6. You’ve Cracked
6
You’ve Cracked
ALICE
“ You’ve cracked ,” I squeaked through some manic laugh of complete disbelief as I rocketed upright, bashing my knee on my counter in the process. I was too shocked to care.
“Maybe,” he agreed, a rare, understated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as if this was entertaining for him, but those hazel-green eyes remained locked on me. “Look, Reggie is an elitist snob, but he wasn’t wrong about the story idea.”
“You’ve gone mad, ” I insisted. “Certifiably insane. I’ll call a shrink and book an appointment tomorrow morning.” He tracked my movements as I paced across the room behind the kitchen island, bending forward to brace my hands on the edge of the marble as I studied him. Partially to catch my breath—mostly bent over while pretending you’re fine, like you do after a long sprint—and partially because there was a high probability my knees would give out, and I wanted my best chance at not smashing my face in.
I was supposed to be unwinding. Recovering from what was inarguably one of the most stressful days in my career before a long stream of crisis mitigation that would likely be worse. Leighton was on the closing shift at the restaurant, which meant I was supposed to have a date with a book and a bubble bath, not earn an unhinged proposal from my boss.
Disconcertingly enough, he didn’t look particularly unhinged. As a matter of fact, he seemed entirely too composed. Too steady as he tracked every shift of my weight. More breathless than I meant to be, I barked, “ What are you playing at? ”
“Not a play, Ms. Rhodes. You have to admit, we’d be good together.”
“Did you fall off a balcony this weekend and land on your head?” I demanded, earning a rather satisfying deadpan. “You’ve done nothing in the years I’ve known you to indicate that I’m anything more than gum on your designer boot until you defended my merit to your uncle today. But I highly suspect that was because he was challenging your authority, not because he disrespected mine .” I sucked down a breath, having released all my words in one rush of frustration.
“I’m sorry about my remark Saturday night. I was frustrated you’d throw away your talent.”
“The cost of replacing me frustrated you,” I argued. He rounded the counter so abruptly that I straightened from my place, braced on it, and backed up. Keeping as much distance between us as humanly possible. He seemed to catch how I interpreted the motion because he slowed, hands up as if to soothe a feral animal.
“I was frustrated that the greatest talent on our team was about to walk away and prove me wrong.”
I scoffed. I couldn’t fucking help it. This man was insane. Greyson Hart, America’s prodigal son, had gone insane. People speculated when he walked away from a billion-dollar empire to enlist in the Navy, but something must’ve rattled his brain until it scrambled and fried because this was utter madness.
“You told me a country bumpkin would never make it in this city.”
“And then I watched you work, and you proved me wrong. Finding you is undoubtedly the best thing my brother has ever done in his career.” When my mouth popped open, but no words came out, his shoulders raised and fell with the strength of an exasperated breath before he continued. “Think critically, Alessandra. Do you truly think an assistant earns the salary you’re allotted? Has access to the company’s financials ? Gets to sit in on board meetings with a voice just as valued as a division head?”
“When their boss makes more money than God, who the hell knows? The elite spend more on handbags than I make in a year.” It was true. I’d seen them go for twice what I earned—and I brought in a very healthy six figures thanks to the man standing across from me in the middle of a nervous system collapse.
“Only the spectacularly pretentious ones,” he grumbled with a derisive eye roll.
“And in case you couldn’t tell by your Uncle’s mini aneurysm, today was the only meeting I’ve ever spoken up in.”
“That was a result of your own limitation, not mine.”
Some hysterical lapdog-adjacent yip escaped me as I turned in a panicked circle like there was somewhere to flee. Unless I intended to break through the tempered glass wall of the condo building and free fall into the city where I’d meet an untimely demise, there was no exit.
His voice was close enough and gentle enough to send goosebumps up my spine when he spoke next, “Hear me out.”
I whirled to face him, but my mouth dropped open when he was towering above me. “God, make a noise , you psycho!”
“You covered for me. With my uncle.”
