4. Adrian
Chapter four
Adrian
I tap my pen against the desk, a metronome to the chaos of figures and clauses swimming on the screen in front of me. The numbers blur into a tangle of digits I can’t seem to make sense of. It’s useless—every time I try to anchor my thoughts to the merger details, Isabella’s image pirouettes through my mind, more distracting than a neon sign at midnight.
Her moans echo in my ears, the memory so vivid it’s like she’s hiding under my desk. And those lips, full and unyielding, taunting me with a smirk because they know just how badly they’ve short-circuited my brain. Damn it! Since when did Isabella King become my personal brand of cognitive dissonance?
I rub my temples, chasing away the ghost of her curves pressing against me. This is ridiculous; I never lose control like this. Women, negotiation deals, courtroom battles—I handle them all with the same cool-headed precision. But last night? That was ... what was that?
The thought of texting her bubbles up, weighing heavier than any brief I’ve ever drafted. Maybe just to see her. Maybe just to—no. My thumb hovers over her contact, itching to type out a message, but I jam it back in my pocket. I’m 36, not a teenager anymore. I should have more self-control than this.
Isabella is off-limits. Employee. Boundary line drawn in permanent marker. Considering how she left her last job, I should have had way more self-control.
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call without looking up.
Suzy enters, remaining in the doorway with her hand on the knob. “Mr. Cole, you have that meeting with Mr. Sterling and Ms. King at eleven.”
“Thanks, Suzy.” I glance at the clock. 10:45. Jesus—time’s a thief.
“Anything else you need?” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice, as if she’s expecting me to be more frazzled.
“Get me a large coffee, would you? Black, like my mood.”
Suzy chuckles. “Sure thing, Mr. Cole.” She closes the door with a soft click.
I dive back into the documents, words becoming soldiers I marshal into order, the familiar rhythm of work steadying the currents trying to sweep me away.
When the clock strikes 11, I’m already seated at the head of the conference table, papers meticulously arranged in front of me. Control, that’s the game today. The door swings open, and they filter in—Leo with his stoic calmness, Isabella with her ... everything.
“Morning,” I mutter, my voice a notch too casual. Nobody needs to know my heart’s staging a coup against my ribcage.
“Morning, Adrian,” Leo says, taking the seat adjacent to me.
“Good morning, Mr. Cole,” Isabella greets, her tone professional, but there’s something else there—a flicker of last night that sends a jolt straight through me. Stop it, Cole.
“Isabella, you’re glowing today,” Leo points out, and immediately, there’s a blush creeping on her cheeks.
She clears her throat, her eyes sweeping over to me before she sits up taller. “Must be the face mask I used last night.”
Leo shoots her a playful wink. “You’ll have to share your secrets with me.”
“Now’s not the time, Leo,” I say without looking up.
He gives me a mock salute. “Got it, boss.”
“Let’s get started,” I say, clapping my hands together like a coach at halftime. Leo nods, Suzy perches on the edge of her seat with her notepad at the ready, and I can’t help but notice how Isabella’s skirt hugs her just right. Damn khaki, blending professionalism with sin.
“Understand the significance here—we land this merger, and we’re not just talking about a win for Aurora and NexGen. We’re talking about putting us on the map for future Fortune 500 clients,” I stress, planting the flag on this hill of ambition.
“Agreed,” Leo chimes in, his voice steady as ever. “We need to be especially on point for this one.”
“Ms. King, you’ll spearhead the financial arrangements and compliance with securities law,” I announce, my decision sounding more like a royal decree than a simple delegation of duties.
“Of course,” she replies, chin lifted, her green eyes catching mine with a fire that could burn down empires—or at least my resolve.
“Leo and I will be overseeing every step with Aurora and NexGen. Intimately.”
“Intimately” hangs in the air longer than intended, and I swear her eyebrow arches in silent challenge—or is it invitation? It’s probably the fluorescent lighting playing tricks on me.
“Suzy, could you coordinate with both companies to schedule our initial meetings?” I ask, turning to safer waters .
“Will do, Mr. Cole,” she responds promptly, tapping away at her tablet.
