Chapter 6
N atalie and I slide into her driver’s car after a lunch that feels disarmingly normal. Though she’d seemed kind in our limited interactions before today, she still isn’t what I expected. She’s warmer, more genuine, easy to talk to in a way that feels effortless. It only makes this situation harder to stomach. I’ve done this before—used connections, played the part until I got what I needed—but Natalie already proving to be different than most of the others. She’s maybe a little too trusting and shockingly open about how often people in her world try to use her. And now, I’m one of them.
As James, the soft-spoken man in the driver’s seat, navigates the busy downtown streets, Natalie chats effortlessly about her favorite lunch spots. I nod and laugh in all the right places, forcing myself to stay engaged instead. of allowing my mind to wander . This job was already delicate, but now there’s a growing pit in my stomach that makes it harder to focus.
“You’ve got to let me take you to the little café on Elm next time,” Natalie says, her tone bright, pulling me back to the moment. “Their lavender lattes are amazing, and the owner is the sweetest woman.”
“That sounds great,” I reply, meaning it more than I should. From the corner of my eye, I catch Natalie glancing at me with a thoughtful expression.
“I’m glad we ran into each other today,” she says softly.
Her sincerity lands like a punch. She has no idea that I’m cataloging every detail of her life for my own agenda, no idea that I’m here to use her. I smile instead, slipping the guilt behind a mask I’ve perfected after years in this line of work.
“Me too,” I respond, and for a fleeting moment, I almost believe it.
Natalie perks up suddenly, as if remembering something. “Oh, before I forget. I need to make a quick stop at the office. Silas’s assistant wants to finalize the plans for the summer employee golf tournament fundraiser I’m helping organize. Would you mind coming along? It shouldn’t take long, and then we can drop you wherever you need to go.”
The mention of the Wells Corporate office sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. Peter would lose his mind if he knew I was about to walk through the front doors of their headquarters.
“Not at all,” I reply smoothly, keeping my voice casual despite the quickening pace of my thoughts. “It’ll be cool to see the Wells empire.”
Natalie laughs. “Well, it’s definitely something. Just wait until you see the lobby.”
Minutes later, the car pulls up in front of a sleek, glass-fronted building in the heart of downtown. James steps out to open her door, and she exits with the practiced grace of someone who’s done this a thousand times. I follow, my heart pounding as I take in the modern facade, discreet security cameras, and the building’s imposing presence.
Inside, the lobby is just as polished as I imagined. Gleaming marble floors reflect the soft, strategically placed lighting, while a massive abstract sculpture commands attention in the center of the space. Natalie waves to the receptionists, who greet her with warm smiles, and we make our way toward a set of elevators. She pulls a keycard from her bag and swipes it against the scanner before pressing a button for an upper floor.
I’ve spent as much time studying this company as I have the family itself. Wells Corporation isn’t just another pharmaceutical giant; it’s a legacy, one that began nearly a century ago when Silas and Natalie’s great-grandfather, a medical scientist, developed a revolutionary antibiotic that changed the trajectory of modern medicine. What started as a small research firm exploded into an empire under William Wells’s control, expanding beyond prescription drugs into consumer health products, medical devices, and even biotech.
That’s what makes them untouchable. Their name is printed on everything from high-stakes cancer treatments to the bandages in every household first-aid kit. Hospitals, insurance companies, government health programs—everyone depends on Wells Corporation for something. It’s not just about profits; it’s about influence.
And companies like this? They always have secrets. Whatever Peter has been hired to find has to be something only the Wells family had access to.
“Leslie’s desk is just outside Silas’s office,” Natalie explains as the elevator begins to ascend. “I’ve already texted her and there’s a meeting room where you can wait while I go over the fundraiser details. It won’t take long, I promise.”
I nod, though my thoughts are already racing. I know exactly who Leslie is. Silas’s assistant has been on my radar for weeks. I’ve combed through her background and work history, but I’ve yet to put a face to the name.
“Take your time,” I answer, my tone easy. The more time I spend here, the better my chances of learning something useful.
When the elevator doors open, we step into a sleek and bustling floor where polished glass walls and modern furnishings dominate the design. Natalie exchanges a quick greeting with Leslie, a sharp-looking woman who barely glances at me as she ushers Natalie toward her desk.
“Why don’t you wait in here?” Natalie gestures to a small, glass-walled meeting room whose door is around the corner. “It’ll be more comfortable.”
“Sure,” I reply, settling into one of the chairs. From this vantage point, I can see most of the common area, including the corner of Leslie’s desk and the steady flow of employees moving in and out.
Natalie flashes me a quick smile before turning to join Leslie. As I watch her walk away, I can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly she navigates this world after just seeing how she struggles with the confidence to make friends. Meanwhile, I sit quietly, waiting, all too aware that every moment here is a delicate balance between opportunity and risk.
