Chapter Seven
ASH
“So, is this the best idea you’ve ever had?” Elena asked from her spot, arms crossed, leaning on her desk, and looking out the glass screen.
Afternoon light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, painting the skyline in warm gold. Her office—sleek marble, dark wood, not a single thing out of place—looked like it had been built to intimidate lesser men.
“No.” I didn’t need to follow her gaze to guess exactly what she was looking at. “Definitely one of the worst.”
“A self-aware man. I love that. Don’t love the HR nightmare you just sent my way.” Her tone stayed light as she pushed off the desk. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floors, her tailored black suit cutting a razor-sharp silhouette.
“It doesn’t have to be forever, and he’s in a different department. It’s only part-time—I’m not even his boss, and I barely deal with marketing—”
“Ash, you’re one of the heads of this company,” she cut in. “You’re the boss of everyone.”
I rolled my lips and shrugged, giving her my best doe-eyed expression.
Elena huffed a laugh before rubbing her temples, rings glinting under the light. “God. Please just keep this professional, Sebastian. The last thing we need is an internal relationship becoming ammunition right now.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I said firmly. “There’s nothing to report.”
She gave me an unimpressed look, which made me drop my gaze to my lap.
There was something about Elena that screamed woman in power.
Impossibly put together. Always three steps ahead.
The kind of executive who could make a whole boardroom fold with a single inhale.
She saw right through my bullshit every time, which was both annoying and extremely useful.
After losing Aria to Henry a couple of years ago, I’d apparently needed a replacement emotional nanny—Elena had filled the role.
“He needed a job,” I continued. “And with what he wants from his career, VistaReal was the logical option for him. I already spoke to Marcela in Marketing—she’s thrilled to have him on the team.
But,” I said, emphasizing that last word as she rolled her eyes, “if you are really against it and he turns out to be a liability—which I’m a hundred percent certain he’s not—then I’ll figure out where else he can go. ”
Her brown eyes narrowed.
“And I’ll report to HR that we used to be an item,” I added, more subdued.
“Thank you.” She turned back toward the glass, posture effortlessly regal. “He’s very cute, I’ll give you that. Inappropriate—but cute.”
“That could be our motto,” I joked.
“The disclosure form is on my desk.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the folder waiting for me. “Before the end of the day.”
I reached for it, skimming the lines, each one more humiliating than the last.
“You’re still seeing that Italian model?”
“He works in fashion—not a model. And yes, I am.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t inviting drama into the company at the exact moment we cannot afford drama?”
I arched a brow. “You invited drama the day we signed the founding documents.”
“Fair.” She slipped into her chair behind the massive walnut desk. “Are you ready for the board meeting?”
“Almost. I still need to review the revised forecasts. The last set was…” I exhaled. “…tight.”
She considered me for a moment. “Tight as in manageable, or tight as in we start making decisions we don’t want to make?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t get that far.”
Because if the freeze held much longer, we’d be looking at halted projects, shrinking liquidity, and conversations I refused to have.
“Keep me posted,” she said.
I nodded.
“And about our new research assistant too.”
“There’ll be nothing to report there,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “Why are you so sure?”
“Because I’m nothing if not a strategist with a plan. And that’s not part of the plan.”
“Plans can go to shit,” she said, deadpan. “Just take a look around.”
A soft chuckle slipped out of me. “Touché. I promise I’ll let you know if mine do too.”
Stepping out of her office as our impromptu meeting ended, I was greeted by the sight of Ethan walking down the hall with a couple of people from marketing—junior analysts, by the look of them.
His pale eyes found mine instantly, and he lifted a hand in a wave, an easy, bright smile on his lips.
I nodded back, not managing to stop myself from returning it with one of my own.
Of course he looked incredible in office attire.
Another reminder of the hole I was digging myself into.
But who could blame me? How was I supposed to walk into that apartment and watch him fall apart and not rush in to do anything—everything—to make him feel better?
I was only human. And if that resulted in him being in my office most days of the week…
Yes, this was definitely a bad idea.
I’d also had to cancel my dinner plans with Luca so I could stay and help Ethan after he talked to Henry. Worth it, though. He looked lighter today. More relaxed. His smile was more genuine than I’d seen since he’d gotten here. Only—unfortunately—far too often directed at me.
