Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
theo
I was halfway through my second espresso when Harper knocked once and stepped into my office without waiting for an answer.
That’s never a good sign.
She closed the door behind her like she was sealing a vault. In one hand, she held her tablet. In the other, a folder with my name on it. "Good morning to you, too," I said, eyeing the folder like it might detonate. Harper didn’t smile.
“We need to talk about yesterday.” Right. That. I leaned back in my chair, trying to look unfazed. “If this is about the stock briefing—”
“No. This is about the way you dimmed the glass in Samantha Hayes’ office for twenty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds.”
I blinked. “Wait, you timed it?”
“I am your assistant. It’s literally my job to know what you’re doing when you forget you have eyes on you.” I rubbed a hand down my face. “So… are you here to scold me?”
“No,” she said. “I’m here to cover your ass.
Once again.” She set the folder down with the precision of someone placing a trap.
Inside was an HR disclosure form. The kind that allowed relationships between peers.
Providing evidence that they were declared and disclosed, and all proper chains of command were respected.
“In short,” Harper said, “if you want to continue hooking up with Samantha, she needs to be reassigned to another direct report. She can’t work under you.” I stared at the form. I didn’t touch it.
“And you think I’m ready to be in a relationship with her?” I asked, voice lower than I meant it to be. Harper’s expression softened, but only a little.
“I honestly don’t care if you want to be in a relationship with her, but if you’re going to be hooking up with her during office hours and within the office building, you need to do something about it.
It doesn’t matter that this is your company now.
She is the daughter of the literal owner of this place, and you need to be careful.
” I let out a breath, long and slow. “Fine, I’ll think about it. ”
“No, Theodore, you need to do something about it.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Are you talking to me as my assistant or as my friend?”
She looked me dead in the eyes. “Do you want the friendly version?” She asked, and I nodded.
“You can’t be fucking around with Samantha Hayes, pun very much intended, without expecting to get fucked over.
So you need to take care of yourself.” She left without saying another word.
That was Harper’s way, never overstaying her welcome, just dropping truth grenades and disappearing like smoke.
The truth was, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
It had started out as fun, electric, unexpected.
I promised myself a long time ago that I didn’t want to be involved in another relationship where I get to the point of thinking about engagement, marriage, and all that shit that already didn’t work out for me.
But now, every time I looked at her, I wanted to ruin her lipstick and offer her the world at the same time. Which terrified me because I don’t usually do this.
A calendar notification pinged on my screen, another meeting.
I minimized it and opened my email. There was an invitation to a Gala that Hayes apparently hosts every year.
And now it was part of my job. So, I did the best thing I could.
I invited the only two people I know will be there, with no excuses.
I opened my messages and sent Nico a text.
Me: So, there’s a work gala. Wanna come?
I’ll need the support.
Nico: I’m honored to be your plus one.
Should I wear a tiara?
Me: I don’t think that would be appropriate, but whatever you see fit.
Nico: jk, of course, I’ll be there.
Can’t wait to meet your new coworkers.
Are they all as fun as your office “strategist”?
Me:
I rolled my eyes, then tapped through to my contacts and hit the dial button on one I hadn’t used in a few weeks. “Hey stranger,” Elena answered, her soft voice lilting with curiosity. “El, I need a favor, which is in your email.”
“Already saw it, black tie, charity, soulless billionaires, and tiny hors d’oeuvres?”
“That’s a way to put it, yes.” She laughed. “Of course I’ll come. Do you want emotional support or someone to mock the 1% with you?”
“Can it be both, please?”
“Done. I’ll fly in tomorrow, but pay for my ticket, yes?” I laugh. “My treat.” I hung up and stared at the ceiling for a moment, wondering how this was my life now.
I’m the CEO of one of the largest companies in the country, and I’m out here dodging HR landmines. For fucks sakes, I just invited my flirty best friend and my artistic baby sister to the Hayes Gala, just because I need emotional support.
Support to deal with the man who owns this place, which also happens to be the father of the woman that’s been driving me crazy.
My life is a shit-show.
The conference room was all glass and steel and sharp angles, just like the conversation that unfolded inside it. Max sat at the head of the table, flanked by Naomi and Cameron. Sam was on the opposite side from me, thank God. But it did nothing to help my concentration.
