Chapter 7 Ethan
ETHAN
Lila leaves before I finish my shower, and I let her go because I want to see what she does with the space. She’s careful, but she looked back twice on her way out, which tells me enough. She isn’t running. She’s overwhelmed and she’s fighting it, and that’s fine. I can handle that.
I dress fast and move through the penthouse with my phone in hand. There’s already a stack of overnight updates from the Hong Kong office, but I skim them instead of answering. My attention keeps drifting back to her signed contract on the dresser.
The elevator drops straight into the garage, and the driver opens the back door without being told.
I settle in, loosen my cuffs, and check my messages again.
Nothing from her yet. She’s probably pacing her apartment with her hair still damp and her clothes stuck to her skin.
She’ll replay every second of last night, and she’ll pretend she can forget it once she gets to work. She won’t.
Traffic moves fast, and soon enough, the tower comes into view. I straighten my tie and step out before the car fully stops. Security nods, people step aside, and the elevator doors close before anyone else can get in.
I check the time and note I’m slightly early.
The elevator doors open on my floor, and the first voice I hear is Sloane Mercer’s. She’s talking too loudly, laughing at something unfunny, and her tone is syrupy in a way that immediately puts me in a bad mood.
“Mr. Cross,” she says when she spots me, and she falls in step beside me before I can stop her. “Good morning. You look sharp today.”
“Thank you,” I say, and keep walking.
She laughs like I’ve given her something warm to hold. “I was just telling Victoria how dedicated you are. Up early, in before everyone, never slowing down—”
I stop walking.
Victoria Lane stands at my office door.
She’s leaning against the frame like she owns it, one hand on her hip, her smile tight and far too red for the morning. Her hair is sleek, her suit is new, and her eyes are narrow enough to pick apart the entire floor in a single sweep.
“Ethan,” she says with that irritatingly high lilt in her tone as she pushes off the door. “You’re hard to catch these days.”
Sloane lights up beside her. “I brought her up personally,” she adds. “We were discussing partnerships and brand expansion. Victoria has incredible reach, so I thought—”
“That’s enough,” I bite out. “Go back to your division.”
Sloane freezes. “Of course. If you need anything—”
“I don’t.”
She walks away with a stiff smile and a straight spine, and her heels click with unnecessary force.
I look at Victoria. “You don’t have clearance for this floor anymore.”
She’s unfazed as she looks around the hallway like it’s nostalgic. “Old habits. And old connections. Your front desk still recognizes my name.”
“I’ll fix that,” I say.
She steps closer. “Can’t we at least pretend we ended things like adults?”
“We didn’t.”
Her smile tightens. “I’m here for business, not personal history.”
History is the part she always pretends went differently.
She used our relationship like it was a security badge, and she used my best friend because he had the access she needed.
Dan was the systems architect who built our internal reporting tools, which meant he could manipulate numbers in places most people didn’t even know existed.
Victoria fed him early deal memos, internal forecasts, vendor rotations, anything she could pull from my schedule or my desk when I wasn’t looking. He used that information to shift dates, hide losses, and falsify valuation entries in two overseas subsidiaries.
They created the illusion of stability long enough for her to buy in heavy, ride the fake uptick, and sell before the real numbers hit.
It wasn’t a small hit either. If that fraud had landed at the wrong time, the board would have forced a restructuring, and the company would have bled out for a year. I put a stop to it because I noticed inconsistencies in the Moscow quarterly packet and followed the thread myself.
I locked both of them out of the system, reran the books from scratch over a weekend, and disclosed the issue to the auditors before it could become a scandal. She walked away clean by claiming ignorance. He didn’t.
She still walks around like none of that ever happened.
I keep my face neutral. “You don’t have business with me.”
“That’s true,” she agrees with a nod. “But you might once you hear what I came to offer.”
I open my office door and step inside. “You have five minutes.”
She follows. I don’t invite her to sit, but she sits anyway. Same arrogance as always.
“You’re expanding into the Lane markets,” she says. “And you’ll hit regulatory walls unless someone smooths the path. I know those agencies better than anyone, and I can make those delays disappear.”
The audacity of this woman makes me almost chuckle. “I don’t need favors from you.”
“You need results,” she replies, folding her hands. “And you know I’m effective when I want to be.”
I stare at her until she shifts in her seat. It takes longer than it should, but she does.