“And?!” I barked before I noticed something I’d never anticipated seeing on Greyson Hart’s face. His eyes had softened. Some cousin to vulnerability flashed in those hazels before he seemed to blink it away at my retort. Regret sloshed in my belly.
He wet his lips, hard gaze like a brand across my face. “You didn’t have to. You didn’t even know what you were protecting, but you understood I didn’t want it shared.”
“It seemed like it had to be valuable information.”
“And Reginald Hart is a valuable man.”
“Reginald Hart is a self-entitled prick . You forget I’ve walked these circles beside you for two years now. I know where he places value.”
“And what about his nephew?” He arched a solitary brow, chest rising as he watched my face. He was in tan slacks and a casual short-sleeved button-up that hung half open, hair disheveled as though he’d been running his hands through it on repeat.
“An entitled capitalist prince that loves his niece more than the air in his lungs.”
He looked to his feet. “It’s an obligation of those with power to look after those without it. She’s my responsibility as much as Ollie’s.”
“Your peers vehemently disagree.”
“Not all of them.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, confirming my theory. I hated that I liked it that way—a strand falling across the tension lining his forehead. A fissure in the facade of perfection.
“Oliver aside?”
“Okay, well…most of them,” he allowed with a cocky little grin. “So. Back to the topic at hand. What do you say?”
“Mr. Hart, I?—”
“ Greyson ,” he cut in. “Please, call me Greyson. Regardless of your decision here, you’ve known too much for too long to be so formal.”
“Until this evening, I believed I was your coffee girl.”
“Until a few hours ago, only three people knew about Thunderstrike . You went in looking for proof of the allegations and found something far more dangerous. Those communications were locked behind government-orchestrated security.” He shook his head, adding, “You forced your way in in under twenty-four hours. You’ve yet to realize how valuable your mind is.”
“Max forced his way in,” I corrected.
“And leaders know exactly when to delegate so they can operate to their strengths. You’ve yet to realize what you could do with the right resources.”
“And you’ve yet to explain what Obsidian or Thunderstrike is,” I pointed out, my breath halting as his hand came to cup my elbow, eyes falling to where his skin met mine. Which, coincidentally enough, was now tingling with a rush of anticipation I would not be acknowledging. The way my hand came to wrap around his forearm was entirely involuntary. Whether I was holding him at bay or holding him to me, I wasn’t even sure, and fear and arousal were way too similar in nature for my liking. Suddenly, my bare legs on display felt ungodly vulnerable.
“And I can’t,” he said calmly. “As it is, you’ve already implicated yourself in something I wanted you very, very far away from. So long as you can be forced to testify, you need to get the hell away from those files, Alessandra.” As if in emphasis, he gave my arm a gentle squeeze.
Silence settled between us for a long beat, his thumb absently running over my elbow, even once I broke it. “You were a Seal.” It came out somewhere between a statement and a question. He nodded once. “It’s related to your time there?”
“Like I said, it’s classified. Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to have answered.” He let those words simmer like a rich sauce, allowing the flavors of each implication to marinate in my mind before that edge to his voice sharpened. “You can’t go back, Alessandra. There is no unhearing what will be heard. That being said, you would be an invaluable asset.”
To a team I didn’t even understand. Doing some kind of shady work he couldn’t discuss with me. If it was classified, it had to be government-related. But if I was implicating myself…it wasn’t strictly… legitimate .
From the little information I could gather before he showed up, it seemed the fire-breathing dragon was funding something rather…philanthropic. I thought of my Max, taking down corrupt politicians from within their own framework. I wondered if he’d specifically led me to something he wasn’t supposed to know about but had seen, anyway.
So many questions. So few answers.
I was just a girl from a small town in Alaska. A girl from Alaska lucky to land a position with one of the planet's largest investment and media dynasties. A girl from Alaska who was about to walk away from said position. Did I…did I still want that? Did he actually think I could do more, or was he just covering his very rich, very fine, Armani-clothed ass? Using the strength of mouthwatering cologne and his towering, beautiful frame to scatter my sensibilities as violently as the bomb he’d just dropped.