“Thank you,” I manage, trying to sound like I haven’t just been mentally grappling with the idea of Isabella and intimacy in the same sentence. “I think that’ll be all for today. Let’s adjourn and get back to work then.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Leo says, a determined smile on his face. He loves the challenge of securing a new client.
As the meeting wraps up, papers shuffle, chairs scrape, and everyone exits with an efficient bustle. Except Isabella seems slower to gather her things, deliberate even. I feel the weight of her presence like a verdict waiting to be read.
“Adrian—” she starts once it’s just the two of us left. “Can we talk about last night?” Her voice cuts through the tension like a knife through butter, and I swear my pulse kicks up a notch.
“Isabella,” I start, my tone firm but fair—or so I tell myself, “what happened was a one-off. A slip. I assure you—I hired you for your qualifications and skills, and I promise it won’t happen again.” I keep my gaze on her, trying to read her reaction without giving away mine. It’s like playing poker with all your cards facing out.
She bristles, and I wonder if I could’ve handled that with a bit more finesse. Who am I kidding? I’m about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“I agree …” she spits out, the words sharp enough to draw blood. “But you don’t have to be so ... clinical about it.”
“Got a better script for this conversation?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. It’s not sarcasm; it’s self-preservation. Because if I stay any longer, I might forget why this is a bad idea.
She opens her mouth, maybe to argue or suggest something, I don’t know. But patience isn’t a virtue I possess right now, and I need distance between us before I do something stupid—like reach out to her again.
“Isabella, we’re two consenting adults who acknowledged that we made a mistake last night. Is there really anything else we need to discuss?”
She lowers her head, opting to play with her hands. It’s odd confronting her without her usual sass, but I suppose this situation is a bit too vulnerable for the both of us.
I exhale. “Look, for what it’s worth, I enjoyed it. But it simply wouldn’t be appropriate for us to be anything more than boss and employee. Especially after—” But I pause before I say it, remembering the promise I made to Isabella’s mother. Do not, under any circumstances, let Isabella find out I know about her boss making a pass at her.
She blinks, confusion etching her features. “Especially after what?”
“Listen, if you don’t get back to work now, I’ll have Suzy write you up.” I pivot on my heel and head for the door, feeling her eyes burning into my back.
“Write me up? Adrian!” Her voice follows me out, a tether I refuse to let pull me back.
I brush past Suzy at her desk, offering a tight smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, and make a beeline for my office. The click of the door closing behind me sounds like sanctuary. Or maybe a cell locking. Hard to tell the difference these days.
I slump into my leather chair, the weight of the morning’s tension still clinging to me like a second skin. My phone buzzes from its place on the mahogany desk, a welcome distraction from the replay of Isabella’s indignant face that’s stuck on loop in my mind.
“Adrian, do you need me to pick up Caleb from school? ”
I tap out a quick text in response, “No, I’ve got it. Meet us at home later?” The thought of escaping to my son’s innocent world is suddenly the lifeline I’m grasping for.
“Sure, see you then,” Mom replies, her words softening around the edges, probably imagining me buried under a pile of paperwork rather than emotional turmoil.
The office suddenly feels more claustrophobic than commanding. I spin in my chair, letting out a long breath and staring out at the cityscape. Working from home isn’t just an escape; it’s a strategic retreat. Away from the “mistake” that has Isabella’s curves permanently etched into my brain.
Mistake? Who am I kidding? That’s like calling a hurricane a slight breeze. Last night was ... electric. The way she responded to me, the sparks that flew—it was anything but wrong. And if I had any sense, I’d want to avoid repeating it.
Except, I don’t. Sense has left the building along with logic and, apparently, my self-control. Because more than avoiding a repeat, I find myself wanting to dive back into the eye of the storm.
“Working closely” doesn’t begin to cover what this merger means. It’s like being marooned on an island with your biggest temptation and only a spoonful of willpower for sustenance. And Isabella King? She’s the kind of temptation that could make a saint swear.
“Focus, Adrian,” I mutter to myself, powering down my computer and grabbing my briefcase. Home. Work. Caleb. Safe topics, safe zones. But as I lock my office door behind me, there’s no denying the truth.
I’m not just worried about what this will mean for the merger. I’m worried about what it will mean for me and Isabella—the fiery-eyed siren masquerading as a lawyer who’s already turned my world upside down with just one kiss.