Chapter 14
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Luna
The email about picking up badges hits my inbox and I'm already spiraling.
You didn't do anything wrong , I tell myself.
I know that, but my heart won't listen. His warning about keeping quiet echoes in my head, and my brain's doing that thing again - linking Roman's words to Aidan's threats. Same script, different actor. I try to shake it off while getting dressed. Can't exactly avoid the office forever.
Besides, what are the odds of running into the CEO? He's probably got better things to do than track every employee's comings and goings.
Even one he thinks might be a corporate spy? Or one he kissed? God .
I throw on my green sweater and jeans, slip into my Chelsea boots, and add an extra spritz of Armani My Way Intense before heading to the train. It's a quick trip to the office, just enough time to lose myself in the audiobook I've been neglecting. That's what I love about books - they pull me out of my head, give me a break from the tornado of worries spinning in there.
Twenty-five minutes later, I'm walking into the building. At reception, two women who could be twins - seriously, they're identical - flash matching smiles and wave me through the security gates for my badge pickup.
They scan me into the elevator for the eighth floor HR visit, then leave me alone with my reflection. Great . Should've definitely worn mascara. And concealer. No wonder Roxy says I'm becoming one with my couch.
The elevator dings for the eighth floor, and I step out to find Clara signing papers in the corner. But what stops me in my tracks is the space itself - it's an open concept filled with plants and... wait, is that an actual fountain in the middle of the floor?
“Something else, isn't it?” Clara whispers.
I'm still taking in all the zen vibes, wondering if our floor looks the same. Probably does.
“This wasn't what I expected,” I admit.
I'd pictured the typical cubicle farm, but these hanging vines and ivy- it's actually tasteful.
“Your name, sweetie?” A warm voice pulls my attention to a woman in her midforties, blonde bob, wearing the kind of smile that screams 'mom.'
I try not to flinch at 'sweetie.' That word's been permanently deleted from my dictionary.
"Luna R?dulescu," I tell her, trying to recite my surname as clearly as I can, knowing not everyone understands my Romanian last name.
"Just a moment... There we go."
She extends her hand with a badge bearing my name and a document to sign for receiving it.
"My name is Diana and I'm the HR manager, so if you have any problems or concerns, here's my business card with my email and phone numbers. The personal one is strictly for if you're on fire and the firefighters can’t reach you. OK?"
Clara and I exchange looks and nod, ready to head out as people queue up behind us. But Diana raises her hand, motioning for me to stay.
“Did I miss signing something?” I ask, confused. Diana just gives me this gentle look.
“No, sweetie, but Mr. Borisov asked me to let you know he wants a word before you leave.”
The blood drains from my face so fast that Diana hurries to add in her most soothing voice, “Oh, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Your badge will get you up to his office on twenty-two.”
Then she turns back to her stack of badges and paperwork like she hasn't just dropped a bomb on me.
“What did you do?” Clara asks.
Because, naturally, when the CEO wants to see you on day one, everyone assumes you've screwed up royally.
You haven't done anything. It’s not your fault Tim approached you with his schemes. And technically, he kissed you, so that's not your fault either.
"I don't know what it's about, but I'll let you know when I'm done. Talk to you later," I tell Clara while getting in the elevator and putting on the same mask I wore for a whole year.
You're fine. You'll be fine.
The elevator opens onto the twenty-second floor, and my jaw drops. It's like stepping into a jungle, complete with an insane reception desk in the corner - black marble shot through with gold veins.
Behind it sits this guy, maybe twenty-five, brown hair, blue eyes, rocking an orange suit of all things. Bold choice.
“Hi, I'm here to see Mr. Borisov.”
His eyes do this slow head-to-toe scan before his face breaks into a smile, like I just passed some secret test. Even his eyes get in on the grin.
“Of course, I'll announce you right away…”
The hanging silence snaps me out of my incoming panic attack because - oh God - he's waiting for...
“Luna! Sorry, Luna. Head's in the clouds today,” I stammer, trying to fake a smile.
“Keep it there when you're dealing with Roman. Better for your sanity,” he says, and I can't help but laugh.
"Noted. Any other advice?" I ask while he leads me to Roman's office, and my heart's in my throat.
My palms are sweaty too. Great.
He turns and looks straight into my eyes when we reach the door, and in a serious tone answers, "Roman isn't the nightmare in your story, Luna."
He turns and leaves, leaving me completely stunned because I don't understand how he figured out how scared I am.
You literally just need to start shaking and you'll be the complete trauma package.
I can't stand in front of the office without going in, so I gather my courage— where it comes from, I don't know— and knock on the door. I close my eyes until his voice resonates and tells me to enter.
His office is exactly what you'd expect. Soaring ceilings, walls decorated with modern art and photographs and a black leather arm chair in the corner.
