24. Dominic
24
Dominic
T he city lights blur as we ride back to the penthouse, the remnants of the gala still clinging to us like expensive perfume. Tatiana sits beside me in the back of the town car, the emerald silk of her dress shifting like liquid in the darkness. We barely speak during the ride, but it’s not the tense silence from earlier days. It’s something else, something I’m not ready to name.
Jake and Nichols are riding in the follow car, while Ric is driving. I catch Ric’s eyes in the rearview mirror once, a subtle questioning look that I answer with an equally subtle nod.
Everything’s fine. Under control.
But is it?
Ten days. That’s all that remains of this marriage, this facade, this accident. Seven or eight days until the Costa Rica deal closes. We’re going to make it just in time.
Then we can file the annulment papers and return to our separate lives.
It should feel like a relief, a countdown to freedom.
Instead, it feels like I’m on death row.
“That went better than expected,” Tatiana says, breaking the silence as the car pulls into the loading zone of my building.
“Yes,” I agree, my voice carefully neutral. “Chung seemed satisfied. That was the goal.”
“Is that all you have to say?” She turns to face me, the motion causing her dress to whisper against the leather seat. “We were pretty convincing tonight.”
Too convincing, maybe. The way she talked about our future, about challenging me, about balancing spreadsheets and sustainability metrics while raising a family... it had felt real. More real than anything should feel in this situation.
“We did what was necessary,” I say as the car stops. “That’s what we agreed to.”
Her expression flickers with something I can’t quite read, but before she can respond, Nichols opens her door. The moment passes.
We ride up to the penthouse in silence, standing closer than necessary in the elevator. I’m acutely aware of her presence, the scent of her perfume, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. When the doors open, I step back to let her exit first, watching as she moves through the shared hallway with a familiarity that both pleases and unsettles me.
We reach my penthouse and I swipe my card to enter.
Once we’re inside, I turn toward her.
“Drink?” I ask, shrugging out of my jacket and dropping it over the back of a chair. “I think we earned one.”
“Sure,” she says, kicking off her heels with a small sigh of relief. “Something strong.”
I head to the kitchen, loosening my bow tie as I go. Behind me, I hear the soft pad of her bare feet on the hardwood floor.
Following me.
Ten days.
I pour two fingers of Macallan 25 into crystal tumblers, adding a single ice cube to each. When I turn, she’s standing closer than I expected, her eyes bright in the dim kitchen lighting.
“Thank you,” she says, accepting the glass, her fingers brushing against mine in the exchange. The brief contact sends a spark up my arm.
“For the drink or for tonight?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
“Both.” She takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. “We make a good team when we’re not fighting.”
“Is that what we are? A team?”
“For ten more days, at least,” she says, echoing my earlier thoughts with uncanny precision.
The kitchen feels smaller suddenly, the air between us charged with something dangerous. Success, relief, attraction... a potent cocktail for bad decisions.
“You know,” I say, leaning back against the counter to put some distance between us, “you surprised me tonight with Chung.”
“How so?”
“That answer about our future. About challenging me on designs, and balancing spreadsheets while juggling a family.” I take a long sip of my scotch, enjoying the burn. “It was... convincing.”
“Well, it’s my job to be convincing,” she says with a small smile. “That’s what we agreed to, right? All part of the contract.”
I smile wanly. “That was impressive improvisation, then.”
She shrugs, the motion causing the strap of her dress to slip slightly off her shoulder. “Not entirely improvisation. The part about challenging you was easy enough to imagine.”
I laugh despite myself. “You do excel at that.”
“Someone has to,” she says, taking another sip. “By the way, what did Chung mean by ‘familial issues’ at the lunch on Monday? What exactly happened that was such a disaster?”
I tense immediately, the whiskey suddenly bitter on my tongue.
Fuck. Of course she’s going to follow up on that.
“It was nothing,” I say, keeping my voice deliberately casual. “Just a minor interruption. Blown out of proportion.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Dom, Chung looked like he was testing both of us. Testing me . That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing.’”
“Look, it was a business lunch that didn’t go as planned. That’s all.” I take another sip, avoiding her gaze. “We’ve fixed it now. Tonight went well. That’s what matters.”
“If something’s threatening the deal, don’t you think I should know?” she presses. “We’re supposed to be a team, remember? At least for ten more days.”
The mention of our deadline only strengthens my resolve to keep Nico’s demands to myself. There’s no point burdening her with my family’s dysfunction when our arrangement is temporary.
