25. Orion
25
ORION
" S ir? The quarterly projections you asked for."
I looked up to find my assistant hovering nervously in my doorway, clutching a folder. Behind him, I could see Ember at her desk, laughing at something on her phone. Her head was tilted back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. An irrational, stupid part of me wanted to kiss her there—to know if she would moan softly and arch into the gesture, or if she would thread her fingers through my hair, pulling me in.
I forced my attention back to the nervous man before me. "Thank you, Daniel."
"You remembered my name, Sir," he said, smiling brightly.
"Uh, of course I did... You've been my assistant for weeks."
"Right," he said, still looking immensely pleased with himself as he slipped out of my office.
I had a nearly photographic memory and never forgot a name or a face, but I may have been guilty of making employees believe I didn't know who they were. It was a tactic to make them want to earn my approval and also let them know they were on thin ice to start.
The practice had never struck me as immoral or cruel, but now…
I closed my desk drawer a little harder than necessary and straightened my tie.
Now I found myself thinking about how Daniel had photos of three cats on his desk or how happy it seemed to make him when he thought I had finally learned his name. I couldn’t help wondering if this was all part of the virus of… feelings Ember seemed to be infecting me with. As soon as I admitted to myself I may have enjoyed aspects of our relationship—if that was the right word—it was like the floodgates had opened.
Things I wouldn’t have batted an eye at were standing out to me as mean or unfair. Most inconvenient of all, perhaps, was that my employees had started to seem more like people to me. Tools were easy to manipulate, use, abuse, or forget about entirely if necessary. People, though?
Not so much.
This was all Ember’s doing, and I couldn’t even fully convince myself the changes were negative. Yes, it was harder to be objective about what was purely best for the bottom line with this kind of thinking, but it wasn’t entirely without benefit. Just the other day, I had made a comment to a woman named Lilian. I noticed she seemed frustrated on my way to my office.
Instead of mentally noting the negative mental state and subsequent lack of productivity, I stopped by her desk and saw she was struggling with a simple feature in our custom spreadsheet software. I was able to show her how to fix her problem in less than a minute, and I had to admit it had felt… good. What was more, she had gone on to have a highly productive day. I even noticed her brightening other people’s moods throughout the day.
In other words, Ember’s mind virus of compassion or whatever this was may feel strange and new, but maybe it wasn’t an entirely bad thing. For the company, of course.
I realized Daniel had popped back in my door. He looked nervous. "Mr. Foster?"
"Yes?" I asked.
"I don't want to speak out of turn or overstep, but I did think you would want to know. You've asked me before to keep you posted on office chatter if it was relevant, and I?—"
"Spit it out, Daniel." Alright. I was still working on compassion and being nice. That didn’t mean my patience was unlimited.
"Some people are talking about you and Ember Hartwell." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "There have been some rumors spreading. It seems some people drew conclusions after seeing you and Ember at the charity gala."
"Conclusions?" I said coldly.
"About the nature of your relationship, Sir."
"That will be enough, Daniel. Get back to work." I paused, once again feeling haunted by Ember's influence. "Wait."
Daniel froze mid-escape attempt. "Sir?"
"Good work. Let me know if you hear any further rumors."
The young man brightened with a smile and an eager nod. "Yes, Sir. Of course. Thank you."
"Now go," I said, waving him off when it was clear he planned to stand there and bask in the praise.
He practically sprinted from my office. Through the glass walls, I saw him exchange meaningful looks with two other employees who had clearly been watching our interaction.
So my employees were gossiping about me and Ember. I could shut down the rumors with a clear and concise memo. Something to the effect of, "your rumors are unfounded, and your assumptions are grounds for disciplinary action. Cease any and all speculation instantly" would likely do the trick. Even if they still wanted to imagine they understood what was going on, they would at least be too frightened to voice it aloud.
But it also wasn't as if I had ever tried too hard to stamp out inter-office relationships. I knew some saw it was a massive issue, but I had never seen the need to care. People would secretly date if they knew they weren’t allowed to date openly. That only led to wasted time at the office, distractions, and gossiping, just like what Daniel was telling me about.
