Chapter 17
TESSA
The conference room felt suffocating as I sat in my usual chair, notepad open in front of me, pretending to take meeting notes while my mind spiraled through the misery of the past month.
A month since Lucian had asked me to step back, to be more discreet, to let Daniel handle my project assignments while we waited for the gossip to die down. Four weeks that felt more brutal than any outright rejection could have been.
I'd tried to tell myself it was temporary, that Lucian really was just protecting me, but every day made it clearer that I was slowly disappearing from his world, becoming invisible again after tasting what it felt like to be close to him and have his approval.
We hadn't had sex, hadn't spent any time in closed-door mentoring sessions, and his trip to Singapore had come and gone without a hint of an invitation.
Worst of all, his good morning and good evening messages were cold and terse, never straying from a rigid dialogue that seemed rehearsed.
"The revenue projections for the third quarter are concerning," the client was saying, his presentation slides clicking past on the wall monitor. "We're seeing inconsistencies that make us question the long-term viability of this partnership."
I'd spent three hours last night analyzing the quarterly data, identifying patterns that explained the apparent inconsistencies.
The solution was straightforward—adjusting the reporting periods to account for seasonal fluctuations would clarify the revenue picture and demonstrate strong underlying growth.
I chimed in, "Actually, if we adjust the—"
"Thank you, Ms. Wynn," Lucian cut through, silencing me with a single look, then turned to the CFO. "Daniel, what's your assessment of the reporting methodology we've been using?"
The dismissal was polite, but I learned my place. My insights, my analysis, my three hours of work—all irrelevant because Lucian couldn't risk appearing to favor my input over Daniel's more visible expertise.
I closed my mouth and returned to taking notes, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
Daniel launched into the exact recommendations I'd been prepared to offer, citing data I'd compiled for him but couldn't claim. I watched Lucian nod approvingly at insights that were mine, delivered by someone else, because acknowledging my competence had become too dangerous for both of us.
The worst part was understanding his position. He was protecting my reputation, shielding me from accusations of sleeping my way into influence.
But the protection felt indistinguishable from erasure. I was back to being furniture in meetings where I'd once been a contributor, invisible in a company where I'd started to build real professional credibility.
After the clients left, Lucian gathered his materials without meeting my eyes. "Tessa, please coordinate with Daniel on the follow-up documentation. He'll handle the implementation timeline."
"Of course, Mr. Cross."
The formality in my own voice made my chest ache. We were strangers again, boss and assistant, nothing more complex than a professional relationship bounded by clear hierarchies.
The intimacy we'd shared felt like a fever dream, too impossible to have been real.
I spent the rest of the afternoon coordinating Mr. Mercer's schedule and pretending I didn't notice how the other assistants had started treating me differently.
The respect I'd earned had evaporated along with Lucian's visible support. I was just another secretary again, useful for scheduling and note-taking but not worth including in substantive conversations.
By seven o'clock, I was home in my apartment, changed into pajamas and eating ice cream straight from the container while my laptop displayed fertility clinic websites.
The irony wasn't lost on me—researching how to create a family while mourning any chance of love with the man I'd fallen for completely.
I was reading testimonials from single mothers who'd used donor sperm when my doorbell rang. Mochi looked up from his spot on the windowsill, tail twitching with mild interest, but didn't bother investigating.
I considered ignoring whoever it was—I wasn't expecting anyone, and my emotional state couldn't handle small talk with neighbors.
The bell rang again, followed by a familiar voice. "Tessa, it's me."
My stomach did a somersault as I set aside the ice cream and went to the door.
Through the peephole, I could see him standing in the hallway, his usually perfect appearance disheveled.
His tie was loosened, his hair messed from running his hands through it, and exhaustion lined his face.
I opened the door, acutely aware of my pajama pants and oversized sweater, my hair pulled into a messy bun. "What are you doing here?" I asked as I stepped backward.
"I couldn't stay away anymore." He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, and I caught the faint smell of whiskey on his breath. "This distance—it's killing me."
I felt so conflicted. I'd spent a month trying to root him out of my heart and he just showed up here?
"You said we needed to be discreet."
