Chapter 17
He woke before his alarm, which rarely happened anymore.
Silk sheets and the quiet hum of the city below greeted him as consciousness returned.
For a moment, he lay still, surprised by the contentment that had settled deep within him.
Then he became aware of the warm weight pressed against his side.
Devney was curled next to him, one hand splayed across his chest, her hair cascading across his pillow. She was wearing his Harvard T-shirt again, and nothing else, and the sight of her bare legs tangled with his sent heat straight to his core.
Memories of the night before crashed over him, her hands on his skin, the taste of her mouth, the way she’d whispered his name in the darkness. They’d made love twice more after that first desperate coupling on the couch, each time slower and more thorough than the last.
She stirred against him, her palm pressing more firmly against his ribs, and he felt her body come awake.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Mmm.” She lifted her head to look at him, and he was struck by how natural she looked in his bed, how right this felt. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in months,” he admitted, then caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “And you?”
She smiled, her fingers tracing along his jaw. “Like I belonged here.”
“You do,” he said without thinking, then paused as the weight of those words settled between them.
Her eyes softened. “Do I?”
“More than you know,” he said, rolling her beneath him and capturing her mouth in a kiss that tasted like forever.
He’d showered first, and when Devney disappeared into the bathroom, he asked the doorman to bring her clothes up from the car.
By the time they made it to the kitchen an hour later, she was in the pretty blue summer dress they’d picked out for the weekend in Martha’s Vineyard.
The dynamic between them had shifted into new territory.
Not the deliberate distance they’d maintained before, but not quite the easy intimacy they’d shared in his sickness either.
This was uncharted territory for both of them.
The morning routine felt different now—charged with new awareness. He set out the pastries and fruit from the bakery delivery while she perched on a barstool, watching him with curious eyes.
“Coffee?” he offered, reaching for the expensive machine that dominated one corner of his kitchen.
“Please.” She smoothed her dress with nervous energy. “So. We should talk about…yesterday. Last night.”
He paused in his coffee preparation, understanding her need to define what had happened between them. “What about it?”
“What it means. For us. For work. For this whole fake engagement thing.”
He set her coffee in front of her. “What do you want it to mean?”
“That’s not an answer,” she said, taking a sip and sighing with pleasure.
“It’s the only answer I have right now,” he admitted. “I don’t have a protocol for this situation.”
“The great Ronan Wilder, stumped by a simple relationship question.” There was an edge of vulnerability in her voice.
“There’s nothing simple about this,” he said. “About you. About what I feel when I’m with you.”
Her eyes softened. “What do you feel?”
He was quiet for a moment, struggling to put into words emotions he’d never experienced before. “Like I’ve been sleepwalking through my life, and you woke me up.”
The admission hung between them, more revealing than any physical intimacy they’d shared.
“Ronan,” she said.
“I know it makes things complex,” he continued. “The business arrangement, our working relationship, everything. But I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. I can’t pretend I don’t want it to happen again.”
“I don’t want to pretend either,” she said. “But we need to be smart about this. At work, we still need to maintain some level of boundaries.”
“Agreed.” Though even as he said it, he was imagining how difficult it would be to maintain workplace distance when all he wanted was to pull her back into his arms.
“And the fake engagement…do we keep that going? With the Beauchamps, I mean.”
It was a practical question, but it struck him with unexpected force. Because somewhere in the space between fevered dreams and the morning light, the engagement had stopped feeling fake to him.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”
She nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. “Together.”
The word felt like a promise.
They rode to work in his car, maintaining deliberate space between them but stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. The sexual tension was palpable, a live wire connecting them across the leather seats.
When they arrived at Oath Capital, he spotted the florist in the lobby and made a quick decision.
“Go ahead up,” he said, nodding toward the elevators. “I need to have a quick word with security about a matter. I’ll be right behind you.”
She nodded. “Good thinking. We shouldn’t arrive together anyway, people will wonder.”
The moment the elevator doors closed behind her, he turned and strode toward the flower shop. The impulse took over—he had to get her flowers. Not just any flowers.
“Sunflowers,” he said to the florist before she could even greet him properly. “The brightest ones you have.”
The woman smiled as she selected a vibrant bunch. “Someone special?”
“Very,” he said without hesitation, surprising himself with how easily the admission came.
The elevator ride up gave him time to second-guess the purchase, but when the doors opened and he saw her at her desk, arranging files with that focused expression he’d come to love, he knew he’d made the right choice.
Sunflowers. Bright and bold and her favorite.
He walked to her desk, aware that half the office was watching.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low as he set the sunflowers down. “For everything.”
Her eyes widened, then her cheeks flushed pink. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he said.
Their fingers brushed when she reached for the flowers, and the small contact sent electricity straight through him.
This was going to be impossible.
“Mr. Wilder,” she said, her voice composed and businesslike. “You have the Beauchamp call at ten, and the quarterly review meeting at two.”
“Of course,” he said. “And Devney?”
“Yes, sir?”
The formality was killing him. “Excellent work yesterday. Taking care of things.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on either of them. He had to force himself to turn away before he did anything unprofessional like kiss her in front of the entire office.
As he headed to his office, he heard Knox’s laughter echoing down the hallway.
Yes, this was going to be a problem.
But as he settled behind his desk and caught sight of Devney arranging the sunflowers in a vase, her face soft with pleasure, he found he didn’t care about problems or obstacles or the structured routine he’d built his life around.
Some things were worth the chaos.
And she was worth everything.
The morning slipped by in a flurry of emails, meetings, and phone calls. But no matter how focused he tried to be, his eyes kept drifting through the glass wall of his office to her desk, where she sat working with the sunflowers brightening her workspace.
Every interaction felt charged. When she brought him coffee, her fingers lingered against his as she passed him the cup. When she leaned over his desk to point out a detail in a report, he caught the scent of her perfume and remembered how it had clung to his sheets that morning.
By lunchtime, he was losing his mind.
Knox appeared in his doorway, arms crossed and wearing a knowing smirk. “So. Interesting development with you and Devney.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, not looking up from his computer screen.
“Right.” Knox stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “Half the office is convinced you two are sleeping together.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Relax. It’s speculation based on the way you can’t stop looking at her, and the way she blushes every time you walk by her desk.
” Knox settled into the chair across from him.
“Plus, there was that little moment this morning where you laughed. In public. People are starting to think you’ve been replaced by a human. ”
“Knox—”
“I’m not judging,” Knox said, holding up his hands. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you to break the pact for anyone, but she’s special.”
The pact. The agreement they’d made in college about staying single until forty. A promise that felt like a lifetime ago.
“It’s complex,” he said.
“The best things usually are.” The expression on Knox’s face grew more serious. “But you know this could get messy, right? Office relationships, power dynamics, all that HR nightmare stuff?”
“I’m aware of the challenges.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re falling hard and fast, and you’ve never had to navigate anything like this before.” Knox paused. “What happens when the fake engagement story falls apart? When Beauchamp finds out you’ve been lying to him?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
“You’d better,” Knox stood. “Because if this goes sideways, it won’t just be your heart on the line. They will be affected, too.”
After Knox left, he sat staring at his computer screen. The rational part of his mind knew he was right. This was dangerous territory, both for him and for business.
But then he caught sight of Devney through the glass, laughing at something a coworker said. She was radiant, alive in a way that made his chest constrict with want and feeling.
He was falling, had already fallen, and for the first time in his methodical life he didn’t have a plan for what came next.