I glanced at my watch, sucking in a steadying breath as his words tumbled through my mind, gathering momentum like a snowball. Mouth dry, I mumbled, “It’s eleven, Greyson. I have a meeting at seven.”
“Answer my question, Alessandra.”
Jaw set, I looked up to him, that steady stroke, stroke, stroke of his thumb over my skin, sending pebbles across it. Christ, I was so grateful he’d never touched me prior—it would have been all I could think about. “Nobody will believe it.”
“Here, google me,” he ordered, unceremoniously tossing his cell phone to me. I caught it on reflex.
“I’m sorry?” I balked.
“Look at the screen. You search my name, and you invariably see yours as well. But if you add?—”
“Romance…” I finished his sentence as I glanced at the populated search results he had open on his screen, my mouth falling open.
“You’re the only woman they’ve snapped photos of beside me in two years . It won’t be a hard sell.” Scroll after scroll of search results confirmed what he was saying. Not just photos but articles and blog posts speculating that we were together.
“My family , for starters, would believe I was dead long before they believe I up and married you.” My words earned a visible wince, but I couldn’t stop. There were too many questions. This was just my first. “You were going to dig through my archives and repurpose those candid Barcelona images?”
He rubbed at his forehead like he could ease some of our reality away. “There was one of me guiding you through a door—hand on your low back.” His eyes went distant, his head softly shaking, like he was searching through old memories. “Another where you took my hand stepping out of the car over a full gutter. So many on the UK trips. Even articles speculating back then. Multiples of you getting out of the car in front of my house. Creeps ,” he complained but shrugged begrudgingly. “Could benefit us now, though.”
“We’d fake a photo with a ring and leak it ourselves,” I concluded—correctly, based on his smirk and the subtle nod as he watched me. “It’s still a scandal, Greyson. Hotshot CEO runs off with his secretary .”
“You and I both know you’re much more than my appointment setter. That’s what Paul is for.”
“My point stands—it’s a cliché, but it will still make headlines.”
“Headlines I can live with. Headlines that don’t bring the feds poking around in my financials or lead them to my…extracurriculars. You could invoke spousal immunity should they come knocking. Plus, Stacy would make her career on this story,” he said with great satisfaction. Stacy was the one reporter we could count on to fan flames or extinguish them when needed. We already knew we had her allegiance in this after today’s call. “We’d be doing her a favor in the long run.”
I covered my mouth, heart pounding just at the fact that I was considering this insanity.
“Unless you have an alternate diversion significant enough to draw media attention for a prolonged period, at which point I am all ears. An alternative plan wouldn’t protect you with immunity, though. Should the law come knocking—you won’t take the fall for me; you’d have to tell them what you know, which I hope is very little.” He pursed his lips. “If you’ve got something else that could solve our immediate allegation problems…throw it on the table.” His eyes dropped, a focused furrow pinching his brows. “But I think he was right. I think the royal wedding would swallow some baseless accusation—and we could draw it out.”
“Speculations, confirmations, announcements,” I concluded, sucking down a breath.
“Vapid parties and all the details around the wedding itself.”
“The ring.”
“The dress,” he said, expression warming, no doubt as he realized I was playing along.
“Elopement or a big, televised fiasco sold off to the highest bidder.”
“Elopement, obviously.” As an afterthought, he explained, “I notoriously hate productions.”
“Then, it would turn to the guest list.” I hated that it made sense. Hated that he was right—the public would believe it as long as my family didn’t light the building on fire.
“Your siblings would help with that.”
“I’m not exploiting Elora or Paxton,” I argued. “If—and I cannot stress the if enough—we even entertain this in some acid trip-altered reality, they only participate electively.”
“We wouldn’t have a choice. The media would write whatever they wanted to write. Your family has placed themselves in the public eye. They’ll be seen. After the wedding, they’d talk photos and guest list?—”
“Food and vendors.”