I grinned to myself and ran a hand down my face. I let my employees openly date if they chose to avoid exactly what I was causing with my own secret pseudo-relationship.
Wonderful.
But the power imbalance between myself and Ember was something to consider. If my… interest in her was out in the open, people would likely question her merits within the company. Promotions or opportunities would be seen as favoritism.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as a sudden headache threatened to come on.
This was all the exact flavor of nonsense I had always strived to avoid. Running a company successfully was more than enough work on a good day, even without external factors. Now I found myself wasting minutes every hour with my unhealthy fascination. My infatuation. My obsession.
That's precisely what Ember had become, wasn't it? I thought about her at all hours of the day. I let memories and fantasies of her interrupt my work hours and throw off my routines. Instead of avoiding screens before bed, I was sending perverse emails to her with full knowledge that she would respond by touching herself at my command.
And I loved it.
The headache seemed to pound even harder. I was rifling through my drawer for a bottle of pain relievers when my intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Foster?" Daniel said through the speaker. "Mr. Davenport is here early."
Damn it. I wasn't prepared. I'd been hoping to talk strategy with Ember first. It annoyed me to admit it, but Ember had her finger on the old man’s pulse. I only seemed to alienate him when I spoke.
"Send him up," I said, straightening my tie and standing to wait outside my office for his arrival.
The elevator dinged moments later, and I heard Ember's laugh before I saw her. She was walking with Davenport, showing him something on her phone.
Eyes lifted all around the office as the pair approached. Some looked at Davenport with open curiosity—likely hearing about how hard we were all trying to win this contract and wondering what was special. Others looked at Ember with a wide range of emotions ranging from what seemed like jealousy, amusement, or even happiness.
"And this one," Ember was saying, "is wearing a little rain hat!"
"Delightful!" Davenport chuckled. "Eleanor's quite the collector. Though I prefer my rubber ducks. More appropriate given my background, wouldn't you say?"
Something in his tone caught my notice. From the look on Ember’s face, she hadn’t missed it either. Davenport had said Eleanor’s name with a kind of warmth I hadn’t heard from the man. There was also an odd familiarity in how he spoke about her collection.
"You know Eleanor?" I asked. “She’s also a client of ours,” I added, hoping the shared connection would be another factor pushing him toward working with us.
"Oh yes," he said, his weathered face softening with what might have been nostalgia. "We go back... quite a ways. I actually gave her her first duck, you know. A rubber one, from my father's factory." He cleared his throat, seeming to catch himself. "But that was a lifetime ago. Now, about these proposals..."
I filed away the odd moment, noting how quickly he changed the subject. There was clearly a story there, but whatever it was, Davenport wasn't ready to tell it.
There was an awkward pause as they stood just outside my office, Davenport’s watery blue eyes watching me expectantly.
Finally, he smiled and gave a small wink. “I can see I ruffled your feathers showing up early. Good. People with ruffled feathers are far more interesting. And Miss Hartwell was kind enough to show me her ceramic waterfowl spreadsheet. It’s quite detailed—really extraordinary work.”
What the hell was every client’s sudden fascination with ducks?
I noticed Ember's slight flush at that. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Shall we?" I gestured to my office.
Davenport took the chair across from my desk and Ember settled in beside him, crossing one leg. Like usual, it didn’t matter how serious the circumstances were. My memory still flashed with an image of her spreading her legs for me and flashing her panties, along with the slightly dark patch of arousal I had seen there.
That single image had been haunting me for weeks, and I already lost track of how many times I had fucked my hand to the thought of it. The woman was single-handedly unraveling me, and I wondered if she even knew it.
Davenport cleared his throat, yanking me from my perverse thoughts to the present. "I've been thinking about what Miss Hartwell said about legacy."
I glanced at Ember, but she was suddenly very interested in her notebook.
