12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
W hat have I done?
I accused her of being a spy. I kissed her. I had sex with her. I had sex with the same woman I accused of being a spy.
“God, Ethan,” I groan as I run my hand through my hair. My shirt is still on the floor, and my pants are hanging loosely around my waist. I should hate that I slept with Natalie Monroe, but the only regrets I have are for accusing her of being a spy.
If I had any sense of anything at all, I’d go out there and offer her a proper apology.
And say what, though?
That I’m sorry I thought she was out to get the Cross family? I should’ve thought of doing a background check on her before tabling my suspicions. At this point, it’s less embarrassing to pretend like it never happened .
The sound of something hitting my door snaps me out of my thoughts. My instincts kick in, and I stride toward it, keeping my steps light in case it’s her. Pressing my ear to the wood, I hear muffled words—a voice—her voice.
Natalie.
This is your chance, Ethan.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, torn between doing the right thing and letting her figure this out on her own. I could choose to be less of an asshole, or I could lean into the version of me everyone expects.
Before I can second-guess myself, I yank the door open with more force than necessary.
Her small gasp fills the air as she stumbles forward, arms flailing, and falls right into my space, landing on the ground at my feet.
Her wide eyes look up at me in shock, her cheeks flushed,
“This is the kitchen scenario all over again,” she mutters. I don’t have to ask—I deliberately didn’t help when she almost fell in the kitchen because I was holding myself back.
“No,” I reply, extending my hand out to her. She looks at it with distrust, and I shake my head with a quiet sigh. “I’m not going to offer you a hand and then snatch it away when you’re reaching out. That’s childish.”
“And yet you have no problem explaining the scenario in detail,” she says with some sass. Rejecting my offer, Natalie presses her hands to the floor, pushes her back out, and struggles to her feet.
She makes it, but it leaves her huffing and heaving. “How did you know I was there?” She asks after spending a minute to catch her breath. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, by the way. I just—I had something to do.”
I know it’s not true, but I’m not about to call her out on a lie when I just acted like an asshole. “I didn’t,” I lie. “I was leaving. But—” I hold out my hand when she tries to leave, “now that you’re here, I—I have something to talk to you about.”
Her eyebrow arches higher as she folds her arms, her stance firm. “What? I told you that you didn’t have to say anything. It didn’t mean anything to either of us. Unless you’re still stuck on your suspicions? Fine.” She shrugs dramatically. “I’ll entertain it. You think I’m a—”
“No,” I cut her off sharply, my tone brooking no argument as I reach for the door, pulling it closed with a snap.
Her voice is getting louder, and the last thing I need is for Anthony or anyone else to overhear this conversation.
“Why don’t we sit down?” I say, gesturing toward my desk, my tone clipped and formal. Without waiting for her response, I stride across the room and settle behind my desk, carefully arranging my features into a neutral expression.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the mess still scattered on the floor from earlier—papers, a coffee-stained folder, food, and the remnants of my earlier need to have her.
Natalie notices it, too, her gaze lingering. I see the tension in her shoulders and the subtle twitch of her fingers, as though it’s physically painful for her not to stoop down and fix it.
Her restraint is admirable—if a little irritating. I lean back, my hands clasped on the desk, and wait for her to speak.
“You think I’m a spy because I’ve been around your cousin, Mr. Cross, a little too much.”
“I’ve dismissed that notion,” I say with a wave of the hand. “It’s not like me to come to such conclusions without enough evidence. But,” I add because I want to hear what she has to say, “if you’re willing to exonerate yourself, then I’ll listen.”
“Such big words for the clumsy spy,” she teases me, and my lips curl into a flighty smirk.
“Okay.” Natalie leans back, her arms on either end of the chair. “I’ll plead my case. Your cousin—and I mean this in the best way possible—is eccentric. He’s the kind of person to have a fixation and not let it go. I’m sure you’ve experienced it too?”
I nod tightly.
She purses her lips. “Good.”
Good? It sounds like I’m on the other end of the table instead of my usual place. I don’t know how to feel about it, but I can’t protest since I handed her the wheels to call the shots.
“He likes me—in the way you’d like a puppy,” she says, her tone even but laced with a hint of self-deprecation. “I’ve done a good job so far, and he’s willing to keep me around rather than go through the hassle of finding someone else.”
She leans forward slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, but then she pauses, her posture straightening as her gaze sharpens. For the first time, her eyes lock with mine, unflinching and resolute.
“I’ll say this, though,” she continues, her voice steady but firm, “I didn’t know the house belonged to you. And I wasn’t aware you were going to be at the party. “This, however, isn’t my fault.”
There’s no trace of hesitation in her voice—only a quiet confidence that strikes a nerve in me I didn’t realize was exposed.
She’s right.
How often have I said that? How often have I regretted something I’ve done?
Never. Yet Natalie brought out two of my “firsts” in one day.
“Okay,” I nod, rubbing my hands together. I don’t intend to offer an apology—that would be a third first—but I can make things right. “ You’re not a spy. I still don’t need you serving my meals. You’re a chef here, not a lower employee.”
I expect her to be pleased, maybe even a little flattered, but instead, her face twists in a mix of confusion and barely concealed annoyance.
Her eyebrows pull together, and her lips curl into something resembling disgust.
“If you think I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she says flatly, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air between us, “then you seriously underestimate the loyalty I have to other service providers.”
“Alright,” I throw my hands in the air, giving up. “That’s all I have.” There’s a beat of silence between us before I gesture to the door, ready to get it over and done with. “You may leave.”