“Where we honeymooned.”
“Pregnancy speculations.” When he glared at me, I added, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You wanted months of content,” he pointed out.
“And this would protect me from having to testify, taking down Ollie with you.”
“We keep their attention. If we win in the court of public opinion, we win whatever game they’re playing.”
“Who cares about finances when they can talk tulle and chiffon?”
“Lobster or veal,” he supplied, shaking his head. I tucked away his disappointment for later because my heart felt like it might bust through my ribs like the Kool-Aid man.
My mind was spinning, whirling with the overwhelm of so much new information, and my mouth opened and closed repeatedly. I turned for the windows again, needing space between us. Needing air that didn’t smell like him—no doubt some pheromone-filled aftershave mixed with sea salt, designed to entice the women too smart to drop their panties the moment they saw dollar signs.
“I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll treat you right. The prenup will be favorable. Enough to start fresh when this is over—hell, you could live comfortably for the rest of your life if you’re smart with it.”
Whirling on him, I demanded, “Are you trying to pay me proactive hush money to marry you for a media arrangement, Greyson? I don’t think that sin is covered by spousal immunity.”
He rubbed at the space between his brows, blowing out a harsh breath. “ My , I’ve made one hell of an impression.” Pursing his lips, Greyson closed the distance again, replacing his hand on my arm. “No. I wouldn’t cheapen you that way. I didn’t mean it like that . Although, the rich marry for less. People still sign away their daughters for business arrangements and status regularly. The women agree because of the privilege afforded them.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d be one of them. What I meant was that legally speaking, I would handle this like I would with any woman willing to dedicate her life to me as my wife . A standard prenup would account for you walking away fairly. Ask Ollie.”
Oliver’s ex, Carly, was the worst kind of woman. I wouldn’t have been shocked if she poked holes in the condom to land a Hart brother, with how little she cared for Mattie or their son Beau. Like the traditionalist he was, Ollie married her while she was pregnant with Matilda, but when Beau was a few months old, she ran off. Sent a courier with divorce papers. Made out like Satan’s mistress, with more money than most people would see in a lifetime.
Ollie got the kids.
My skin crawled just knowing someone could essentially sell off their babies for a few million—walk away with no care what became of the two human beings she brought into the world.
“ I’m not like her. I don’t need your money, Greyson.” I weighed my words. “Beyond what I earn serving this company. That , I’ll continue taking.”
He smiled again. It was the most I’d seen on his face in anything but a focus-induced scowl. Perhaps it was a mental breakdown, after all.
“I know. You weren’t particularly quiet the day you told your sister to eat the rich .”
My face flushed, but at the amused curve to his lips, I couldn’t help but laugh before slapping a hand over my mouth to silence it.
“It’s okay.” The dark chuckle that emerged from him sent a flock of birds flying through my chest. “I spent three deployments saying the same thing.”
I shook my head, chuckling despite myself. “What changed?”
“My spine was reconstructed with metal pins, and after the bitterness and rehab, I realized I could help more people with the resources my name garnered than the rifle in my hands.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, studying him and finding a carefully blank canvas of sincerity.
“Three years,” he said abruptly. “I think that should be long enough to dispel any rumors that may surface.” All the air in my lungs somehow squeezed into my cheeks before I blew it out in an endless stream as he went on.
“I mean this with as much respect as our respective positions garner, but I nearly killed you in two. Probably would’ve if I could get away with it. What makes you think I could possibly survive three?”
“This is different.”
“Explain.”
“You’re not my subordinate. As my wife, you’re my partner. You’re not answering to me; if anything, it would be the opposite. As my wife, I don’t have to pretend I don’t find you maddeningly attractive. It would be expected that you would move in with me, that my drivers chauffeur you, all the normal privileges for your position would be afforded. And I would insist on an honorable prenup. It’s my ass—my niece’s legacy in this company—you’d be saving.”
My swallow was suddenly painfully hard, but I managed. Brain stuck in a permanent buffering state after his words ‘maddeningly attractive.’ His flattery wasn’t winning him any points. I refused to let it.