The windows behind him are massive - floor to ceiling, showing off half of Chicago. His desk is this monster piece of black wood, definitely custom-made, judging by its size. Then I spot it in the corner - an actual orange tree. A real one. That pulls a smile from me before I can stop it.
I'm still avoiding looking directly at Roman, not ready to face whatever expression he's wearing, when his voice breaks the silence.
“If I'd known an orange tree was all it took to make you comfortable around me, I'd have lined the walls with them.”
That makes me turn to face him.
He's in a charcoal gray suit, wearing this subtle, appreciative smile that somehow puts me at ease.
I barely glanced in the mirror this morning - just my usual mess of curls and these glasses everyone calls childish. But the way Roman looks at me makes my skin feel electric.
"I apologize, sir, but after our last interaction, I don't think I could be relaxed," I tell him truthfully, because this has always been my flaw.
I've always chosen honesty over lies. And look where that honest mouth's gotten you.
His eyes study me while I stand here frozen, debating my next move. Take a seat? Stay by the door for a quick escape?
He bursts out laughing, and my eyebrows knit together because, seriously, what's so funny?
“I can practically see you mapping out your escape route - and the backup plan for when that fails.” He reads my thoughts, and my eyes go wide.
How does he do that? Am I talking out loud without realizing it? Great, time to check myself into the psych ward.
“Those eyes of yours, Luna - they broadcast every storm in your head.”
He rises, moves toward me. It should be illegal to have eyes like his. That gray - it matches exactly what he said. Storm .
“I'm not going to hurt you. Actually, I wanted to apologize again for stealing that kiss. And ask for your help.” His voice comes out soft, almost vulnerable, and I feel my walls starting to crack as I look at him.
This should feel weird, this whole interaction, but it doesn't. It's like there are invisible threads pulling us together the longer we hold each other's gaze.
I know attraction exists - even believe in it. Love at first sight? That's fairy tale stuff. So this has to be chemistry, pure and simple. Because let's face it, this man is every woman's fantasy come to life.
“Okay, what do you need, sir?” I break the moment before it swallows me whole. I don't want to understand whatever this is. Got enough on my plate already. That kiss at the party fried my circuits - I don't need more moments of short-circuiting my brain.
For a split second, disappointment flashes across his face at my interruption. Then his CEO mask slides back into place, the same way I pull on mine.
“I want us to analyze the code Tim tried to sell. Run scenarios on what someone could do with it. And drop the 'sir' - use 'you.’''
“Is Tim okay?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I regret them instantly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see his face when he lies to me.
“Open your eyes, Luna.”
His finger tilts my chin up, and I know when I look, I'll be drowning in that gray gaze. I take a deep breath and force my eyes open.
The air catches in my throat. He's so close I can feel his warmth, count every eyelash, see every perfect detail of his face. Just like before that kiss, my mind goes blank at his nearness.
“You already know the answer,” he murmurs.
I nod because I do. Don't know how, but I do. Maybe that year with Aidan taught me to spot other people's masks.
“Okay,'”I breathe, my mind racing for an escape plan.
I don't know what game this man is playing, but he's definitely not just some bored executive. And somehow, I've landed in his crosshairs.
“Trust me, Tim was no innocent. You're safe, so stop overthinking. I need you to look at this code with me, help identify who approached Tim. Since you built the foundation, you'll know best what someone could do with it.”
He sounds logical, reasonable. But how many times have I heard those same promises? How many times has 'you're safe' ended with me on the ground? Two years ago, I'd have been in tears, dialing 911. But I've learned my lesson.
Sometimes there's no Prince Charming coming to save you. Sometimes you have to forge your own sword.
“Sure. We start tomorrow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
That'll give me time to figure this out. Maybe I could disappear for a month to somewhere remote, email HR my resignation from a place with no cell service...
“Actually, we need to start now,” he says, pulling a laptop from his drawer.
“I've gotten you access to the source code for the project. This isn't a small problem - better tackle it immediately.” His eyes lock onto mine.
He's waiting for me to say no.
He's expecting me to crumble at his demand, and suddenly I want to prove I'm not that fragile. That I can hold my own against him. I catch his stare, and that gray seems darker, more intense. Why does he have to have such magnetic eyes?
“Sure,” I say with my most artificial smile.
He knows it's fake - I see it in how his jaw tightens. Hope my look tells him I can play this game too.
I sign in and start walking him through my architecture design.
He turns toward me, and though we keep it strictly professional, his knee keeps brushing mine. When he leans in to point at code he doesn't understand, his hand grazes mine. They're just split-second touches, but each one sends electricity through my skin. It's maddening. His words echo — Next time you'll beg me to do it — and I have to close my eyes for a moment.
Roman acts completely unmoved by it all, while my traitorous body melts at every touch.
The next two hours drag by in technical explanations until my stomach lets out a sound like a grizzly coming out of winter sleep. I want to disappear under his carpet from embarrassment.