And then there was that slip. The almost kiss.
I had gotten so caught up in how he was opening up, how he was letting me in again, that I didn’t even notice how close I’d gotten to him and how unable I’d been to keep my hands to myself.
And he hadn’t pulled away. Not even a little.
We had come so close. So close that now the image was burned into my mind, replaying every time I blinked.
Now here I was, welcoming him into my safe space—my workspace—like an idiot. Letting him parade around all day in those perfectly tailored pants and aim those soft, ridiculous smiles at me from across the floor while regulators combed through our files.
Fucking perfect, Sebastian.
Well fucking done.
The office was dark except for the glow of my monitors. Legal emails. Compliance updates. Cash projections. Three different timelines showing how long we could keep things moving if the freeze dragged on.
None of them were acceptable.
“I’m not interested in waiting,” I said into the phone, pacing behind my desk. “Waiting is how we bleed out.”
Oscar exhaled quietly. “We can’t move forward on the state projects until the auditors clear the authorization chain.”
“I’m aware,” I said, jaw tight.
Three hundred units stalled mid-construction.
Two infrastructure bids suspended.
Millions in progress payments frozen.
Payroll, however, was not frozen. Neither were vendor contracts. Nor insurance. Nor the lights currently burning money above my head.
“We’re prioritizing private work,” he continued, cautious. “But if this review runs longer than expected—”
“It won’t.”
Silence met me on the other end of the line. I knew I couldn’t will this problem away. Oscar knew it too. Which was why the tension stretched between us—it was him waiting to see if I’d finally lost it.
Get it together, Sebastian.
“I need updated projections tonight,” I said. “Best case. Worst case. Model thirty days.”
“That’s… aggressive.”
“That’s realistic.”
Another pause. Papers shifting.
“We’re still trying to identify what triggered the audit—”
“It didn’t trigger itself,” I snapped. “Somewhere in that authorization chain something doesn’t match, and until we find it, we’re fucked. So dig.”
“We are—”
“Dig faster.” The words came out sharper than intended, but I didn’t take them back. “I want every document tied to those approvals reverified. Every signature. Every submission. If something is missing, I want to know before the auditors do. Send it to me. Everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ended the call and pressed my fingers hard against my eyes.
The building hummed around me—elevators, distant voices, the steady rhythm of a company still functioning while a critical artery remained clamped shut. The circulation hadn’t stopped yet. It was just running on what had made it through before the whole fucking mess imploded.
Somewhere in that chain, one missing authorization, one irregular document, one overlooked detail had stalled everything. Until we found it, we were stuck in place. Burning time. Burning money. Burning credibility.
A soft knock sounded at my door.
“One second,” I called, not looking up.
The silence lingered.
Then—
“Bad time?”
My head lifted.
Ethan stood in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, tailored trousers sharp, that hesitant smile tugging at his mouth like he wasn’t sure he should interrupt.
In the middle of this chaos—and decisions that could cost people their jobs—he looked like relief.
I straightened, forcing the tension out of my shoulders, tucking the crisis back into its box for five minutes. “No,” I said. “Come in.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, taking a couple of steps inside. “Just thought I’d pop in and say hi. First week and all.”
“How did it go?”
His eyes roamed over my desk, taking in the mess of paper and folders. “You look busy.”
I pushed up from the chair, flipped on the light, then crossed to the bar cart. “I am, but a quick break won’t sink the company. Want one?” I glanced at him as I poured.
“Sure,” he said, setting his bag on a chair before dropping to the one beside it.
“So…” I handed him the glass and went back to sit behind my desk. “How was it?”
“Good. Everyone’s nice.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “Had to have a chat with HR, sign a form.”
“Me too.” I rolled my eyes and took a long swallow. “Just a formality. Don’t worry about it.”
“It was kinda weird,” he said, swirling the drink, “but everybody’s being oddly neutral about it.”
I raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“You know, no one’s said anything about this…” He gestured between us. “Nothing mean anyway. I was kind of expecting it.”
“How come?”
He took a sip, then looked away, his gaze dragging over the bookshelves like he was trying too hard to be casual. “Got used to it.”