The morning sun poured through the glass, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.

Caleb was standing by the window, his back to me. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only his charcoal waistcoat over a crisp, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the dark hair and rigid muscles of his wrists. He held a crystal tumbler of black coffee, his posture completely rigid.

"Abby why are you late," he said, his deep baritone cutting through the silence of the room. And then he turned around.

"The traffic on the 101 was heavy," I replied, stepping further into the room, my heels sinking into the plush, dark grey carpet. Today I had chosen a sharp, tailored black blazer and a matching pencil skirt that hit just above my knees—a corporate armor of my own. "Or did you expect me to use the firm’s police escort for a fictional trust audit?"

Caleb looked at me from my head to toe, his beautiful eyes flashing with a serious, sudden intensity that made the vast office instantly feel microscopic. He set his coffee cup down on the slate desk with a quick clack, his long, heavy steps closing the distance between us before I could even draw breath.

He didn't stop until he was looming directly over me, his broad shoulders like that of a wrestler completely blocking out the sunlight, casting me in his shadow. The familiar, intoxicating scent of his heavy cologne, combined with the sharp bitterness of the coffee, hit my senses like a physical wave, making my pulse strike an uneven beat against my ribs.

"Do you think this is a joke?" he hissed, his voice dropping into that serious, lethal whisper meant only for me. He reached out, his large hand grabbing my wrist, his grip firm but careful as he pulled me a fraction of an inch closer. "Julian Vance’s father called your dad twice yesterday to ask why the trust sign-offs couldn't wait until Monday. I had to spend three hours generating dummy compliance reports for the legal team just to keep the story straight."

"Then you shouldn't have panicked at the breakfast table, Caleb," I challenged, tilting my head up to look directly into the storm in his pupils, refusing to back down. "You're the one who couldn't handle the thought of me on a boat in Malibu with another man."

Really Abby, A low, dangerous rumble vibrated in his chest. "I don't handle sharing what's mine, Abby. Especially not with an underwriter's boy who thinks he can buy his way into your father's house."

In no time recorded With a sudden, ruthless display of strength, he hooked his arm around my waist and lifted me, depositing me flat onto the edge of his massive slate desk. A stack of printouts and a heavy leather blotter slid backward under my weight, the cold slate surface biting into the back of my thighs through the thin fabric of my pencil skirt.

"Caleb, be careful your assistant is right outside," I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders as he stepped into the space between my knees, his heavy thighs pinning me against the desk.

"The glass is completely soundproofed, kiddo," he rasped, his face coming closer until his lips were close inches from mine, his hot breath pouring on my skin. "And the door locks from the master console on my phone. Nobody comes in here unless I clear the security code."

He didn't give me another second to argue. His mouth crashed down on mine, with full emotions, demanding reassertion of the ownership he had fought so hard to protect all week.