“Sorry, I didn't get a chance to eat before coming in,” I mumble, feeling the blush spread across my face and neck.
With a smile that's probably landed him half the Victoria's Secret catalog models, he picks up his phone.
“Get us some Asian food. Pad Thai?”
He looks at me for confirmation, and I nod. I love Asian food, and I wonder if he somehow knew or if it's just coincidence.
How would he know what you like to eat?
God, you need therapy.
Forty minutes later, the orange-suit receptionist guy shows up with several boxes, setting them on a table near the desk. He flashes me this massive grin that makes me frown - what's that about?
“Anything else?” he asks Roman.
The way he studies me makes me uncomfortable. And the casual way he addresses Roman doesn't escape my notice.
“Felix.” Roman's tone carries a clear warning.
The guy - Felix, apparently - throws his hands up in mock surrender and backs out, still wearing that knowing smile.
"Forgive him, but he's naturally indiscreet," I hear Roman saying while getting up to look at the food.
I can't avoid the smile forming because honestly? Roman and Felix are at such opposite ends of the spectrum, I'm surprised they haven't strangled each other yet.
I look up to find Roman studying me with this mix of confusion and curiosity that tells me exactly what's coming.
“I was just thinking how different you and Felix are. Didn't expect your assistant to be so...entertaining.”
It's the only word that fits. Even when Roman tries to seem casual, there's this aura of authority around him that demands respect.
“Don't let the act fool you. He's sharp as a tack when he wants to be,” Roman says, amusement coloring his voice.
He probably doesn't realize how obvious it is that he cares about Felix. But then, I'm oversensitive to feelings. Way too many feelings.
“You two work well together,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“I suppose we do,” he says, looking amused again.“Let's eat first, then we can get back to work.” He hands me one of the boxes.
I'm so hungry I have to force myself not to inhale these noodles like some kind of starved animal. Only when my stomach stops growling do I set the box down.
Between bites, I keep puzzling over why anyone would want the code for a monitoring bracelet badly enough to try corporate espionage.
“Any theories about who's after this?” I ask, keeping my eyes on my food.
I know Roman's not what he seems, and that should terrify me. But something about him makes me feel like if I were in a fight I'd want him in my corner. It's this weird sense of safety - like my brain knows he's dangerous, but my gut says he wouldn't hurt me.
The question is: which one do I trust?
“We've got plenty of competitors, but that's what's strange - none of them work in this field. And the ones who do have their own tech,” he says, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
Christ . As if he wasn't gorgeous enough, those hands of his are giving me completely inappropriate thoughts. Never knew a man's hands could look so masculine and perfect. I watch the veins flex as he reaches for the boxes and have to swallow hard. Force myself to look away.
Remember, Tim's probably floating in a river somewhere, and you're drooling over his killer's hands.
I push away fantasies of those hands exploring places my boss definitely shouldn't touch and focus back on why I'm really here.
"What if it's simply about what the product itself does? Monitoring."
I look at him and see him frowning at me as if he doesn't understand what I'm trying to say, so I gather my courage to continue.
"There are many influential people who have health issues and would need such a bracelet. Knowing when someone is about to have a heart attack is quite important, isn't it?" I finish the thought and bite my lip from stress because I know it sounds like science fiction, but if thinking from the outside, it seems logical.
At least in my head it seems logical.
His face lights up like I've just solved a puzzle he's been working on forever.
“Can it really do that?” he asks, moving closer.
I'm still on the couch, and him standing over me is pure intimidation. I stand up too, not realizing until it's too late that I've put myself right next to him. One step and we'd be touching.
“I could make it happen,” I admit, thinking back to my talks with Gregory.
He says I've got storms in my eyes, but he's got his own tempest brewing. Looking up at him now, I see so many emotions swirling, but I recognize one instantly - it's the same one I've been running for all my life...pride.
I feel the blush creep up as he reaches for my face. My body betrays me, flinching back before I can stop it. But instead of pulling away, he catches a loose strand of my hair between his fingers.
We both remember what happened last time he touched me.
My cinnamon strands contrast against his skin, and this close, his cologne wraps around me - orange and sage making my head spin. My eyes flutter shut on their own. Everything about this crosses every line, but something deep in my soul begs for this moment to freeze in time.
“Where did you come from, Luna?” he murmurs, and his presence overwhelms every sense.
Something in me wants to lean in. Just a bit closer. Part of me craves the safety he radiates. But my brain's screaming warnings - reminding me not to draw more attention from the boss who casually admitted to making Tim disappear.
I already regret my decision before I make it. Taking a step back, I whisper,“Can we pick this up tomorrow?” I wait, holding my breath.
The silence stretches on forever before he turns my world sideways with, “Of course. Come on, I'll drive you home.”