“We’ve confirmed the venue,” Cameron said, flipping through his tablet with the crisp efficiency of someone who didn’t miss details or power plays. “The invite list includes our major partners, press, political donors, and some longstanding Hayes family supporters. No surprises.”
“Are we doing speeches?” Naomi asked, already sounding tired.
“One from Max, one from Theo,” Cameron replied.
“Brief. Five minutes each. We’ll prepare a teleprompter just in case.
” Max nodded. “I want the tone to be hopeful. This is the passing of a torch, not a funeral.” Sam stiffened a little beside Naomi, her face unreadable except for the slight clench in her jaw.
“And press access?” I asked, mostly to keep my eyes off Sam’s lips.
“Limited,” Harper answered from the far end of the table, typing as she spoke. “A ten-minute photo op at the entrance, then only one crew inside to cover the speeches. We’ve vetted them.” Max turned to me. “Are you good with that?”
“Of course,” I said smoothly. “I’ll keep it polished.” And polite. And professional. Even if one of the attendees knew what I sounded like, fucking and whispering her name against a desk. Sam glanced up at that moment, almost like she could hear the thought.
Our eyes met, Naomi leaned over to whisper something to her, and Sam nodded quickly, breaking eye contact. I could still feel it like static under my skin. Cameron ran through logistics, menu options, seating charts, and security.
Harper chimed in with a rundown of the show, every transition timed to the second.
She’d already color-coded the schedule, of course.
Sam asked two smart questions and made an offhand comment that had the table laughing, and I hated how much I wanted to touch the side of her neck again, just to see if her skin flushed like it did when I had her pinned to the glass.
The meeting wrapped up with Max standing. “This isn’t just a gala, it’s a statement. We’re not just changing faces. We’re building the future. Thank you all.” Chairs scraped. Laptops closed. Polite murmurs filled the room.
Harper gave me a pointed glance on the way out, her look saying, ‘keep it zipped, figuratively and literally’. As the room emptied, Sam walked past me without a word, but her perfume lingered in the space between us.
I got a text from Elena, which took my mind off Sam for a second.
Elena: Actually, I got the flight for today.
See you later, I’ll text you the deets.
That made me smile. I’ve missed her.
I spotted Elena before she spotted me, curled up in an airport lounge chair with a book in one hand and a cold brew in the other, wearing paint-splattered sneakers and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to some ex-boyfriend she never mentioned. She looked up, blinked twice, then grinned.
“Oh my God,” she said, standing. “You actually came in person?”
I held my arms open. “Disappointed?”
“A little. I was hoping for a guy in a suit holding a sign with my name in cursive. Or at least a town car.”
“Well, the driver’s outside,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “But I figured you’d appreciate the personal touch.” She pulled back and studied me.
“You’ve got the CEO-face on already. You always squint when you’re stressed.”
“I do not squint.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” We made our way to the car, her backpack slung over one shoulder like she was still in art school, not working in galleries and freelancing illustrations for magazines that paid in exposure and bad wine.
“You look good,” I said once we were on the road. “I look tired.”
“You always say that.” She said, rolling her eyes at me. She turned in the seat to face me. “Okay, so give me the non-press release version. How’s it really going?” I exhaled through my nose, eyes on the Manhattan skyline blurring closer.
“Well, the job’s intense. Max is still hanging around like a ghost in the walls. His daughters are… involved.” Elena raised a brow. “That tone means that’s complicated.”
“It’s a corporate family business. Trust me, everything about it is complicated.”
When we got to my apartment, she whistled low. “Wow, you’re really leaning into this powerful CEO lifestyle.”
“I worked for it,” I said, not defensively, just stating a fact. She followed me through the front door, eyes taking in the tall windows, the clean lines, the art on the walls that she’d helped pick out years ago.
“I still can’t believe you bought that ridiculous bronze piece,” she muttered, gesturing at the sculpture by the entryway. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s industrial elegance.”
“It’s a sad, melting toaster.” I laughed. “Your room’s on the left. The one with the view.” She stepped inside, dropped her bag, and spun in a slow circle. “Okay, fine. It’s very grown-up. And extremely you.” I leaned on the doorframe. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat. But you better feed me wine too.”