Chapter 6
Landon
My hands ball into fists on my lap as I lock eyes with Anna across the couch. She pulls out her tablet, sets it on her knees, and swipes across the screen with that calm, focused professionalism that shouldn’t affect me… but it does.
All I can think of is ‘How the hell did I ever walk away from her?’
It doesn’t even take a heartbeat before my mind bites back, saying, ‘You’re a damn fool.’ And I don’t even bother arguing with it. One look at her is proof enough.
She has no makeup on. Not that she ever needed it.
My beautiful Anna is perfect just as she is.
Her hair is knotted in a bun that makes my hands itch to tear it loose, to fist it while she breathes my name.
And that outfit? A crisp white shirt tucked tight into tailored pants.
Professional. But fuck, it’s killing my control.
All I want is to strip it off her, button by button, until I get her naked.
God, I want her under me, want to make her forget every reason she hates me while I remind her exactly who she belongs to.
“So, how are we doing the recording?” she asks.
Her voice slices straight through my filthy thoughts, yanking me back to the present.
Ignoring the way my mind is already imagining how she’d sound begging again, I force my eyes off her curves, meet her gaze, and tip my chin toward the corner of the room where the cameras sit. “I’ve taken care of it.”
“Of course you have,” she says, lifting her stylus from the tablet, her tone carefully measured, reminding me she’s not here as my wife but as the journalist ready to tear me apart.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here fighting the urge to tell her how much better she’d look sprawled across my bed without that shirt and those pants.
Her brows lift. “If you’re done staring, can we start and get this over with? We’ve got forty-five minutes.”
I smirk to myself. Forty-five minutes. She’s so damn set on that limit that she even refused a coffee or a glass of water, making it clear she’s here to get the interview and bolt the second she finishes.
But what she doesn’t know is that I’ve no intention of letting her walk out of here when the time’s up.
I just need to figure out how the hell to make her stay.
I let my gaze drag over her one last time before replying, “Of course. Let’s start.”
Earlier, when I tossed out that bait, I wasn’t exactly playing games. Nope. It’s just that I know Anna too damn well. She’s the kind who’ll walk straight into the fire just to prove she can stand in it. And she did exactly that when I dared her to see if she could handle me.
And now I’m glad I didn’t take the straight road, because it brought her here, in my house, under the same roof.
She nods, all business. “I’ll keep it professional, but if anything’s off-limits, you can say so.”
“Nothing’s off-limits. Ask what you came to ask.”
She arches a brow, a challenge flashing in her eyes like she’s already plotting how to make me regret those words.
But instead, she asks, “Mr. Hayes, you’ve achieved everything most people can only dream of. But is there another big goal you still have in life?”
“To make you mine again.” The words tear out before I can stop them, and too damn honest to take back.
A faint flush colors her cheeks, just enough for me to catch, but then she drags in a slow breath and pulls her walls right back up.
“Mr. Hayes, if we’re doing this, then there are going to be some ground rules.”
God, the way she calls me Mr. Hayes makes me lose my mind. It turns me on and drives me insane in the same breath, making me want to bend her over, spank her, and leave marks she wouldn’t be able to forget.
I furrow my brows, fighting to pull my thoughts back under control. “Rules?”
“Yes,” she replies, her tone sharper now. “I won’t ask you personal questions, and you won’t make this uneasy for me.”
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees. “Uneasy? That’s one word for it. I call it honest.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “This is an interview, Mr. Hayes. Not some trip down memory lane.”
“We sure can—” I begin, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“You’re making this difficult, Mr. Hayes. And if this is what you have in mind, I think I should end this now.”
I catch her pulse throbbing at her throat. Leaning back, I flip one leg over my knee with deliberate ease. “I thought you said you were ready to prove you could handle this interview professionally without being affected by my charm.”
She inhales and exhales deeply before snapping back. “I’m serious, Mr. Hayes. One more remark, and I’ll walk out that door without giving a fuck about what I have to prove. My sanity comes before bending to your immature games.”
And I know she means it. Because the other thing about Anna is that while she’s got the fire to prove herself, the moment something pushes past her limit, she shuts down that fire and stops caring about proving anything at all.
It’s one of the things I’ve hated and admired about her in equal measure.
I hold her gaze for a long beat before finally nodding. “Alright.”
“What’s your biggest addiction?” She flips to the next question and drops her gaze to the tablet without sparing me a glance.
You. The word burns at the tip of my tongue, but I know better than to let it slip aloud. Saying it out loud would only make her run for the door, and I’m not about to let that happen.
“My work,” I answer in a crisp tone, exactly the professionalism she expects from me.
