Chapter 8
Jaxon
Ruby leaves the café in a rush, cheeks flushed, hair a little messy, breathing unsteady, and it takes every ounce of discipline in my bloodstream not to reach out and pull her back.
She said, “It can’t happen again,” but her eyes said something entirely different.
I watch her walk across the crosswalk, her skirt brushing her thighs with every step, her hands clenched in her pockets like she’s physically holding herself together.
She has no idea what she does to me. No idea how long it’s been since someone unsettled my control like this. No idea how fast I’m losing the part of me that gives a damn about rules.
I don’t follow her out immediately; that would be reckless and obvious. I give her two full minutes, then step out of the café and start walking back across the street.
And that’s when I see him.
A man in a navy suit, leaning against the building entrance, was talking to her. He laughs at something she says. She smiles back, small, polite, nothing compared to the way she smiled last night, but still…
It hits me wrong, deep, sharp, and territorial.
I slow my pace.
He gestures toward the elevator doors. She shakes her head. He touches her elbow lightly.
My jaw tightens.
She pulls her arm back. Good, but the fact that he touched her at all?
That pisses me off more than it should.
She deserves someone who knows how to handle her fire. Someone who understands the difference between soft and weak. Someone who knows that a woman like Ruby doesn’t need taming, she needs matching.
She glances over her shoulder toward the street, just for a moment, and her eyes catch mine.
Her whole expression changes. Surprise, heat, and something she tries to hide badly.
The guy follows her gaze and notices me.
He straightens.
I don’t break eye contact with either of them.
Ruby swallows and turns away, heading inside quickly like she’s escaping a crime scene.
Fine. Run if you want.
I’m not letting her vanish again.
I continue walking, calm, controlled, businesslike, because while I feel territorial, I never act impulsively.
Not unless I choose to.
Inside the lobby, she’s already in the elevator. The doors close between us before I can get to her, but it doesn’t matter.
I don’t chase elevators.
I take the next one.
Up on the magazine floor, I head straight to my new office, ignoring the way people scramble to get out of my path. They whisper as I pass, low enough to think I don’t hear, loud enough that I do.
“Is that him?”
“The new owner?”
“He’s ridiculously hot…”
“Not my type.”
“You’re lying.”
I shut the door to my office behind me and lean back against it for a moment, letting the quiet settle.
Then I pull out my phone.
I pull up her profile again.
I shouldn’t, but I do.
Her photo is terrible, but charming. Her smile is forced, her hair messy, but she looks younger, warmer, and brighter.
Last night, she was fire. Today, she’s steel under panic. And in the café?
She was right on the edge of giving in.
I can work with that.
I sit at my desk, pull out my laptop, and type a note into my personal file:
Objective:
Ruby Quinn
Maintain professionalism publicly.
Privately, pursue deliberately.
Do not let her run.
I’m not delusional, I know the risks, the boundaries that should take place in a workplace. There’s the power dynamics and the inevitable gossip. But there’s also this: She’s the first person in a long time who sees me, not the money, not the name, and not the empire.
Just me. She sees just me, the man she spent an extremely hot night with, and I’m not letting that slip away because of fear.
I’m typing a second note when someone knocks on my door.
“Come in.”
It’s the man from the lobby, in his navy suit, and he is annoyingly confident.
“Mr. Cole,” he says. “I’m Evan. Senior editor.”
I give a curt nod. “What do you need?”
He steps in. “Just wanted to welcome you officially. And, ah, ask if you’re settling in well.”
He’s lying. He’s fishing.
And I know exactly about what.
I lean back slowly in my chair. “Fine. Thank you.”
His eyes flick around my office before landing back on me. “Your meeting earlier looked intense.”
I feel the temperature in the room drop a degree.
“Which meeting?” I ask, even though I already know.
“The one with Quinn.”
I smile politely. Corporate. Sharp.
“She’s a talented writer,” I say. “I needed clarity on her Valentine’s feature.”
“Right,” he says, nodding a little too quickly. “Right, of course.”
He leaves.
I wait until he’s fully out of the hallway before exhaling.
If people are already watching, I’ll need to be cautious, but cautious doesn’t mean I have to be distant.
I stand, walk to the window overlooking the floor, and spot Ruby at her desk, pretending to type, her leg bouncing, her face still warm from our conversation.
She’s unraveling, and she doesn’t know whether to want me or run from me.
She’ll learn.
I’m not here to ruin her, I’m here to keep her.
She just hasn’t realized it yet.