“I’m asking the impossible of you. A long con bestowed to an untrained civilian, essentially, but you would be given all the assets my wife deserves—to do with them whatever you want. Fund charities, go get a doctorate, or buy a Birkin bag, I don’t care, frankly. It’s the least I could do if you agree. I’m not a man prone to begging, so that’s as close as I’ll get.”
“This is madness,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around myself.
Unflinching, he said, “I know.”
“As long as you’re aware.”
“Is that a yes?” He stepped a little closer.
Motioning between us, I stammered, “W-we’d have to sell this.”
“Spent ninety hours a week together for twenty-one months, and I haven’t sent you running with a severance check, so I think it’s believable.”
“I mean…PDA. People would expect it.”
“Ahh,” he breathed, a cocky smirk falling to the floor. I tracked his tongue as it wet the seam of his lips before he added, “The fun part.” I squirmed, but he wrapped both of his warm hands around my arms, guiding our bodies together. “Do you find me repulsive, Alessandra?”
I will not squirm for Greyson Hart. When I just gaped up at him, his eyes flicked to where my hair stood on end in the trail of fire he was leaving on my arms.
“Then that’s the fun part. As it is, I’m a notoriously private man and would never be one to flaunt my affections. Media expectations of your participation will be minimal unless you decide to instigate something yourself.”
Despite the shiver up my spine, I sheepishly admitted, “My family calls you Hartless.”
The tiniest twitch tugged at his lips. “Wonder where they got that idea.”
“They think I can’t stand you.” Because I couldn’t. Had been livid since the day Paul showed up to transfer me from marketing to PR, dropping me off in his office.
There was nothing—and I mean nothing—worse than telling a Rhodes we couldn’t do something.
Greyson shrugged one shoulder, shirt straining against the movement.
“I’m a Hart. When you’re born with a silver spoon, and the eyes of the world on your family, being hated is in the job description. I’ll just have to spend three years earning their trust. On a positive note, you hating me keeps our boundaries pretty firm.”
“The board will have a field day with this.”
”Leave them to me.”
“You’ll regret this,” I warned, feeling oddly emotional about how he’d respond.
He gave me a long, hard look, eyes pensive as he stared me down. Goosebumps crept up my arms when he gently lifted my shirt back over my bare shoulder, giving me a firm squeeze before saying, “Impossible.”
“I’ll drive you crazy—I paint and draw with charcoal while blasting oldies at all hours of the night. And I like things clean. And I have to work out every day, or I get stabby. Especially when I’m dealing with you.”
“I’ll clear out the guest room. I already sleep poorly, I have a housecleaner who comes daily, and there’s a state-of-the-art gym in my basement.”
“You can’t be seen with anyone else—I can’t live with the shame of some big, public affair. Of being your Cinderella story turned couldn’t-keep-her-man.”
Greyson deadpanned, lips pursed in irritation. “Have you seen me with anyone in the last two years?”
I blinked, realizing if he had to have a plus one, he paid me to accompany him to galas and events. It was why I’d missed Christmas with my family. My eyes flew wide. “ Are you gay?”
His laughter bounced off the walls before supplying a lighthearted, “No.”
“Then I don’t understand.” Hell, he was named the sexiest man in the country last year. Greyson Hart could have anyone he wanted, and they’d thank him as he kicked them out of his house.
He studied me, and that focused furrow deepened. “I’ve never been a casual hookup man. And…after Carly and Ollie…if I fuck someone, it will mean something to me. Frankly, having you around will ward off the vultures, which would be deeply relieving. A built-in escape hatch.”
If I fuck someone, it will mean something to me … that was the part of the statement that stuck with me, and I cursed my ridiculous brain. What half-wit bimbo didn’t look at this man and imagine what that would be like? I certainly didn’t intend to be one of them. “You’re not going to set the same rules for me?”
