Chapter 38 Jace
JACE
Goddammit, she is beautiful.
That pencil skirt hugged her hips, ass, and legs that I wanted to spread wide open and feast on until she screamed my name.
I wanted to bend her over this table and grab that blonde hair in my fist and pound into her, maybe give her ass a slap or two and tell her she’d been a bad girl, defying my orders yesterday.
How was it possible that each time I saw her, she only grew more gorgeous?
If anyone looked beneath the table, they’d see my pants struggling against my growing erection.
Which was the absolute opposite of a professional response for someone who was actively staging a battlefield to uncover who had harassed Scarlett.
Someone in this room was a predator. Someone had laid hands on her. Someone had teased out Scarlett’s painful and deep-seated insecurities about men with power.
I couldn’t help but wonder, If I had met Scarlett before this man had violated her trust, might she have been more open to me? Might she have felt less intimidated, less threatened by my power, and thus more willing to surrender to the idea of us?
It was a selfish thought. Yet one that fueled my wildfire of rage.
I watched her face as she took in the scene, noting the exact moment realization dawned in those expressive eyes of hers.
While I’d carefully rounded out the occupants to include various executives, both old and new in an effort to make it a little less obvious what I was actually doing here, she clearly knew this wasn’t just a presentation.
I could see it in the way her professional mask slipped, just for one glorious moment.
A heartbeat of time, when I could see the anger behind her eyes.
No one else would be the wiser because she was exceptional at concealing that anger behind a mask of professionalism.
But I knew her better than anyone in this room.
All I needed was a flinch. A slight grimace. The tiniest tell when she got close to the right man. Then I’d take the bastard down so hard, he’d never work anywhere again.
I kept my eyes fixed on her, tracking every micro expression, every subtle shift in her posture. I wasn’t just looking at her. I was reading her.
“Ms. West,” I started, leaning slightly forward in my chair. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us today.”
Folding her hands on the table, she plastered on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, Mr. Lockwood. I was rather excited when I was told I’d have an opportunity to present to the board.” Her attention flicked around the table, a calculated scan. “Will they be joining us shortly?”
“I’m afraid there was a misunderstanding.” I held her gaze, letting the words hang.
“Oh?” One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. Translation: What game are you playing?
“The board won’t be joining us today.” I kept my voice even, professional.
“I see.” She tapped her index finger twice against the table. “Well, it was my intention to educate the board on my roles and responsibilities. Most of the people in this room are already quite familiar with my … work.”
The slight pause before “work” was imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t heard her voice break during intimacy.
“I’d like you to present all the same.” Trust me, I tried to convey with my eyes.
Anger flashed across her features in a micro expression only someone who’d studied every inch of her face would catch.
“Of course,” she managed, smoothing her skirt with a deliberate motion that reminded me of when I’d pulled another off of her. “I emailed the slides to Jessica, per the email I received.” But this isn’t what I agreed to, her eyes said.
A flicker of guilt flashed through me for using my power like this against her.
“Your copies, Mr. Lockwood.” My assistant entered the room, placing a stack of stapled copies of the presentation in front of Scarlett. Just as I had ordered her to do. “Will that be all?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I waited until my assistant left the room.
“Ms. West, would you be so kind as to hand out those copies?”
Make no mistake. This wasn’t a sexist thing.
This wasn’t because she was the only female in the room and tasks like that belonged to the female population; I wasn’t a chauvinistic douche.
This was a test. A deliberate move in our silent chess match, requiring her to get close to each and every man in this room.
There was no way she’d be able to do that without some kind of tell.
I know exactly what you’re doing, her gaze seemed to say.
I arched an eyebrow with a silent, Did you honestly think I’d let this go? My fingers adjusted the blue tie at my throat—a calculated reminder of our intimacy.
Her subtle frown deepened for just a split second, followed by a sharp, precise movement as she rose from her chair. Her posture communicated clearly: You want to play games? Fine. But you’re not getting anything out of me.
I cocked my head slightly, maintaining eye contact a beat too long. We’ll see about that.
Whether she realized her cheeks were flushing slightly, I wasn’t sure.
But that little tell confirmed it: she was nervous, not just angry.
And that meant the suspect was, in fact, in this room.
I’d wondered if perhaps I had gotten the roster right.
It looked like we had all the players. Fifteen people sat in this room.
Thirteen, aside from me and Scarlett. Seven of her bosses, four executives I’d confirmed she interacted with regularly, two new executives from my team, including Marcus, to throw her off the scent (evidently, it didn’t work).
And one of them was the asshole.
I watched her swallow as she picked up the stack of papers and made her way slowly around the table, carefully placing one in front of each man.
Her movements were deliberate. Professional yet guarded.
A tiny bit rough when she set my copy in front of me.
Each time she leaned forward, I tracked the space she maintained, the angle of her body, the tension in her shoulders.
