Chapter 3: The Tech Summit Tango
542 Words
The limo ride to the summit was a battleground of silk and sarcasm. Alex adjusted the cuff of their tailored black blazer, the fabric itching like a lie. Lena had talked them into the outfit—sleek, onyx, with a hidden surprise: the lining blazed with Alex’s graffiti-style art, a secret middle finger to the black-tie mandate.
Elias glanced up from his tablet, eyes narrowing. “You look… tolerable.”
“High praise from a man who ironed his pajamas,” Alex shot back, nodding to his immaculate tux.
He didn’t smile. “Stick to the script tonight. No improv.”
“What’s the script? ‘Stand there and look pretty’?”
“Stand there and look quiet.”
The summit was a cathedral of chrome, buzzing with tech moguls sipping champagne like it was code. Alex clung to a wall, nursing a drink, until Elias materialized at their side.
“Introductions,” he muttered, steering them toward a silver-haired investor. Alex shook hands, biting back a quip about corporate greed, until—
“Ms. Carter!” A reporter shoved a mic in their face. “Rumor says you’re the reason Thorn’s stock dipped. Care to comment?”
Elias’s grip tightened on their waist. “Ms. Carter’s art is revolutionary. Discomfort is the price of evolution.”
Alex smirked. “Also, I’m not a ‘Ms.’”
The crowd stiffened. Elias’s jaw twitched.
The sabotage struck during the keynote.
Elias was mid-speech when Alex felt the strap of their blazer snap—a clean cut, too precise. The jacket slid, revealing the riotous art beneath. Murmurs erupted. Cameras flashed.
Elias froze, then stepped offstage, shrugging out of his tux coat. “Wear this,” he hissed, draping it over Alex’s shoulders.
“You’re kidding. It’s a thousand degrees of pretentious—”
“Now.” His voice brooked no argument, but his hands lingered, warm against their collarbone.
The kiss happened in the chaos.
A photographer lunged, shouting about “relationship drama.” Elias yanked Alex close, his coat swallowing them whole. “Follow my lead,” he breathed—then his lips met theirs.
It was supposed to be chaste. A stunt.
It wasn’t.
His mouth was wildfire, all desperation and buried poetry. Alex gripped his lapels, the world dissolving into heat and heartbeat. When they pulled back, Elias looked wrecked.
“That… wasn’t in the contract,” Alex rasped.
“Consider it a bonus,” he said hoarsely, before the board members descended, barking about damage control.
Later, in the penthouse elevator, Elias stabbed the stop button. “Who cut your jacket?”
“Your fan club. Who else?” Alex tossed his coat back. “Thanks for the rescue. But I don’t need a knight in Armani armor.”
“You need to stop acting like a child.”
“And you need to stop acting like a robot!” The words hung, raw.
Elias stepped closer. “You think this is easy? Letting you dismantle everything I’ve built?”
“You invited me in,” Alex whispered. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. Just pressed a folded note into their hand.
“The axe fears the forest it cannot tame.
The forest does not fear at all.”
- Writer