She scribbles on her tablet with her stylus before lifting her gaze to meet mine. “What’s the one thing you’re proud of?”
Again, what I want to tell her is that I’m fucking proud of her, proud of the fierce, successful journalist she’s become. But I know that’s not the answer she’s looking for. God, I fucking didn’t realize an interview could feel like a battlefield with every word measured like a weapon.
I take a steady breath and let the second truth slip out. “My team. Every project I’ve taken on… none of it would have been possible without the people I trust. Building that kind of loyalty… that’s the one thing I’d never trade for anything.”
“What’s your dream destination?”
“Maldives,” I answer, and just like I expected, her lips curve, not in amusement, but in that quiet, knowing way that says she doesn’t buy a single word of it.
She knows I hate beaches, but I said it anyway, because I know how much she loves them.
And even though I can’t answer her question the way I want to, I can still have this… rattling her, even if only a little.
“Beach,” she mutters, clearly annoyed.
I let the corner of my mouth lift. “Why, you don’t think I’m the type to like beaches?”
She glares at me, like she’s about to snap back, but instead she straightens and says, “Mr. Hayes, I don’t know you well enough to know what you like.”
“I didn’t know fake amnesia was a thing,” I can’t help but comment.
“What’s that one decision you made that changed your life?” She fires the next question, ignoring my comment.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Marrying my wife.”
Her grip tightens on the stylus. “Mr. Hayes, I warned you—”
I hold up a hand, stopping her. “I didn’t mention your name.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Fine.” My tone shifts. “If this interview is only about the corporate version, then… opening my first hotel.”
She moves on quickly. “What do you want people to know about you?”
I lean in, locking onto her gaze, refusing to let her look anywhere else. “That when I want something, I fight for it. And if anyone dares to get in my way or take what’s mine,” I let my eyes linger on her, “they’ll have hell to pay. No exceptions.”
She swallows, her gaze dropping to the tablet for a moment before she forces herself to meet my eyes again. “If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be?”
I don’t blink. I know she wants professionalism, but I’ll be damned if I let my heart stay silent for this one. “Letting my wife go.”
Her hand freezes on the screen, and for a moment, I think she’s going to throw the tablet at me. Not that I don’t deserve it.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she straightens, lifts her chin, and says quietly, “That’s all I have.”
I frown. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Forty-five minutes. Over.” She scoops her bag off the floor and shoves her tablet into it.
I nod, keeping my gaze locked on her, my mind racing. How the hell do I make her stay? I briefly think about tying her up, but no. That won’t help me win her back. It would just make her angrier, and she’d fight me even more.
She can feel the heat of my stare. I know it, yet she won’t give me the satisfaction of squirming. She simply pushes her chair back and stands.
“Can you send me the video? I need to edit it before submission,” she adds, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
“You’ll have it tonight,” I reply, rising to my feet.
“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Hayes.” She turns and is about to head for the door when I let it out.
“I need you to spend the night with me.”
She stiffens, then turns to me, her eyes blazing. “You know, I thought all these years would have changed you. But no, you’re still the same asshole.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Anna.” I take a step forward, closing the space between us until her floral scent wraps around me. “I just… I don’t want this to be the end of the conversation. We still have matters to discuss.”
“We don’t have anything to discuss. Our story is over.”
“Anna, give me this one chance to—”
“To what? Break my heart again?” she snaps, cutting me off before I can finish.
I shake my head. “I just need a chance to explain. Everyone deserves a chance.”
Her jaw tightens as she spits out, “You don’t deserve it.”
“Anna… for the sake of the good memories we shared, please don’t deny me this.
” My chest tightens as I speak, every word a fight to keep control of myself.
I want to pull her into my arms, to feel her close, but I force myself to stay grounded, to let my words reach her instead, even if every part of me is screaming to cross that line.
She exhales sharply, as though trying to push me out of her lungs. “You need to stop…”
“Please, Anna. I’m not asking for forever. I’m not even asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for now.” I’m not above begging, not with her. “You can walk away tomorrow and never speak to me again. But give me this one chance.”
She shakes her head, her voice quieter now, almost like she’s talking to herself. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” I cut in before she can talk herself into believing this is a bad idea. “Just… stay.”
Her eyes soften for the briefest moment before hardening again. She folds her arms across her chest, building a barrier I’m itching to break through.
“You don’t deserve even a minute,” she shoots back, her arms tightening around herself. Silence stretches between us, thick enough to choke on, before she finally continues, “But I guess I need it. For my own closure.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I fucking know she’s not here to forgive me. But it’s the first crack in her wall, and I’ll take it.
And fuck me if I’m going to let this be our closure.