Chapter 18 #2
By the time Elena arrives with my freshly washed and steamed clothes, the light slanting through the window has taken on that golden late-afternoon glow, and my resolve to drag this ordeal to its end finally kicks in.
“Can I get you anything else?” Elena asks.
“No. You’ve already done enough.” I slide out of bed. “Thank you.”
She inclines her head. “Mr. Cavallo is waiting in the study whenever you’re ready.”
She backs into the hall, leaving me to dress and make myself presentable.
When I enter the study it’s with determination and fortitude—head high, shoulders straight—then I take my place in the seat behind the desk. Raffael sits opposite me, posture composed, a quiet wall of scrutiny I can feel without meeting his stare.
I flip open the laptop, adjust myself in the camera frame, and cue the live feed, each click a countdown to swallowing my pride.
My words come steady as I greet my invisible audience and admit my previous statement was misguided.
I take ownership of the miscommunication that placed life-long clients under an unnecessary microscope and spin my premature grandstanding into a punch line, because if I don’t laugh first, someone else will—at my expense.
I announce the mentoring partnership with the Cavallo Group, gushing with enthusiasm over the private equity firm that’s been the cornerstone of my father’s portfolio for decades.
And I close with a heartfelt reiteration of my apology, turning the neatly packaged PR stunt into a performance worthy of a Golden Globe.
All without giving a glimpse at how the charade strips me of every ounce of self-respect I’d worked hard to cultivate as a token female in a city full of powerful men.
But as soon as the final click of the mouse ends the feed, my ability to smile through the humiliation drains, leaving nothing but the brittle shell of someone who just staged her own public undoing.
Raffael leans forward and closes the laptop. “You did good.”
I cringe.
What I did was destroy my credibility and make myself a laughingstock.
Given more time—or access to crisis management—I might have found a way to shift the narrative or soften the demeaning blow. But as is, I’ve tarnished CrossPoint’s reputation and set a new benchmark for fastest self-sabotage in CEO history.
I stand and skirt the desk. “Does this mean I can go home now?”
He follows to his feet, close enough that the energy between us shifts. “You can…”
I register his hesitation, but don’t stick around to dwell. His nearness has me humming like a tuning fork, every nerve lit and vibrating. I start toward the hall, only to have him block my path.
He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The space between us narrows to a breath. One I can’t quite catch.
“You’re free to leave,” he clarifies. “But you should stay until morning to ensure all those involved have heard the statement and are satisfied with the outcome.”
A chill trickles down my spine, born of something far more dangerous than fear.
My focus should be on the threat in his words. On “all those involved.” Instead, it snags on the perilous promise of staying until morning.
He’s so close the spice of his cologne coils in my chest, tightening my lungs. For a heartbeat too long I’m caught remembering the way he touched me. His soft lips. The hard length of his—
Reality slaps. He’s talking about his brother.
The son of a bitch that has my cat.
“Do you trust me enough to stay another night?” Raffael asks.
“Evidently, my trust hasn’t had a functioning radar for quite some time. But…” The thought of his brother is concerning. “I’d contemplate staying given some concessions.”
“Which are?” His voice is composed. Measured. He’s back to being the disciplined CEO.
I need to get my ovaries under control and follow suit. “I want you to call Eliseo and ensure the safe return of Nyra.”
“It’s already been done. He’ll look after her until you get back.”
I level him with a scowl.
“You don’t need to worry,” he mutters. “Eli is capable of a lot of things, but hurting defenseless animals isn’t one of them.”
“I don’t care.” I want her home. Safe. Away from someone harboring a twisted vendetta. “You’ll have him return her immediately, and I’ll organize Quinn to feed her.”
The muscles around his jaw flex. “Consider it done. Anything else?”
A seed of unease takes root in my gut.
This is exactly why I shouldn’t have slept with him. I can’t stop staring at his mouth, remembering the taste of him, wondering what he’d do if I fisted his shirt and pulled him closer.
“I want to return to the guest cabin. And regaining cell service is non-negotiable.” I raise my chin, resolute.
His nostrils flare.
He doesn’t want to concede, and the sick and twisted part of me wonders whether it’s because of the change in sleeping arrangements or the access to the outside world.
“If I leave now I’ll be able to use my phone as soon as I disembark,” I argue. “…Unless you don’t really plan to take me back.”
“I said you’re free to leave,” he growls.
Yes, that’s what he said.
It’s just in direct conflict with his deep, snarly tone.
“I need to message Quinn. And I’ll have a million spot fires waiting in my inbox. If staying is important, internet access is part of the deal.”
“Fine. But understand, the seriousness of this situation hasn’t changed. The agreement can’t become common knowledge.”
“I’m pretty sure my humiliation tab is maxed out. The last thing I want is more people in the loop.”
He closes in, slow and deliberate, until his foot brushes mine.
Our eyes lock.
My pulse stutters.
“I mean it, Isla. Not a single soul can learn about this.”
I understand.
If word gets out, it’ll mean more than lost investors and a fractured empire.
New York will do what it always does—sensationalize.
My father will become a laughingstock. Raffael and his brothers will be cast as members of some type of underworld blood-debt dealing syndicate.
The kind of wild narrative that snowballs fast and feeds into every corner of the city.
And I refuse to be the victim in that story.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut.” I maneuver around him, giving him a wide berth. “Just as long as you agree to my terms.”