Chapter 23
The Manhattan skyline spread before him as he stood in his kitchen, taking in the view. Three days had passed since Martha’s Vineyard—three days of conversations stretching into the night, of rediscovered laughter, of plans made and unmade. Three days of finding their footing on new ground.
Today, they would return to Oath Capital together. Not as boss and assistant engaged in an elaborate charade, but as two people choosing to build a life from the wreckage of what had broken.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
RONAN: I wouldn’t dream of it.
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator’s chime announced her arrival, then she appeared in the kitchen doorway, golden hair loose around her shoulders, a cardboard drink carrier in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
“Your breakfast delivery has arrived,” she announced, her tone triumphant, chasing the morning hush from the room. “Fresh coffee and croissants, because life’s too short for stale bagels.”
“Is that so?” he asked, accepting the bag she thrust toward him. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, sending a current of awareness through him that he no longer tried to suppress.
“Absolutely. You don’t do anything halfway, Ronan Wilder.” She moved to the cupboard where she knew his plates were kept. “Including breakfast.”
He watched her navigate his kitchen with ease, setting out plates and butter, arranging the flaky pastries like she’d done it a hundred times before.
The domesticity of the scene struck him hard—how she had slipped into the empty spaces of his life, filling them with color and movement and sound.
How natural it felt to wake up with her beside him, to share coffee and quiet morning conversation after the passion of the night before.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, as she arranged their breakfast on the island between them.
“About walking into Oath Capital after my dramatic exit? About facing an office full of people who witnessed the entire debacle?” She released a shaky breath. “Terrified would be more accurate.”
“We don’t have to do this today,” he said, reaching across the counter to take her hand. “The company will survive another day without us.”
Her fingers tightened around his, her eyes meeting his, clear and unwavering. “Yes, we do. The longer we wait, the harder it becomes. Besides,” she added, “I’ve never been good at backing down from a challenge.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s one of your most infuriating qualities.”
“You find me infuriating?” she asked, her tone light.
He circled the island to stand before her, close enough to feel the warmth that always seemed to radiate from her—now inextricably tied to memories of her fingers in his hair as the fever ravaged him, of her in his kitchen making soup, of her dressed in his T-shirt.
“Infuriating,” he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Challenging. Essential.”
The slight catch in her breathing sent satisfaction coursing through him. For a man who had built an empire on his ability to read markets and predict outcomes, discovering the impact of his touch, his words on this woman, felt like the most valuable intelligence he’d gathered.
“We should eat,” she said, though she made no move to step away. “Before the croissants get cold.”
“Yes,” he agreed, reluctant to break the moment. “Can’t have cold croissants.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before she spoke again.
“Have you decided what we’re going to tell everyone?” she asked, her voice casual.
“The truth,” he said. “That the relationship is real.”
“Simple and direct.”
“They don’t need any more,” he said firmly.
“And HR? I mean, there are policies in place.”
“About the CEO dating his assistant?” he asked. “I’m the CEO, Devney. I make the policies.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it again, a short laugh escaping instead. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“Your position and value to the company remain unchanged,” he continued, his tone shedding its formal edge.
“You’ve earned your place at Oath Capital through your own merit.
We’ll make whatever adjustments are necessary, but I won’t shuffle you off to another department to make things neater on paper. ”
“I’m glad,” she said, relief clear in her tone. “I’d hate to work for Gabriel. He color-codes his emails by urgency.”
“A man after my own heart,” he said dryly, though his lips twitched.
“Terrifying,” she said, but her eyes sparkled. She reached across the counter, her fingers finding his with unerring precision. “I’m glad I get to stay where I belong.”
“With me,” he said, the words both statement and question.
“With you,” she confirmed.
The rest of breakfast passed in a haze of plans and contingencies—habit for him, necessity for her. By the time they stepped into the elevator that would carry them to the garage, a strange calm had settled over him. Whatever happened at Oath Capital today, they would face it together.
The drive to the office passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as Manhattan streamed past the windows. When they pulled into the executive parking garage, he cut the engine but made no move to exit the car.
“Are you having second thoughts?” she asked.
