2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Ethan
I look up from the screen on my desk as the study door opens. Anthony walks in, rubbing the back of his head.
“You should open the drapes sometimes,” he says, walking up to the window. “Some people might start to believe that you’re Dracula.”
“Would that be going on the list of other names I’ve been called already?” I retort dryly.
He shrugs. “Who knows? With the party coming up, the tabloids might decide to spin their articles a different way. I do think they’re getting tired of repeating the same things—elusive billionaire, reserved and known by some to be aloof,” he says, ticking the words off his fingers.
“And you think opening the drapes would change that?”
Anthony walks up to the desk and pulls back a chair. He sits and crosses a leg at the knee. “It would give a glimpse into your private space. And it might help people see your more humane side.”
I roll my eyes. “You do enough socializing for both of us.”
He tilts his head and starts to say something but stops short.
Oh well. I know Anthony would rather I accompany him to every occasion and party, even though most of them happen in loud places, but someone has to keep things in order.
“Why did you hire her?” I ask offhandedly as I return to my screen, looking through the bi-annual revenue report from some of our smaller businesses.
“Who?” Anthony replies smoothly, feigning ignorance as he leans back and folds his arms loosely. I arch a brow, and he chuckles. “The event planner? Natalie? Why not?”
Why not?
While Anthony is reckless and sometimes needs reigning in, he doesn’t report his every movement and decision to me. It was his decision to host the party too—although it’s a tradition that stopped after my father died because I couldn’t be bothered with frivolities.
So I told him to handle everything—from planning to execution.
Why does it bother me, then?
I don’t know.
Seeing a random woman sitting under a canopy, her body curved forward, and her hair pulled back in a tight bun, shouldn’t have affected me the way it did. She was simply there, a picture of quiet focus, oblivious to the world around her.
Yet, her smell—subtle and arresting—lingered in the air, carried by the faintest breeze. The soft scent of lavender and pressed roses wrapped around me, stirring something I couldn’t name. It was a pull, gentle but undeniable, drawing me across the yard before I even realized I was moving.
And that’s why I was annoyed.
Not because of her but because it was inexplicable. It was irrational. It was a distraction I didn’t need—a feeling I didn’t want to name.
“You don’t like her?” Anthony asks, bracing his hands on the desk. His blue eyes search my face like he’s looking for something. “Does she remind you of someone?”
My brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs, although something flashes across his eyes. “Nothing. I like her, though. She’s pretty, smart, and good at her job. Besides, she didn’t snoop around, so she’s not going to accidentally uncover some grave secret and send us scurrying underground.”
I purse my lips in distaste. “You know what happened the last time one of your friends got too close. I don’t need to remind you how much we paid her to go away.”
“I know, I know.” He sighs unrepentantly. “And that’s why I haven’t brought anyone home since then. That’s also why I moved houses; you wanted to keep an eye on me.”
True. I had to pull him from his apartment to my other house in Allentown.
The friend he picked up from a club turned out to be turning tricks for a rival organization. She drugged Anthony, had enough time to search his house, and was getting away with trade secrets when one of my men pulled into his apartment building.
She spooked, thinking he made her, and tried to run. He realized something was wrong, brought her in… and the rest is history.
Anthony taps the desk. “I’ll keep an eye on her, okay? I already have someone on the crew reporting back to me, so if she does something suspicious, I’ll let her go. You don’t have to worry.”
I’m far from convinced, but it’ll do for now. “Okay.”
He drags the chair back noisily, the sound grating against the quiet stillness of the room as he stands. Stretching his arms above his head, he lets out a low groan, his movements lazy but deliberate.
“I came in to check on you,” he says, his voice tinged with fatigue, “but the dark is clouding my brain.” He clicks his tongue in exaggerated disapproval, his tone half-joking, half-serious. “I don’t know how you stay here for hours on end without going crazy. I’d lose it.”
His gaze flicks toward me briefly as if expecting some kind of reaction, but when none comes, he shrugs lightly.
Then, without another word, he turns on his heels and heads for the door, not waiting for a response. Not that there’s any.
I prefer the dark and quiet. Dealing with humans is a hassle, but I do it almost every day because I have to run a company that requires fine handling and secrecy.
“Anthony?” I call out as he opens the door.
He looks over his shoulder with a lazy smile. “Got something for me?”
“Paradise Bluff.”
“Oh.” His expression shifts, the lightness in his demeanor giving way to something more serious. “That. I paid them a visit yesterday. There was a hitch in getting the supplies because someone on their end made a mistake, but I got it straightened out.” He grins confidently, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t have to worry. I got this.”
Again, I doubt that.
“I need you to pay a visit to Luna Royale,” I say, referring to one of the clubs we own. My tone is sharp, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I got a tip that the handler might be using our products. If it’s true—”
“Bang.” Anthony interrupts, making a shooting gesture with his fingers and adding a sound effect for emphasis. His grin widens like he’s already imagining the confrontation.