For the first few minutes, I sit still, trying to appear relaxed while mentally cataloging everything around me. Employees come and go, swiping keycards at doors and chatting in low tones. There’s a rhythm to the place; a well-oiled billion-dollar machine running seamlessly. The weight of opportunity presses against my chest, but it’s not alone. Shame lurks just beneath the surface, unwelcome and persistent.
Just as I’m about to stand and wander—casually to find the bathroom, of course—the door to the meeting room swings open. None other than Silas strides in, followed by a man I don’t recognize. Both are carrying laptops, deep in conversation.
“Oh,” Silas says, stopping short when he sees me. His deep brown eyes narrow before shifting to one of guarded curiosity. “Ms. Page, what are you doing here?”
I rise smoothly, keeping my demeanor respectful but not overly apologetic. “Natalie asked me to wait here while she spoke with Leslie. I can go—”
The other man, mid-forties with the no-nonsense look of a lifetime spent in IT, mutters something under his breath about “guests getting comfortable.” His dismissive tone grates on me immediately.
Silas glances at him, then back at me. “There are a few seats just outside my office near Leslie’s desk if you’d prefer to wait there.”
His words are polite, surprisingly so, and I nod in agreement, moving toward the door. Just as I’m about to leave, I hear the man mention phishing attempts and email security. He’s explaining his solution: stricter spam filters and refresher training for employees. My steps falter.
Before I can stop myself, I turn back. “There might be a more effective way to handle that.”
The man’s head snaps toward me, his expression a mix of irritation and condescension as he sets his laptop down on the conference table. “I’m sure there might be, but this is a technical matter. No offense.”
Silas raises an eyebrow at him, his tone cutting and cool. “Warren, Ms. Page is a successful cybersecurity consultant. She might rightfully take offense.” Then, his sharp gaze shifts to me. “What would you suggest?”
A flicker of appreciation runs through me. Not many people in his position would defend someone they barely know so decisively. Steeling myself, I straighten my back. “Spam filters and training are helpful, but phishing has evolved. AI-powered email security tools can analyze patterns in email traffic and block threats before they even reach inboxes. Pairing that with real-time phishing simulations would give employees practical experience and significantly reduce the risk.”
Warren crosses his arms, his irritation barely masked. “Those tools are expensive and overkill for an internal issue. People just need to be more careful.”
“They are expensive,” I admit, my tone measured. “But a data breach would cost far more. Even careful employees make mistakes. AI tools reduce the risk by catching threats before they land. And with phishing simulations, you reinforce good habits without waiting for someone to slip up.” I turn my attention back to Silas, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Can Wells front the bill?”
Silas watches me intently, his expression unreadable but far from indifferent. The way his eyes hold mine makes me feel like I’m being evaluated, and it’s equal parts unnerving and flattering. Finally, he speaks. “Warren, is there a reason we can’t explore these tools?”
Warren’s jaw tightens. “No, they’re viable options. But we’d need to evaluate costs and implementation.”
“Perfect,” Silas says, setting his laptop down before turning back to me. “Do you have a few minutes to walk us through how that would work?”
The question jolts me. His tone is neutral, professional, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity, maybe even respect. He gestures toward the wall-mounted TV, where his laptop is already connected. My response catches in my throat for a second, the weight of conflicting priorities pressing down. Offering advice like this goes against my self-interest. The stronger Wells Corp’s security gets, the harder my job becomes. But trust is currency, and if I show Silas I know what I’m talking about, it could help me later.
Besides, the way he’s watching me makes me want to prove myself.
“Sure,” I say finally, letting a faint smile creep into my tone. “But only because I’m feeling generous today.” I move toward the table, sitting in front of Silas's laptop and angling it toward me. “Normally, I’d charge for this kind of consulting, but let’s call this a… complimentary demonstration.”
My fingers move purposefully across the trackpad, navigating to an internet browser to pull up the tools and programs I know are among the best for combating phishing threats. I keep my focus on the screen, trying to ignore the heat of Silas’s presence as he takes the seat beside me.
Soon, I’m diving into the details of the three companies I’d recommend, carefully outlining the pros and cons of each. Warren interjects occasionally, his tone more combative than curious. But I counter every objection with precise answers. The longer I talk, the more I feel Silas’s gaze. It’s steady, unwavering, and when I glance at him briefly, I catch the faintest tilt of his head, like he’s impressed.
Despite myself, a quiet sense of validation stirs within me. It’s a reminder that being acknowledged for my expertise, no matter the situation, still carries weight. It’s infuriating how much that matters to me, and I shove the thought aside, forcing my focus back to the task at hand.