And while I watched her face, her mannerisms, and the small betrayals of her true feelings, I also watched them react to her.
Some followed her movement with their eyes.
Others barely acknowledged her presence.
I didn’t need much. Just a flinch, a hesitation, anything.
When she made it all the way around the table, passing out the copies without one hint of who the guy was, I clenched my fist.
Even harder when she sat back down and gave me a slight swivel of her head, silently saying, Nice try. Won’t work.
Clearing my throat, I shot her a look too: If you think that was my only tactic, you underestimated me.
“Ms. West, I’m sure you have an incredibly insightful presentation prepared.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the glass table. “However, I would like to focus on your projects and work from last week.”
A nearly imperceptible pause interrupted her breathing, along with a flash of understanding in her eyes.
Last week, someone had grabbed her thigh. So, who had she worked with? What had she done?
“Last week,” she repeated, with a bite to her tone. Her fingers traced the edge of the folder before her. “Is there something specific you are interested in?”
Yes. You. All of you. And which of these assholes’ cheekbones I’m going to break.
“Tell you what.” I leaned back in my chair, all casual CEO confidence. A posture I’d perfected over years of boardroom battles. “Why don’t you just go over everything you did last week?”
She started clicking the mouse that controlled the presentation on the front screen, fast-forwarding through what appeared to be an incredibly impressive presentation. The slight tensing of her jaw told me she’d spent hours on this.
“The projects that I worked on last week—”
“Forget the PowerPoint,” I said, trying not to smirk at her seriously? do you know how hard I worked on these damn slides look that flashed across her face. “What I’d rather do is learn this organization from the inside out. Walk me through your days last week.”
So far, no one in the room seemed any wiser. Why would they? This was just a new owner trying to get to know the new organization. Right? Wrong.
“Okay. Well, the main project I worked on was for the Agma contract.”
I set my pen down deliberately, making sure it aligned perfectly with the edge of my notepad.
“Forgive me for what might sound like an unusual request.” I kept my voice measured.
“But if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to stand at the front of the room.
It’ll make it easier to see you without everyone having to crane their heads,” I claimed.
“And each time you’re discussing a project you’re working on, anyone who was working on that with you, I would like to have them join you at the front and add additional context. ”
Look at that slight flash of anger, her fingers tightening around the pages for a beat before relaxing. Her eyes held mine for a dangerous moment.
You’re pushing it, they said.
Try and stop me, mine replied.
“Of course,” she said with professionalism.
“Let’s start with Friday.” The day you stumbled into that bar with a revenge list.
She cleared her throat, smoothing her skirt as she walked to the front of the room.
I let my gaze sweep across the table, watching for anyone to slip up and stare at that fine ass.
An ass that could make a married man crash his car from being unable to look away, but no one took the bait.
They all sat there, some with their fingers steepled, some flipping through the presentation, all still thinking this was a legitimate meeting.
Scarlett, on the other hand, stood at the front of the conference table and shot me another subtle glare. Her weight shifted to one hip in a stance that told me she was preparing for battle.
“Friday morning began with a comprehensive marketing analysis that I performed for our main Q3 campaign,” she began.
“Impressive,” I said, tapping my finger once on the table. “Did you review this analysis with anyone?”
“Yes, sir,” a guy whose name I’d learned was Thomas said. “She reviewed it with me.”
Did she now?
“Please,” I said in my friendliest tone, gesturing toward the front. “I would love to have your insight.”
The guy stood up, buttoning his jacket like he thought he was getting picked as the teacher’s pet. Scarlett cocked her head slightly and then almost imperceptibly rolled her eyes at me.
This is ridiculous, she seemed to say.
But look at her body language when he got close to her, this time without the distraction of passing out slides. Not flinching. Not grimacing. And not at all blushing. If anything, she relaxed slightly, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.
I allowed them to quickly review her analysis, noting how naturally they interacted. Professional. Comfortable. No hidden tension.
“Thank you, Thomas,” I said, tentatively checking him off my mental list. “What other work did you do on Friday, Ms. West?”
One by one, I pulled them up. One by one, I watched. Each time, her posture remained professionally neutral, sometimes even genuinely engaged. Not once did I catch the wariness, the subtle recoil I was looking for.
After repeating this until we had gone through her entire week of work, I was gripping my pen so tightly, I wondered if it would snap.
I massaged my hands together beneath the table.
She had given up nothing. Not one damn thing, and look at her standing up there, her lips threatening to curve up in the barest hint of victory.
Told you, her raised eyebrow seemed to say.
Inhaling an incredibly frustrated breath, I said, “This was insightful, but I still have not gleaned the information I was hoping to get.” The admission cost me, and from the slight tilt of her head, she knew it.
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Mr. Lockwood.” The way she said my name—formal yet intimate—sent a current through the room that only I could feel. “If you’d like me to create another presentation—”
“This isn’t over,” I said, my tone making two executives straighten in their chairs.