"The thing is," Davenport continued, "these factories aren't just buildings to me. They're living history. Hundreds of families built their lives around them. Generations of workers passed through those doors. I may not be long for this world, but those factories could stand long after I'm gone. That matters to me."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "Which is why our renovation plans?—"
"Let me finish, young man." Davenport's eyes hardened slightly. "The problem with youth is you become so fixated on the future you forget about the past—both yours and the past of those who came before you. You charge so fast ahead you lose sight of what matters."
I felt my jaw tighten. "With all due respect?—"
"Mr. Foster," Ember cut in softly. When I looked at her, she gave a tiny shake of her head.
Something in her expression made me pause.
She was right. I needed to shut my mouth and let Davenport speak before I sabotaged another meeting with the old man.
"Please, continue,” I said, bowing my head slightly in apology.
Davenport looked surprised, then pleased. "Well. Perhaps you can learn after all." He leaned forward. "I had an interesting conversation with Cole Northman last night."
I saw Ember go very still.
Why did she always react so strangely at the mention of that man?
"He had some... creative ideas about the properties,” Davenport continued. “I was also quite impressed with his dedication to the history of my factories. He showed me an entire set of documents he has been putting together detailing everything from families who worked in those buildings to facts about the lives that were impacted by the products there."
Now Ember's face had gone white as a ghost. I slid my eyes to her, temporarily more worried about her than the implication of what Davenport was saying—that he was actually considering working with Cole Northman instead of Foster Real Estate on this.
"He showed you that?" Ember asked. Her voice was uncharacteristically meek.
"Yes, Sweetheart," Mr. Davenport said. "I've appreciated the touches of personality you bring to the project, but I must admit I was quite impressed and moved by the sheer amount of work that must have gone into his research."
Ember looked like she was trying to swallow a giant, dry ball of cotton as she nodded and forced a smile.
What the hell is going on there?
"But," Mr. Davenport said, leaning in and giving Ember's knee a friendly tap with his knuckles. "I'm here because I also liked what you said about your vision. Tell me a little more about what you think should be done with my factories?"
All my instincts screamed to jump in at that moment and take control of the conversation. Instead, I took a slow, steady breath and waited for Ember to speak. I couldn’t say if my restraint spoke to my belief in Ember, the changes she had already sparked in me, or a little bit of both.
It took her several seconds to compose herself, but she finally lifted her eyes and cleared her throat. "I think...I think they should tell a story. Yes, they need updating. Yes, they need to be profitable. But they should honor the families who worked there. Maybe we convert part of the rubber factory into a museum about the industry's impact on the city. Maybe we create a scholarship fund for the grandchildren of former workers..."
She trailed off, noticing us both staring at her.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "I am actually still working on the official proposal with these ideas to bring to Mr. Foster and make it legitimate. I shouldn't have voiced all of that without running it by you first," she said, looking my way.
"It's alright," I said, still watching Davenport.
"Mr. Foster," he said, eying me from beneath thick gray brows. "Your employees see the heart of these buildings. The question is: do you?"
I looked at Ember, really looked at her. She was biting her lip, color high in her cheeks, brilliant ideas practically spilling out of her. And suddenly I understood what Davenport meant.
She saw people where I saw profits. Heart where I saw hardware. It was part of the change I was seeing in myself these past few days and weeks. She was rubbing off on me, and while I had a ways to go, I could finally understand her perspective.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then leaned forward, hands clasped. "Part of being a good leader is finding the right people, Mr. Davenport. Another part is recognizing when you've got the right person for a job. So, I can't promise you I have the heart or vision Ember does for your buildings. What I can promise you is that Ember Hartwell has my full trust and confidence. If you decide to work with Foster Real Estate on this project, I would be happy to let Ember take the lead."
Ember was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. I gave her a small nod of encouragement all the same.
Davenport smiled. "Good answer." He stood. "Well, I think I've heard enough for today. Miss Hartwell, would you mind walking an old man out? I have a few more questions about that spreadsheet of yours."
The moment they left, I collapsed into my chair, loosening my tie. Through the glass, I watched Ember lead Davenport to the elevator, animated as she showed him something else on her phone.
She was extraordinary. And terrifying. And absolutely going to be the death of my carefully ordered world.