9. Skye #3
By the time I slide into the leather booth at Blue Room, Maya’s already halfway through her first drink and scrolling through something on her phone with the kind of deadly focus that makes me think someone’s about to get roasted.
“What poor soul are we destroying tonight?” I ask, setting my bag beside me and waving down the bartender.
She looks up, rolling her eyes. “If one more man at this job tells me I should smile more, I swear to God, I’m going to lose it.”
I laugh, the sound a little too eager to be anywhere other than inside my own head. “Should we be drinking or hiding the bodies?”
“Both,” she deadpans, raising her glass. “But first, we drink.”
The bartender drops off my martini—gin, dirty, like my thoughts—and I take a long, blessed sip. The alcohol slides down my throat, releasing a touch of the tension that’s been wrapped around me since Reece left me alone on that terrace.
We chat for a few minutes about her new position, how the office dynamics are shifting now that she’s a manager, and the passive-aggressive emails from coworkers who suddenly think she’s too big for happy hour.
“How does it feel?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Being the boss?”
She smirks. “Stressful. Powerful. Like I finally earned the right to be the bitch I’ve always been accused of being.”
I grin. “So you’re thriving.”
“Obviously.” She takes another sip, then narrows her eyes at me. “But enough about me. How’s your new job going?”
And there it is. The question I knew would be coming. I try to play it cool, keep my face blank as I lift my martini and avoid eye contact. “It’s… fine.”
“Fine?” Maya snorts. “Babe, your cheeks are literally turning pink. Spill.”
We exchange a smile, but hers doesn’t last long. She tilts her head. “Skye.”
“Maya.”
Her brows lift like she’s waiting. I exhale a long breath, staring into the pale-green swirl of my drink. She eyes me over the rim of her martini like she knows something.
“You’ve got that look again,” she says, swirling her olive.
“What look?”
“The one where you’re pretending nothing is going on, but you’re practically vibrating with forbidden billionaire energy.”
I almost choke on my sip of overpriced gin. “You are ridiculous.”
She just smirks, leaning back against the bar like she’s about to win a bet. “So, still stapling things and memorizing the pattern of his tie collection?”
I snort, trying to brush it off. “I mean, yeah. Mostly calendar management and coffee runs. Which, shocker, is not exactly the dream.”
“We both know that and it’s not supposed to be.” She narrows her gaze further. “So what’s with this new energy?”
I glance down at my drink, swirling the condensation with my thumb.
“I think it’s because I forgot how much I used to love…
the other side of the job. The creative stuff.
PR campaigns, branding ideas. Building something from scratch that actually makes people feel something.
Remember when I was interning at that tiny agency in college?
I used to live for that adrenaline—pitching campaigns and watching them take off. ”
Maya tilts her head. “So why aren’t you doing that now?”
I huff out a soft laugh, equal parts wistful and annoyed.
“Because somewhere along the way, life steamrolled me. Or maybe I just let it because that was the most comfortable option. One decision to stay at a job I hated because the money was good. One decision to choose said job over a man that then dumped me… And suddenly, I’m here…
fetching coffee for a man who could probably buy a small country just for fun. ”
Her hand lands on my knee, warm and steady. “You’re Skye Rhodes. You’ve always landed on your feet. And honestly? You’re too damn talented to be anyone’s coffee girl forever.”
My throat tightens, and I reach my hand around hers to offer a quick squeeze. “I don’t even know where to start anymore.”
“You already have. You start by wanting it,” she says simply, and clinks her glass against mine. “Next step, go after it.”
“You’re right,” I nod, my smile growing wider. “I still have my contacts at the old PR firm plus I can probably mess around on some of the high end software programs at work if I talk to our marketing department.”
“And just like that," she lifts her glass toward mine so I do the same, “Skye fucking Rhodes is back in action.”
I take a long healthy sip of my martini, a soft giggle bubbling up when I remember what I’ve been dying to tell Maya all day. “Okay. So… remember our little conversation on the phone at work?”
She snorts. “You mean when you practically shouted daddy issues at top volume?”
“Yeah. That.” I wince. “He heard me.”
Her glass halts midair. “Reece?” I nod. Maya chokes on her olive. “He heard that?”
“Oh yes, and he even brought it up to me.”
“Oh my God.” Her mouth drops open. “What did he say?”
I shift in the booth, suddenly too warm. “He didn’t say much. Just that it was hard not to hear. And that maybe I said it loud because I wanted someone to hear, and then he went on to say all this shit about how I shouldn’t be flirting with him if I knew what kind of man he was.”
Maya drops her forehead to the table. “I cannot breathe. Are you serious?”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” I say, barely above a whisper.
She lifts her head like she knows what’s coming. “There’s more ?”
I nod. “I left the break room to get air. Went out to the executive terrace just to breathe. And… he followed me.”
Maya slaps the table. “Of course he did.”
“I have never in my life had a man get me so close to coming without touching me,” I confess, after telling her all of the filthy threats he whispered against my ear.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathes. “That man is every morally gray billionaire romance rolled into one real-life fever dream.”
“It was like being tortured seductively,” I mutter.
“Did he kiss you?” she blurts.
I shake my head. “He got close. Mouth near my ear, voice all low and threatening. But no. No kiss.”
Maya downs the rest of her drink like it’s a sedative. “That’s worse. That’s so much worse. ”
“I know.”
“I mean, this is Reece Blackwood. Your ex’s dad.”
“Yes,” I confirm, “we know this and he knows this and he doesn’t seem to be deterred by that which is… weirdly so damn hot. Oh God,” I groan, leaning forward and resting my chin on my hands. “I’m fucked up. This is fucked up, isn't it?”
Maya softens for a second, but then her expression shifts. “Wait… has he told Archer you’re working there?”
I look away. “No.”
“Skye,” she says, warning clear in her voice.
“He said Archer works for the company but he’s traveling most of the time. He didn’t say why he hadn’t told him. Just… didn’t.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I try to laugh. “It’s not like anything’s happened. ”
She levels me with a look. “Yet.”
“He made it clear that’s not an option.”
Maya scoffs. “Girl, I would bet my firstborn that he’s going to snap. And when he does? Whew.”
I let out a groan as I drag a hand through my hair. “He doesn’t want Archer to know. That should tell me everything I need to know.”
“It should,” she agrees gently. “But does it?”
I press my lips together.
Maya leans across the table, her voice lower now. “Listen. If this thing keeps going, you have to talk about it. You can’t just be some secret he’s ashamed to admit, especially not when it’s this messy. And trust me—keeping you from his son? That’s not neutral. That’s intentional.”
Her words slide under my skin and settle somewhere I don’t want to examine.
“I hear you,” I say quietly.
She sits back and exhales, then brightens. “Okay. Enough serious shit. You are still coming to the gallery show this weekend, right?”
“Oh God, yes,” I breathe. “I need something that isn’t tied to work. Or Reece. Or my increasingly unstable libido.”
She grins. “Perfect. My friend’s finally getting her piece displayed, and we’re celebrating after. There will be drinks and art and weirdos. You’ll love it.”
“I plan to drink something out of a paper cup and stand in front of abstract nudes, pretending not to think about being bent over a terrace railing.”
Maya raises her glass. “To bestie time and no billionaires.”
I clink my glass against hers, even as a voice inside me whispers that fate’s not done playing games with me yet.