Natalie plants her hands firmly on the arm rests instead. “Can I ask a question?”
I frown.
She presses intently, “You owe me at least one question for the interrogation and accusation. “
What if she goes far?
“Only if I get to ask one in return,” I say as a way of derailing her. I’m sure there are secrets she wants to keep hidden, so she’ll think twice before digging into my family’s history.
She shrugs with an air of nonchalance, but I catch the way her teeth graze her bottom lip as if she’s piecing something together.
Then her eyes widen slightly, and a spark of mischief flickers to life. She raises a finger like she’s just cracked some secret code.
“I’ve got it,” she says, her tone brimming with amusement as she leans in closer, closing the gap between us just enough to make me tense.
“Why,” she drawls, tilting her head, “are you here? I mean, you’ve got that massive house that’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. So why spend so much time at Anthony’s place? Almost every day, too. Is he, like, your secretly adopted cousin or something, and you don’t want anyone finding out?”
That’s it? I sigh inwardly, not sure whether I should be disappointed or relieved. However, the more I stare at Natalie, the more I feel that she wanted to ask a different question.
She must be playing it safe—like I foresaw.
“He’s a wild card,” I answer easily. “Staying here is the only way to keep an eye on him.”
I managed to derail the prosecution’s investigation and effort for a while, but I have to monitor Anthony’s activities until I’m sure we’re in the clear. Everything is still on edge—that’s why I assumed Natalie was in my office on a secret mission.
She makes a sound. Hmmph. “Okay. I guess that one was pretty easy to guess. It’s your turn now.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
She shakes her head firmer. “It’s not fine. We made a deal. You either ask me a question, or I use your turn and ask you a question.”
I tilt my head, studying her. Everything points to Natalie being serious, down to her hands that are now on the desk.
Not one to play it nice, are you? I muse. Her easy-going, fluffy demeanor is gone, replaced by a glint in her eye. If she’s not a spy, she’d make a good one. The duality would fool most men. Whether I’m being tricked is yet to be seen.
“Your parents,” I say, putting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Where are they?” I remember Anthony told me she has no family. If she lies—
Her face drops, and she exhales softly. “Dead. They died in a drive-by shooting. The cops said there was heavy gang activity in that area, but they didn’t know.” Her voice takes on a somber note, and she looks straight again, gazing into the past. “They were there to visit a friend.”
She turns to me, and I see tears glistening in her eyes. “They never made it out of the car.”
It feels like her pain slices straight through me, sharp and aching, much like the phantom burn from the scar running down my back. I close my eyes briefly, forcing myself to block it out, to stay in control. My hand reaches instinctively for the tissue box, sliding it across the table toward her.
“Thank you,” Natalie whispers, her voice soft and tremulous as she hangs her head low. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional there. It’s just… I haven’t spoken about them aloud in months, and it just—” Her words cut off with a shaky inhale.
I clench my fists, my fingers itching to close the distance, to pull her into my arms and reassure her that it’s okay to feel, to hurt.
But I stay rooted, forcing my hands to remain where they are. Restraint feels like a punishment, but I remind myself that this isn’t the moment for me—it’s hers.
The door opens then, cutting the moment short as Anthony walks in. He doesn’t notice what he’s walked into or the single tear on Natalie’s cheek as she lifts her head.
“What’s up?” He grins, slapping his hand on my desk. “I had a nap, and then I realized it was pretty quiet. Too quiet, in fact.”
He sees the food on the floor and turns to me with an accusing glare. “What did you do, Ethan? I told her—tell me you didn’t act out? Natalie’s just doing her job.”
“Oh, no,” Natalie quickly shakes her head, cutting in before I can throw myself under the bus. “It was my mistake. I was going to clean it up, but Mr. Cross asked me to leave it be. ”
Anthony’s eyebrow arches and his skepticism is clear as his gaze shifts between the two of us. A slow, amused smile spreads across his face, and he leans back slightly, crossing his arms. “Well, well, look, who’s a gentleman?” His voice drips with playful sarcasm.
I sigh, running a hand over my face. “It wasn’t a big deal,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
And I wish he wouldn’t call me a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn’t kiss Natalie the way I did or fuck her against the desk.
He wouldn’t wish he could do it again, either.
But Anthony chuckles, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Not a big deal? You, Ethan Cross, leaving a mess in your office? That’s unheard of,” he teases, then turns to Natalie. “You’ve done something remarkable. I don’t know what it is, but keep it up.”
Natalie shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, giving me a quick, uncertain glance. “I—it’s nothing, really,” she says, trying to downplay the situation.
Anthony grins knowingly as though he’s just uncovered a secret, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he says with a smirk. “Nothing at all.”
“I should go,” she says hesitantly. “My work hours are over.”
“I’ll drive you,” I offer, jumping to the task. Anything to get away from Anthony and spend more time with her.
My offer is refused with both hands and the hurt is immediate. She exits the office like she can’t stand to be in our presence any longer, closing the door behind her.
Anthony sits on the vacated chair, facing me with a mischievous smile. “What has Natalie Monroe done to my cousin?”
“Have you figured out who sold us to the prosecutor’s office?” I change the subject, bursting his bubble.
He groans. “No, but I’m still working on it. ”
“Well, we need to work a little faster, or we’ll be in more trouble than either of us can fathom,” I say, half to him and half to myself, the weight of the situation pressing down on my chest like a vice.
I should be relieved that Natalie rejected my offer. Right now, the only thing I can afford to care about is saving the legacy my father built, the one I swore to uphold.
If I don’t act fast, everything he fought for, everything he sacrificed, will crumble.
And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.