I close my eyes briefly, sighing as I press my fingers to my forehead. “No,” I say firmly, my voice laced with exasperation. “I don’t need you to deal with him. If it’s true, you can report it to me. I’ll handle it.”
His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a hint of frustration, but he doesn’t push back. “Fine,” he mutters, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re the boss.”
“I never said so,” I reply evenly, my gaze locking with his. “But I’d prefer to handle it myself.”
Anthony nods, the tension breaking as his usual bravado resurfaces. “Understood, boss.”
I watch him turn and leave, but an uneasy feeling replaces his absence—not for Anthony but for the other two. The finance report on my screen has enough holes in it to show that someone has been skimming money and now might be dipping into the product.
While I pride myself on hiring people who follow instructions to the letter, I’ve had situations with a couple of misfits. It’s never good when one person goes out of line because some others will follow, and I can’t afford to find replacements right now.
Regardless, it has to be done.
If there’s one thing I don’t tolerate, it’s people who think they can outsmart Ethan Cross. I might not take a gun to their forehead—Anthony’s favorite fantasy—but I’ll make them wish they hadn’t strayed.
Reaching for a notepad in my desk drawer and my fountain pen, I go through the report again, making notes of discrepancies.
I’ll handle them after the party.
***
The hours go by, but I don’t notice them until my phone beeps with a message from Anthony. Swiping the notification open, I pick up my phone and stand up, stretching my legs.
My stomach grumbles lightly, a quiet reminder that I haven’t eaten since morning. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I stride across my study, intending to head to the kitchen, when a burst of laughter pulls me to a halt.
I freeze mid-step, the sound catching me off guard. It’s light, airy, and unmistakably close.
Frowning, I instinctively glance around the room as though I might find someone standing there. The silence settles again, but just as I start to move, the laughter echoes once more, faint but distinct.
My ears perk up, tracing its direction to the window. Slowly, I step closer, the palm against the dull drapes as I wage a losing battle with curiosity.
Who is that?
The sound of muffled voices joins the laughter, low and indistinct as if someone is having an animated conversation just out of view. The mystery stirs something within me, and my fingers curl around the curtains, wanting to pull back and take a peek.
I shouldn’t.
It’s not usual to hear voices around the house when there are people constantly coming and going. With the event planner and her crew, there are even more unfamiliar ones.
And yet… I can’t seem to pull myself away.
“You’re too kind, Miss Monroe.” My eyebrows pull together when I hear the voice of one of my men, Sebastian. He’s a handler, equipped to handle people who need to be taught a lesson .
I hear the laugh again, but it’s more of a giggle this time. A lilt. “Please,” she says. “I did nothing. You’ve been helping me all day. It’s the least I could do.”
“They are amazing,” someone else chimes in. A man. “But if I had unlimited access to them, I might get addicted.”
She laughs again. What’s so funny? “I doubt it. As someone who spent a good chunk of the past year perfecting it, the thought of having a bite makes me sick.”
Walk away, Ethan.
Walk away.
My fingers curl tighter around the drapes, and I pull them to the side before I can stop myself. It’s her—Natalie. I knew there was something about the voice for it to steal my attention so effortlessly and hold it spellbound easily.
She’s standing with Sebastian and three other men that I recognize because they work for me, with a basket in her hand.
“Do you need help with anything else?” Sebastian asks, smiling.
She waves her hand. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure you guys have things to do.”
He shakes his head. Promptly. My jaw almost drops. The only other time I’ve seen him react to something like an order is when I give an order.
“You just tell us what to do, and we’ll get right to it.”
Get right to it?
I have to believe that what I’m seeing is an act because there’s no way men who have no issue taking a gun to a person’s head would act like giggling high schoolers.
“They wouldn’t,” I shake my head, muttering in disbelief.
And yet, the evidence is right in front of me—laughter and smiles shared so easily, as though she’s been part of their world all along.
Somehow, someway, she’s managed to charm my men without lifting a finger, without even trying.
My jaw tightens, and my eyes narrow as I watch the interaction unfold. Every movement, every word, every expression is under my scrutiny. I’m searching for something, anything, that might give me a clue.
What is it about her?
Her disarming presence and the way they lean in when she speaks, like her words, carry a weight I can’t hear—it all feels calculated.
There has to be something else to this. The longer I watch, the more frustrated I get because it all seems harmless on the surface.
My phone rings, and the noise pulls Sebastian to alertness, and he glances in my direction, straight through the window.
He nods when he sees me, but I sweep the drapes close, annoyed that I forgot composure long enough to lose my focus.
I should be looking into Paradise Bluff and the club, not watching some woman work my men around her finger. Grunting, I stride out of my study, shutting the door behind me with an audible slam.
I plan to keep an eye on her—Natalie Monroe. But in the meantime, I have more important things to worry about.