By the time I finish, I realize I’ve completely lost myself in the conversation. Leaning back, I look toward Silas again, who is watching me with an intensity that sends tingles down to my fingertips. His dark eyes are focused, but there’s something softer beneath them now, something that feels almost personal rather than professional. I don’t know what to make of it, and I’m not sure that I want to.
“Let’s move forward with this.” Silas turns to Warren. “I want a full evaluation of the tools she mentioned.”
Warren nods stiffly, his frustration thinly veiled as he collects his things and exits the room without another word. The door clicks shut behind him, punctuating his departure, and for a brief moment, the room falls silent. Silas’s attention shifts fully to me as we both stand.
“That was impressive,” he says after a beat as he extends a hand toward me. “Thank you for stepping in.”
His grip firm and warm, his thumb brushing lightly against my knuckles. The gesture is subtle but enough to send a ripple of warmth through me as the faintest tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Is Davey too important to take these meetings, or does the future CEO always handle phishing scams?” I ask, my tone playful. I pull my hand back, watching him closely for a reaction. Amusement flickering across his face.
“Davey’s tied up with a few high-priority projects for my father,” he says with a casual shrug. “I jump in where I can.”
My eyebrows raise. “I didn’t think someone like you would take on something so... minor.”
His posture shifts subtly, annoyance crossing his face for only a moment before he smooths it away. “There’s no unimportant job. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
The conviction in his voice surprises me. It’s not the kind of canned response I’d expect from someone born into privilege. There’s a weight to his words that resonates more than I’d like to admit.
“That’s a refreshing perspective,” I say, stepping back to put a little more space between us. “It’s not something you often hear.” I pause, offering him a small, polite smile. “I should get back to Natalie before she starts wondering if I’ve run off with her brother.”
A flicker of heat ignites behind his stare and his tongue runs over his teeth, as if he’s biting back a smirk.
“We can’t have that now, can we?” Silas replies smoothly, though his eyes linger on me for a moment longer. “Where can I send the consulting bill?”
“Like I said earlier,” I reply, waving him off lightly, “this one’s on the house.”
As I turn to leave, his voice stops me. “Careful, Scarlett. Giving things away for free could ruin your reputation.”
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. My smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Don’t mistake generosity for habit, Mr. Wells. I know exactly what my time is worth.”
His brows lift slightly, entertained but not surprised. Instead of pressing further, his smirk deepens, as if he’s just uncovered something about me that he finds intriguing. It’s maddening, and before he can say anything else, I turn on my heel and shut the door firmly behind me, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway.
I approach Natalie and Leslie, who both don’t notice me until I’m almost in front of them. Natalie looks up from the paperwork she’s sifting through, her eyes darting between me and the glass meeting room where she can see Silas packing up his things. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and something close to concern.
“Please tell me my brother didn’t hold a meeting while you were in there,” she says, her brows pulling together.
I smile, a polished, practiced thing that masks the whirlwind of thoughts swirling inside me. “I ended up giving him some advice on a program,” I reply, clasping my hands in front of me. It’s not exactly a lie, though it’s far from the full story. “Do you need more time? I can find somewhere else to wait.”
Natalie shakes her head quickly and glances at Leslie, who barely looks up from her screen as she nods in agreement. “No, we’re done,” Natalie says, her voice bright, though her gaze flicks back toward the meeting room. “Ready?”
“Yup,” I say, adding a playful pop to the “p.” It’s a small, casual attempt to lighten the mood, but it feels hollow against the knot of tension sitting in my chest. I follow her to the elevators as I try to make sense of the jumble of thoughts fighting for my attention.
Natalie chats as we descend. She talks about the fundraiser’s potential themes, sponsors, and logistics. She even mentions setting up more lunches together. I nod when appropriate, offer a few noncommittal responses, but my mind is elsewhere.
Because part of me is still in that room. With her brother.
Something about the way Silas’s lips curved ever so slightly when I made that flippant comment about running off with him stays with me. It felt too deliberate, too calculated, like he wanted me to notice. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that it’s meaningless in the grand scheme of things. But the tightening in my chest won’t let me believe it.
I lean against the elevator wall, doing my best to look at ease while my thoughts churn. Natalie, oblivious, continues her stream of conversation, her voice filled with a kind of openness that only makes the guilt settle deeper.
And yet, here I am, playing the part like I always do.
By the time we’re back in the car, I’m staring out the window, watching the city smear into a blur of gray and glass. Natalie fills the silence with new lunch spots we should try, and I do my best to stay present with her.
But in the back of my mind, a voice reminds me of something I’m not ready to admit: Silas Wells, for all his charm and striking looks, is a pompous ass I can’t afford to get tangled up with. And yet, the thought of staying away feels like its own kind of challenge. One that will be difficult to resist.