“No,” he said, struck by how true that was. He searched for the words, unusual for someone who usually had them ready. “Centering myself.”
She said nothing, responding with a single nod. “That seems to be our specialty lately.”
The elevator ride felt longer than usual, the air between them charged with anticipation. When the doors slid open, revealing the expansive glass and chrome of Oath Capital, he did what he had never done before.
He reached for her hand.
The gesture was small—fingers intertwined, palms pressed—but its significance was not lost on either of them. Or he noted with a trace of grim irony, on the wide-eyed receptionist who nearly dropped her phone at the sight.
“Let the games begin,” she murmured, her grip tightening before she stepped forward with the confidence that had first caught his attention all those months ago.
They moved through the office together, aware of the ripple effect their arrival created. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Heads turned. Eyes widened. The whispers followed, low and immediate, trailing in their wake.
“Devney!” Julia from Accounting stood abruptly from her desk, her expression shifting from shock to intrigue, then to sudden understanding that widened her eyes as her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “You’re back!”
“I am,” she confirmed, her voice level despite the tremor he felt through their connected palms.
“And you’re…” Julia’s eyes widened, darting between them with unabashed interest.
“Together,” he said, his tone firm enough to discourage further questions but not harsh enough to silence them.
The single word sent a fresh wave of whispers rippling through the office. He felt Devney’s posture straighten beside him, her chin lifting in that familiar, stubborn way.
“I believe you all have work to do,” he reminded the gathered employees, though without the cutting edge his voice usually carried in such moments. “The quarterly reports won’t complete themselves.”
The office returned to work, though whispers of speculation continued. He led her to her desk, which had remained untouched since her departure—the computer and phone waiting in silence.
She paused, her fingers brushing the spot where the sunflower ring had rested—no longer on her hand, but vivid in her mind.
“I half-expected someone else to be sitting here by now,” she murmured.
He shook his head, amusement crossing his face. “No one would dare.”
“Because you told them not to?” she asked.
“Because I didn’t need to.”
She turned to look at him.
He met her gaze without flinching. “You’re irreplaceable.”
The words landed between them—simple, direct, and far more vulnerable than anything he’d said the week before. And she felt it, to her bones.
Their moment was interrupted by the arrival of Knox and Gabriel, both looking uncharacteristically solemn as they approached. Knox’s usual smirk was absent, replaced by concern, while Gabriel’s expression offered no clues.
“Morning meeting in five,” Gabriel said, his gaze dropping to their joined hands before settling back on Ronan. “The team needs to hear about the new Beauchamp terms from you.”
He nodded, grateful for the normalcy of business operations. No board meetings, no rumors—nothing but the day-to-day rhythm of the company he’d built. “We’ll be there.”
“Welcome back, Sunshine,” Knox said to her, his knowing smile making an appearance. “The place has been gloomier without you.”
“Thanks, Knox,” she said, her posture easing as if a weight had been set down. “It’s good to be back.”
The two men departed, Knox whispering something to Gabriel that made the stoic man’s lips twitch.
“They seem different,” she observed once they were alone.
“They are,” he agreed. “We all are.”
He turned to face her, aware of the curious eyes that still watched them from around the office, but finding himself strangely unconcerned by the scrutiny.
Eleanor Beauchamp’s words echoed in his mind: Sometimes the most successful negotiations are the ones where you’re willing to lose everything for the right reasons.
“Before we go in there,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “I need you to know this.”
She tilted her head, waiting. No impatient interjection, no nervous chatter. Only her presence—which he had come to value more than his previous calculations allowed for.
“Whatever happens today, however the office reacts, it doesn’t change this.” He lifted their joined hands. “Us. I meant what I said on Martha’s Vineyard. I’m all in, Devney. No more charades. No more strategies.”
“So am I.” She squeezed his hands, the gesture conveying strength rather than seeking it. “Now let’s go face the music together.”
As they walked toward the meeting room, a new certainty settled—grounded and real. Not the scripted confidence of a business strategy, but the quiet strength of what was truly built to last. What was real.
Together, they pushed open the meeting room doors to face whatever awaited them on the other side.