"I said a lot of things. Most of them were lies I told myself to justify doing what everyone else wanted instead of what I wanted." He looked around my small apartment, taking in the fertility clinic website still open on my laptop screen.
But his eyes didn't linger there long. He reached past me and shut the door, then turned the deadbolt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, him feeling breathless.
"This," he said, grabbing my face in both of his hands. He crushed his lips against mine, and I sucked in a breath of shock.
It was an explosion of sensations and emotions all at once and I almost pushed him away. Almost.
"Luci," I breathed, when he let me, but it didn’t last long.
"I need you, woman. I'm a fool. Don’t tell me to leave because I don’t have the self-control to stay away from you any longer."
His kiss was hungry and bold, and I didn't want to tell him to leave.
The taste of whiskey lingering as his tongue swept over mine. His hands framed my face as though he meant to trap me in the choice he had already made.
“Lucian,” I managed when he gave me a breath. “You can’t just show up here—”
“I can, and I did.” His forehead pressed to mine. “I can’t keep pretending distance fixes anything.”
“You told me we had to wait.” My fingers curled in the open lapels of his jacket, pulling without meaning to. “That we had to be careful.”
“I told myself that,” he said, his voice low, frayed at the edges. “Every day I stayed away, I hated it. Every night, I told myself I was doing the right thing, and every morning, I woke up thinking of you.”
He kissed me again, harder, and my back met the door with a muted thud. His hands slid down, gripping my hips through the fabric of my pajama pants.
“This isn’t fair,” I whispered, though I didn’t push him off.
“No, it isn’t,” he admitted against my throat, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. “But I don’t care anymore.”
His jacket fell open, brushing against my arms.
My sweater bunched at my ribs where his fingers had tugged it upward. I caught his wrist before he went further, my pulse thundering.
“Lucian, you don’t get to ruin me in meetings and then come here like this.”
He stilled. “You think I wanted to cut you off in front of Mercer? Do you know what it did to me to hear Daniel recite your analysis like it was his work?”
“Then why did you let him?”
His fingers dug harder into my hips, dragging me flush against him. His mouth brushed my ear, voice rough and unfiltered.
“Because when you talk shop, it makes my dick hard,” he said. “It’s all I can think about, and right now, I need you.”
Lucian’s mouth was demanding, whiskey still clinging to his tongue as it slid against mine.
His hands cradled my face like he could hold me still. The kiss was rough with need, and every shred of resistance I thought I’d built over the past month dissolved in his grip.
I gasped when his lips left mine only long enough to rasp, “I can’t keep this distance, Tessa."
I wanted to argue, to tell him how much it had hurt, but the words caught in my throat.
My body betrayed me, pulling him closer by his jacket lapels, my fingers curled tight in the fabric.
His mouth moved down the line of my throat, finding the place beneath my ear that made my breath catch.
“Every time I shut you out in those meetings, I hated myself,” he murmured.
“I wanted to hear your voice. I wanted to see you shine. And then I wanted you like this—where nobody else could take it from me.”
His hands slipped beneath the hem of my sweater, palms warm against my bare skin.
I trembled at the contact, torn between shoving him away and never letting him go. “Lucian—”
“Don’t,” he cut in softly, lifting his head just enough to look at me. His gray eyes revealed exhaustion and hunger colliding. “Don’t ask me to stop.”
My sweater came off in his hands, dropped to the floor as his gaze traveled over me, lingering on the thin cotton tank clinging to my body.
He pulled it over my head, baring me to the cool air of the apartment, then lowered his mouth to my collarbone, trailing lower, lower.
His lips brushed over the swell of my breast before closing around me.
Heat shot straight through my stomach, and I arched against him, fingers digging into the back of his neck.
He made a low sound of approval, his hand sliding down my side until it hooked behind my knee and drew me closer.
I tipped my head back, breath catching as his tongue circled and teased until I couldn’t keep still.
My pajama pants dragged lower with each tug of his hand until they were tangled at my ankles, then gone altogether.
He shifted between my thighs, his mouth moving lower, leaving a trail across my skin that made me shiver in anticipation.
I was insane for letting him walk back into my apartment and do this to me.
But I was desperate, and desperate people do desperate things.