The rakish grin that stretched his cheeks this time made my toes curl. “If my wife cheats on me and is stupid enough to get caught, I’m doing my job wrong.”
“It isn’t real,” I clarified when his answer sent fear skittering through my body, nerves wrapping a noose around my neck. His smile transformed and deepened into a real one that reminded me of my very first impression of this rendition of Satan in a suit. “Why are you smiling?”
“You said isn’t .” He wet his lips again, eyes lingering on mine. “Is that a yes?”
“Three years?”
“Quicker than another bachelor’s degree and much more lucrative.” Okay. Yeah. I was surprised he remembered that I had two under my belt. When I leveled a glare in his direction, even though I had to crane my neck to look at him, he finally wrestled that smile off his face. “Am I wrong?”
I could only picture this man in the sand with those kids, and Mattie looking at him like her superhero. This was madness . “I want a new title.”
“How’s the head of public relations until I’m confident you can step into acting COO?”
My mouth fell open until I could remember how to keep it closed. Acting COO ? A satisfied kind of arrogance settled over his features when he rendered me silent.
“Told you that you’re sharper than your peers.” My mind was reeling, but Greyson wouldn’t compromise a position so significant to prove a point or as a means to an end. As if reading my thoughts, he shook his head. “My promotion proposal was slated for fall when Tiffany retires from the position, but you jumped the gun with your resignation. Your performance today solidified her endorsement.”
Eyes narrowed, I added, “I want a say in the company’s charitable donations.”
“As my partner, that’s inherent.”
“Partner?” I gaped.
“ Wife ,” he emphasized, one eye narrowed comically. “You’ll be a Hart—however temporarily. Unlike my misogynistic bastard of a father, I don’t do trophies.”
Because that made perfectly logical sense, I was clearly the one out of sorts. I was waiting for a punchline, but he just studied me, expression pensive, like he was trying to anticipate my next objection and get ahead of it. Scrambling for anything that would pop this balloon of crazy, I blurted, “You don’t get to blacklist me when this is over. If I still want to leave the company, I get to work for whoever I want to.”
“You’d be equipped to start and fund your own venture by the end of this, but should you choose to be someone’s pawn, you’ll have my blessing and a ringing endorsement for whoever you send calling.”
Dammit. How did he think all this through so quickly? “Paxton keeps his deal, no matter what happens between the two of us.”
He leveled me with a glare dripping in disdain. “That’s a given.”
Ignoring how quickly my mouth dried out as nerves and anticipation danced in my belly, I sucked down a breath. Took a shaky step back. “I want to spend Christmas with my family this year.”
“Florida sounds superb.” Didn’t expect him to remember that, but okay.
“And take the whole two-week trip off work.”
“Done.”
“You’re going to say yes to anything I ask for right now, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps,” he allotted, one arm propped like a shelf below the other so that he could brace his hand against his mouth. But I swore beneath his deceptively casual stance, another smirk twitched in his cheek. “Don’t use your powers for evil, you tiny extortionist.”
Oh god, I was going to regret this, wasn’t I? Feeling spectacularly bold, I replied, “I still don’t like you.”
“I can live with that.”
His smolder held my unblinking bewilderment, as unyielding as he was with any corporate conquest.
Three years. A place on the board and influence over billions of dollars in the philanthropic budget. The ability to understand what shield he’d taken up and hide behind spousal immunity should anyone come poking around. I could make a difference with these resources—Elora had just started a vocational school for women in Manhattan that could always use extra funding, and Jameson’s fiancé, Noel, had started a foundation for victims of domestic abuse. There were so many causes I could aid with a last name like Hart. It might be the ultimate red herring of media manipulation, but the access he was offering me was…unparalleled. If we played our cards right, we’d preserve Matilda and Beau’s future and keep the public’s attention where Greyson wanted it. Hell, I’d been doing the same thing for his clients for years. This wasn’t new—it was just personal this time.
Lengthening my spine, I extended my hand to Greyson Hart. Eyes glinting, he reached out to shake it, and life as I knew it flipped on its axis.