Chapter 5
I could kick my own ass for setting up this dinner.
At the time, it had seemed like a logical move—a necessary step to break the ice before introducing her as my fiancée at tomorrow night’s formal dinner with the executives involved in the merger.
A simple, controlled environment where I could gauge her approach and ensure we were on the same page before stepping into the spotlight together.
But now?
Now I know exactly how Elena Moreau operates.
I know the way her body moves, the way she sounds when she’s coming apart in my hands, the way she takes me so deep that my vision goes white at the edges.
I groan, dragging a rough hand down my face before reaching for the crystal tumbler beside me. The whiskey burns on the way down, but not nearly enough to erase the memory of her.
I should be focused on the contract—on ensuring this arrangement plays out exactly as intended: with precision, without complication. Instead, I can’t seem to get the taste of her out of my goddamn head.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I set my glass down before glancing at the screen.
Cal.
I nearly forgot about the request I made earlier today—the one that now seems so fucking irrelevant.
I swipe to answer. “Hey, Cal.”
The familiar hum of Ember & Ash fills the background—muted conversation, the subtle clink of fine crystal against white linen.
“I looked into that reservation you asked about,” Cal says, his voice smooth and professional.
My other hand slips into my pocket, my fingers brushing against something soft and delicate. It takes me a second to realize what I’m holding.
A small scrap of black silk and lace.
I go still.
Her panties.
My chest tightens as I drag my thumb over the delicate fabric, remembering exactly how they ended up in my pocket.
She had slipped them off last night, her dress and bra on the floor behind me as I told her to spread her legs for me—all soft sighs and creamy skin. And I—like a fucking deviant—had tucked them away after rubbing them against my cock.
Did she run out so quickly she forgot them?
No.
Not a chance.
That dress she wore last night was barely enough to cover her perfect ass. She left them on purpose.
A slow smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. My little mystery woman wanted to leave a parting gift to remember her by.
Well, who would I be to refuse her offering?
I bring the lace up to my nose, inhaling the faintest trace of her scent—warm, sweet, decadent.
Cal clears his throat on the other end of the line, oblivious to my distraction. “The hostess confirmed the young woman dined alone. Her name is Elena Moreau. She’s a frequent guest under The Ledger’s account.”
I stiffen.
For a moment, I don’t move.
Of course, I learned earlier today that she was a Companion. It’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud.
Elena Moreau.
A Ledger girl.
A professional.
This is what she does.
What she’s been doing for years.
I should have known—the way she carried herself, the way she met every challenge I threw at her last night with effortless ease. She wasn’t just some beautiful woman out for a casual dinner. She was trained for this.
The realization shouldn’t bother me.
And yet, something about it does.
Was she supposed to meet a client there? Or had she already been with one?
I need to check into her stays at the Wolfe and lock that reminder away for tomorrow.
I slide the lace back into my pocket, clenching my jaw as I hear the soft chime of the elevator behind me.
Fuck. She’s here.
I take a slow breath, willing my body to behave before turning my head just slightly, catching a glimpse of her out of my periphery.
She’s standing in the entryway, poised and elegant as ever. The same woman who had been pressed against me just hours ago is now standing in my home—not as my mystery lover, but as my contracted fiancée.
And just like that, the rules have changed.
I tighten my grip on my phone, forcing my voice into something smooth and unbothered. “Thanks for checking on it, Cal.”
Then, finally, I turn to face her.
For a moment, I just take her in.
She looks the same as she did last night, but somehow completely different.
Last night, she was undone—flushed, breathless, wild beneath my hands. Now, she is the picture of control. The perfect Ledger Companion.
The part of me that thrives on control should appreciate that.
But all I can think about is the way she unraveled for me.
I let a slow smirk tug at my lips, my voice low. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”
Something flickers across her expression—just for a second—before she smooths it over, her posture remaining composed.
“Neither did I,” she admits, stepping fully into the space.
A charged silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words.
Then, her lips part, as if she’s about to say something. “Mr. Wolfe, about last?—”
“Damien.”
The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, firmer than I intended.
She hesitates. I see it—the brief uncertainty, the way she almost steps back, like she can sense the shift in the air between us.
But she recovers quickly, pressing her lips together before continuing, her voice calm and measured.
“I just wanted to say… if I had known you were my contract?—”
I already know where she’s going with this.
And I don’t want to hear it.
That she wouldn’t have slept with me.
That last night was a mistake.
That she regrets it.
I step toward her, cutting her off before she can say another fucking word. “It doesn’t matter.”
Her hazel eyes flick to mine, sharp and assessing. “I just meant?—”
I tilt my head slightly, keeping my expression unreadable. “You don’t need to explain anything, Elena. We were two strangers enjoying the night. It’s irrelevant now.”
