Chapter 23
Ruby
I am not okay.
I flop onto my couch, groaning into a pillow. “I can’t do this. I’m not built for billionaire proximity.”
My phone buzzes.
Ava: We’re outside.
No.
I jump up, sprint to the door, fling it open.
They’re ALL there.
Wine.
Bags.
Clothes hangers.
The energy of unmedicated chaos.
“AIR RAID!” Trey shouts, barging in. “RUBY EMERGENCY.”
“This is not an emergency,” I say weakly.
Sienna hands me a glass of wine. “Yes it is.”
Ava kicks the door shut behind her. “Time to dress you for your professional seduction.”
“It’s NOT a seduction,” I snap.
Three identical slow blinks.
Then they all say in eerie unison:
“Sure, babe.”
My bedroom becomes a battlefield.
Sienna flings tops onto the bed. Ava holds up skirts like trophies. Trey judges every shoe I own.
“Too nun,” he says of one. “Too thirsty,” he says of another. “Too ‘I have a mortgage,’” he says of a third.
“I DO have a..."
“Don’t say it,” Ava warns. “Men like him can smell real-world responsibilities.”
“Okay,” Sienna announces, holding up three outfits. “These are the vibes: Competent but kissable, Boss bitch but bangable, and I am not touching you, but you’ll want me to.”
I choke. “THAT THIRD ONE IS NOT A CATEGORY.”
Trey smiles the smile of Satan. “It is now.”
After two hours, fourteen near-arguments, and one existential crisis about my neckline…
They land on:
A fitted blouse in a soft cream shade
Tailored dark trousers that hug everything politely
A delicate necklace that says “I am subtle elegance.”
Hair down, soft waves
Light makeup, glossy lips, nothing too bold
Simple heels (Ava said no boots, Sienna said no stilettos, Trey said no ballet flats)
I stare at myself in the mirror.
I look… like a woman who might break a billionaire.
And that is deeply alarming.
“I can’t wear this,” I whisper.
“You can,” Ava says. “And you WILL.”
“This says I’m confident.”
“You ARE,” Sienna says.
“It says I’m sexy.”
“You ARE,” Trey says.
“It says I’m ready.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Ava says gently, “you were ready the moment he followed you down that hallway.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“I’m going to spontaneously combust.”
“Good,” Trey says. “Combustion is a serve.”
JAXON
I arrive early.
Earlier than necessary.
Earlier than professional.
Earlier because I want everything in my space set exactly the way I want it when she steps inside.
My office is already immaculate, but today, it needs a different kind of intention.
I dim the lights. Not dramatically. Just enough to soften the edges.
I remove the extra chairs, they won’t be needed.
I choose two.
Not across from each other.
Side by side.
Close enough that I can lean in without crossing a line.
Not touching. But near.
Near enough to feel the tension. Near enough that she’ll think about the last meeting. Near enough to remind her of the promise I made:
Next time I touch you, it won’t be accidental.
I straighten the folders on the table, though they’re already straight.
I set out two glasses of water.
I choose the chair I want her in. The one with the best sightline of me. The one slightly lower, so she has to look up when we talk.
Powerful, but not intimidating. Inviting, but not careless.
Then I stand at the window and wait.
And think.
She’ll be nervous. She’ll try not to show it. She’ll fail. Adorably.
And I’ll take my time.
I’ll let the silence do the work.
She’s not ready for more.
Yet.
But she will be.
And I will never rush her.
But I will lead.
RUBY
I stand outside his office door.
Fifty-three stories above the world. Heart in my throat. Sweating in places I shouldn’t be sweating.
My hand shakes as I knock.
“Come in,” he calls, voice rich and warm.
I open the door slowly.
He’s standing at the window.
White shirt, sleeves rolled. Tie off. Top button undone.
The view behind him looks like a movie.
And then he turns.
His eyes run over me.
From head to toe.
Slow. Lingering. Like he’s taking inventory.
Like he’s… pleased.
“Ruby,” he says softly. “You look good.”
I nearly short-circuit.
He gestures to the chair beside him. Not across from him.
“Sit.”
I do. Somehow.
My knees are weak. My pulse loud. My mouth dry.
He sits next to me. Close enough to feel the heat of him through the air.
He opens the folder.
“We’ll start with the Valentine’s feature,” he says. Calm. Professional.
Like he didn’t rearrange my entire nervous system yesterday.
I try to focus.
I really do.
But then, he leans in.
EVERY TIME.
He points at the draft. Our shoulders brush.
A breath. A spark. A small shock of contact.
My lungs forget how to function.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?” he asks, voice low.
I shouldn’t have said anything. He wasn’t apologizing.
He meant the contact.
He meant for it to happen.
His fingers brush the tabletop, just inches from mine. Hovering again. Waiting.
Not touching.
Not yet.
I swallow.
He notices.
He always notices.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
I can’t.
He knows that.
His eyes lock on mine. Warm. Focused. Undeniably intentional.
“If you need a break,” he says quietly, “tell me.”
My breath is a shaky exhale.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I… I’m not..."
He leans closer.
“Ruby.”
Everything in me tightens.
Electric.
Heat skates up my spine.
And then, a soft knock on the door.
We both freeze.
The universe hates me.
The door opens.
EVAN steps inside.
His eyes flick between us.
Ruby: pink, breathless, sitting too close.
Jaxon: relaxed, watching me too carefully.
Evan’s jaw tightens.
“Sorry,” he says, stiff.
“Didn’t know you were… in a meeting.”
He lingers. Too long.
Jaxon’s eyes sharpen.
Possessive curiosity. A warning underneath.
“This is a private session,” Jaxon says calmly. “We’ll talk later.”
Evan nods, slow. Unhappy. Suspicious.
He leaves.
The door closes.
Silence.
Then Jaxon says, soft, deliberate:
“Ruby. Look at me.”
I do.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
He inches closer. Just a fraction. Just enough.
“I’m not going to stop,” he says. Quiet. Sure.
My heartbeat stumbles.
“Unless you ask me to.”
I can’t speak.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t even think.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, just for a second, just enough to feel like a touch.
A promise.
Then he sits back.
“We should continue.”
I nod.
But my whole body is still humming.
Still wanting.
Still waiting.
This is going to destroy me.