“You burned your credibility years ago,” I say. “I’m not attaching my company to your name.”
She presses her lips together. “One mistake—”
“It wasn’t one.”
A beat passes. She pushes her hair behind her ear and leans back in her chair, studying me.
“You’re different,” she says. “Something’s pulling your attention.”
I don’t answer. She watches me with too much interest. “I hope you’re not making the same mistake twice.”
“Leave,” I say.
Her eyes narrow again. “You should at least consider—”
“Leave.”
She stands slowly, smooths her jacket, and walks toward the door. Before she opens it, she glances back.
“You know I don’t like being replaced,” she says.
“You weren’t replaced,” I answer. “You were removed.”
Her lips twitch. “We’ll talk again.”
“We won’t.”
She leaves and the door shuts behind her. I exhale once, checking the clock and noting the margin before my first call, then roll my shoulders once as if I can physically reset the direction of my thoughts.
I walk to the glass wall with my hands relaxed at my sides, and the city spreads beneath me in obedient motion.
My mind turns where it should. Larkstone’s margins need tightening, Paris will require leverage and timing, and the audit team is either slow or strategic, which means I’ll need to decide whether to push or replace.
Victoria’s appearance was noisy and pointless, and I’ll deal with the security lapse before lunch.
All of it is manageable. All of it bends.
But the realest picture is of Lila’s hair stuck to her neck while she was bent over my sheets, breath loud and body open, whispering Sir like she meant it.
I take out my phone and type.
Where are you?
I wait.
No reply.
I almost text again, but I stop when I hear her name outside the office door. Her voice is soft and sweet, already answering someone’s question.
She’s here.
Good.
I put on my jacket, adjust my cuff, and step out to call her in, because I want her in front of me before the real work starts. She needs to learn that last night wasn’t some temporary collapse in judgment.
“Lila?”
She looks up, sees me, and comes inside with a little smile before closing the door behind her. She doesn’t look nervous, which means she’s either calm or faking it well. Her dress is clean, hair up, eyes bright. She holds the folder steady.
“Morning, sir,” she says.
I watch her cross the room. Her heels are silent on the carpet and her skirt is tailored within an inch of decency, and she knows it.
She places the folder on my desk. “Q3 adjustments and a vendor note flagged from yesterday. I made margin edits.”
I take the folder, flip it open, and skim. Her notes are clean, and so is her posture. She doesn’t shift under my attention, even though I know she can feel it.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
She shifts slightly under my gaze. “Coffee counts.”
I look up. “Try again.”
She folds her arms, mouth twitching. “Yes, sir. I ate.”
“Good.”
She lingers, waiting.
I close the folder, lean back, and nod toward the seat across from me. “Sit.”
She complies with her back straight and crosses her ankles in front of her. I watch her legs.
“Anything I need to know about the vendor delay?” I ask.
“They’re stalling. Probably expecting renegotiation. I logged a workaround. Check your inbox.”
“And the Paris call?”
“Moved to Friday. You were overbooked.”
I nod once, pleased. Her gaze flicks toward my laptop, then back to me.
“You didn’t check,” she says.
“No. I trust you.”
Her cheeks go pink, and I have to try very hard to stifle my smile. I reach for my phone, type a quick reply to legal, then look up again. She’s still watching me.
“Do you have anything else?” I ask.
She stands, smooth and unhurried. “No. I’ll be at my desk.”
“Lock the door.”
She freezes. “I—”
“Now, Ms. Bennett.”
She nods and hurries to the door, locking it without a word before turning back to face me. Her chest rises a little faster now, but she’s trying to hide it.
“Come here.”
She walks over to the side of the desk, careful not to brush against anything. I roll my chair back, watching the subtle shift in her posture when she realizes I’m serious. Her hands hover at her sides like she’s not sure what to do with them.
I hook a finger into the waistband of her skirt and tug her forward, slotting her between my knees until I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“You keep looking at me like you want something.”
“I was doing my job,” she says, lifting her chin.
I slide my palms up her thighs, slow and steady, until her breath catches. Her skin is warm and taut under my touch, and she’s already starting to give.
“You signed the contract,” I remind her, my thumbs pressing into the curve of her waist. “This isn’t casual.”
“We’re at work,” she whispers, though her hands are already resting on my shoulders.
“Then maybe you should be more careful about how you look at me.”