She studies me carefully, as if trying to see if I really mean that.
I give her nothing.
Because if she sees how much her leaving pissed me off, I lose.
And I don’t lose.
Eventually, she exhales, nodding once.
Something about the way she does it feels too much like relief, and that only irritates me more.
She straightens her shoulders, all business now. “Then let’s be clear on the terms of our arrangement.” She sets her purse down deliberately.
“No intimacy,” she states. “No kissing. My contracts have never included that aspect, and I see no reason to change my terms now.”
My eyes glance at her mouth on instinct.
No kissing.
It shouldn’t bother me.
Hell, I specifically requested no intimacy as well—that this remain professional.
So why does it feel like a challenge?
Like she’s daring me to see how long I can last before breaking that rule?
I keep my expression easy as I pour two glasses of wine, handing one to her.
She’s careful not to let our fingers brush as she takes it.
A moment of silence passes.
Then, I lift my glass, smirking slightly. “Understood. This should be an easy two weeks,” I murmur, my voice dripping with irony, “with a big payout at the end for both of us.”
Elena meets my gaze, tilting her glass in return.
But we both know the truth.
This won’t be easy.
And it sure as hell won’t be clean.
T he scent of fresh coffee drifts through the penthouse, mixing with the faint remnants of her perfume—vanilla and something warmer, something I still can’t place.
Outside, the city is already alive, the distant hum of traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, it’s quiet. Controlled.
I shrug on a black compression shirt, rolling my shoulders as I make my way toward the gym. It’s not part of my usual morning routine to check who’s using it. No one else lives here. No one else has ever used it.
But now, I have a guest.
Not just any guest.
Elena.
A steady, rhythmic sound filters into the hallway as I get closer. The low whir of a treadmill. The soft exhale of measured breaths.
I step into the doorway and spot her instantly.
She’s running—focused, precise, entirely in control. There’s nothing casual about the way she moves. Every shift of her body, every stride, every roll of her shoulders is deliberate. Purposeful.
She’s not just working out.
She’s training.
A faint sheen of sweat clings to her skin, making the smooth plane of her stomach glisten under the recessed lighting. Her fitted leggings move with her, emphasizing the strength in her legs, the flex of toned muscle. The thin straps of her sports bra leave her back bare, her shoulder blades tensing subtly with every controlled movement.
She’s strong. Disciplined. Built for endurance.
Just like me.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossing over my chest as I watch her.
Her brow is slightly furrowed, her lips parted as she keeps her pace, oblivious to my presence. For someone trained in performance, she’s not putting on a show right now. There’s no pretense. No carefully crafted persona.
Just her.
And fuck if I don’t find that interesting.
The treadmill slows, winding down from a run to a steady walk before stopping completely. Elena steps off smoothly, grabbing a towel as she dabs the sweat from her brow.
She still hasn’t noticed me.
That small detail twists something deep in my gut.
Not many people overlook me.
I wait another second, my gaze tracking the curve of her waist, the effortless way she moves.
And then, finally, I step forward.
The moment my foot hits the mat, she turns.
Her hazel eyes land on mine, and for just a breath, something shifts into something I can’t pinpoint.
She smooths it over, her expression turning neutral.
If she’s surprised to see me, she doesn’t show it.
Instead, she tosses a towel toward me, her voice even. “I hope I didn’t take your gym time.” She wipes the back of her neck before continuing. “It wasn’t on the schedule, so I figured it was open.”
Ah, The Ledger schedule I had to fill out. I should be at the office by now.
I catch the towel easily, my grip tightening around the fabric for a beat longer than necessary. “It’s fine.”
She nods, making no move to leave right away.
Her gaze flickers—almost imperceptibly—over my arms, my chest, the snug fit of my shirt where it stretches across my shoulders.
She lingers there for just a second too long before pulling her focus back up.
She’s not as indifferent as she’s pretending to be.
And that knowledge settles low in my stomach.
Elena exhales, rolling her shoulders back. “All right then. I’ll leave you to it.”
She turns, walking out of the gym, her posture composed, confident.
I shouldn’t push this line.
I should start my workout, push last night—and every thought of her—out of my fucking head.
But fuck it.
Just before she passes by me, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it onto the nearby bench.
Her steps slow—just slightly.
Her cheeks flush, and she cuts her eyes at me.
I watch her walk away in the gym’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
Just before she disappears around the corner—she glances back.
A split-second flick of her gaze. But I see it.
And she sees me.
She looks away too quickly, as if realizing her mistake.
I smirk, slow and knowing.
Did you like what you saw, Trouble?
I know she did.
Exhaling, I roll my shoulders before reaching for a set of weights.
Two easy weeks. That’s what I told her last night.
But if she keeps looking at me like that…
I already know how this is going to end.