“It’s handled,” I say firmly. “Trust me.”
Something flickers in her eyes... disappointment, maybe. She opens her mouth like she wants to push further, then seems to think better of it.
“Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.”
She takes another sip. Her eyes drift down my body, lingering for a moment at my crotch before darting back up to my face.
The look is unmistakable, laden with the same heat from our contractual encounters. But this time there’s no clause to fulfill, no obligation. Just desire, raw and unguarded. For a moment, I wonder if she’s imagining dropping to her knees right here in my kitchen, taking me in her mouth like she did twice before, except this time because she wants to, not because a contract dictates it.
My body responds immediately to the thought, and I shift my stance to hide it. But something else stirs too, something that feels dangerously close to hope. Like maybe she feels this, too, this inconvenient connection that’s growing stronger despite all my efforts to contain it.
And that’s precisely why I have to shut it down.
Ten days. Just ten fucking days left, and I’m considering complicating everything? After the kiss that already blurred too many lines? After her performance tonight that made me actually consider, for one insane moment, what it might be like if this were real?
No. I’ve worked too hard, risked too much for this deal. I will not jeopardize it by giving in to whatever this is. If I start something now, who knows where it ends? With messy emotions, recriminations, and complications we don’t need.
Tatiana takes a step closer, her eyes questioning. “Dom?”
I straighten up, deliberately adopting the cool, professional demeanor I use in boardrooms. “It’s late. I should check my emails before bed.”
The change in tone is like flipping a switch. I watch confusion and then hurt flash across her face before she schools her expression into something equally professional.
“Of course,” she says, her voice suddenly as cool as mine. “Far be it from me to keep the important Dominic Rossi from his work.”
I deserve that, but I still feel a flare of irritation. “Look, we both knew what this was from the beginning. A business arrangement with a clear endpoint. Ten days from now, we go our separate ways. Getting... distracted... now would be unproductive.”
“Unproductive,” she repeats, the word flat. “God forbid anything unproductive ever happen in this goddamn penthouse.”
“Tatiana.”
“No, you’re right,” she says with a sigh, setting her glass down with a sharp click against the counter. “I just thought... after tonight... after how well we worked together...”
She trails off, and I feel like the biggest asshole in New York. But I can’t let myself soften, can’t let her see how much effort it’s taking to maintain this distance.
“We worked together admirably to achieve a business goal,” I say. “That’s all it was. An excellent performance.”
She flinches slightly, and I hate myself a little more. But it’s necessary. Better a small hurt now than something more devastating later. I’m not built for what she deserves. My brother’s scarred face and my own guilt-ridden past are proof enough of that.
“Right,” she says finally. “Just a performance.”
I grab my phone from my pocket, the movement deliberate, a physical manifestation of the barrier I’m erecting between us. “I need to handle these emails. Don’t wait up.”
I turn away before I can see her reaction, focusing intently on my phone screen as I walk out of the kitchen. It takes every ounce of willpower not to look back, not to apologize, not to cross the room and kiss her until we both forget about business arrangements and ten-day deadlines.
But I keep walking, my feet carrying me to my office where I shut the door firmly behind me. Only then do I allow myself to lean against it, eyes closed, breathing ragged.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
This is for the best, I tell myself. Soon, the deal will close. And in ten days, Tatiana will get her settlement, I’ll get my resort, and we’ll both move on with our lives.
No complications, no messy emotions, no vulnerability.
Just business. Clean, controlled, predictable business.
So why does it feel like I’m making the biggest mistake of my life?
Like in this one moment, right here and now, I could change everything if I wanted to. Like I could be the happiest man in the world if only I just turned around, went back to the kitchen, and lifted her into my arms.
I reach for the handle, and open the door a crack...
But something stops me. A single word forms in my mind.
Coward.
Yes. I am.
In more ways than one.
With effort, I push away, leaving the door open a crack. I move to my desk, forcing myself to open my laptop and actually check those emails I mentioned. But the words blur before my eyes, my mind stubbornly returning to the woman I left standing in the kitchen.
I just need to hold it together for ten more days.
Then I can forget the way she looked at me tonight, the way she fits so seamlessly into my life, the way she challenges me and sees through my bullshit and makes me want things I have no right to want.
Ten days, and then I can finally stop feeling like I’m drowning every time she looks at me.
Ten days to freedom.
So why does freedom suddenly feel like the last thing I want?