Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
theo
Yesterday was easier than I expected.
While it was one hell of a complication, I felt safer now. That was the right move. For me, for her, and for the company as a whole.
I leaned back in my chair, phone pressed to my ear, trying not to yell but fully failing at keeping my temper in check.
“With all due respect, Max, you don’t get to interrogate Samantha about her personal life like she’s some college intern screwing around with the TA,” I said, my voice was probably way sharper than I thought, but he deserves it.
“She’s your daughter, not your property. And more importantly, she’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions by herself without the influence of anyone, let alone yours.”
A pause. Max said something smug and condescending about what was best for the company, optics, or what people were saying. I didn’t care. “No,” I said coldly. “This is my company now. You handed me the reins, remember? I’m the CEO of Hayes International, not your errand boy.”
He went quiet. Good. I stood and walked toward the window, the skyline bright and smug under the morning sun. “You don’t get to intimidate her, Max. Not as her father. Not as the former CEO. Not as anything.”
“Careful, Theodore,” he finally said. “You’re getting personal.” I smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
“It is personal to me.” I didn’t wait for him to say goodbye. I ended the call, tossed my phone on the desk, and took a slow breath, still vibrating with fury.
And then, like some perfectly timed plot twist, there was a knock.
Sam. She stepped inside like she’d done it a hundred times, in wide-leg navy trousers and a silk blouse the color of my last rational thought.
Her hair was down, her lips glossed, and I could only think about bending her over right here, right now.
“Bad call?” she asked softly, closing the door behind her. I ran a hand down my face. “Your father has a real talent for pushing my buttons.” She exhaled, walked to my desk, and leaned against it, right where I’d had her last week, legs open, mouth full of wit and wickedness.
“Let me guess,” she said. “He thinks I’m a distraction.
Or a liability. Or just a girl who spread her legs for the CEO.
” I stared at her. “He crossed a line.” She tilted her head.
“Oh, he’s crossed a thousand.” I stepped around the desk.
Closed the space between us. “Samantha,” I said.
“You don’t have to explain anything. Not to him. Not to anyone.”
“I’m not planning to,” she said. But there was something in her eyes, hurt, maybe?
“I told him,” I said, voice low. “That this, this is my company now. That he doesn’t get to treat you like that, daughter or not.” Something in her face softened a little. “You did?”
“I did. And I’ll say it again. To anyone.” She nodded slowly. “You really meant it when you signed those papers, huh?”
“Harper wouldn’t let me live if I didn’t. And honestly, I couldn’t live with myself either.” Her laugh cracked through the tension like a match. “Well. I guess we’re official then.”
“We are company-official,” I said, stepping closer.
“This still leaves room for interpretation elsewhere.” She smirked, tugged at my tie.
“Guess we’ll have to define those terms.” I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “We can start with you taking off those pants and sitting back on the desk with your legs open for me.”
Her breath caught just a flicker, but I saw it. I felt it. That pulse of anticipation under the surface of her composed exterior.
She tilted her head, studying me like she was deciding how far she’d let me go. “Careful, Mr. Jones, you are being way too bossy around here.” I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and let my fingers trail down her jawline. “And you love that. Don’t you?”
She didn’t deny it. Instead, she stood up and started playing with her pants. The afternoon light poured in through the office windows, creating soft lines across her chest as she unbuttoned her trousers and slipped them off, folding them with care and setting them on the chair beside her.
Then she turned, hopped up onto the edge of the desk, and looked at me, daring me. “I think this is where you take over.” I moved to her without hesitation, stepping between her knees, my hands sliding up her thighs as her breath hitched again.
I dropped to my knees, never breaking eye contact. Her breath caught, her thighs tensed beneath my hands, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, inviting me closer. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk as I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then another, higher.
This wasn’t just desire anymore— this was me claiming her again, but now on different terms.
Terms I hope she agrees on moving forward.
When my mouth finally met her, she gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair as her body responded to every stroke of my tongue. I found her rhythm fast. I knew what she wanted, and I gave it to her.
She moved against me, trying to free herself, but I held her down, firm and focused, savoring the way her body trembled under my touch.
The taste of her. The feel of her losing it.
This wasn’t about showing off. This was about knowing her, learning every sound she made when I pushed her to the edge.
And when she shattered, head thrown back, body arched, thighs trembling, I didn’t stop right away.
I rose, mouth still wet with her taste, eyes locked on hers as I stood between her knees. Her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. She looked wrecked and so beautiful. She looked like she was mine, and I wanted her to be.
Without a word, I undid my belt, pushed my slacks down just enough, and pulled her to the edge of the desk. She was still pulsing beneath my hands when I teased her entrance.
But it was when I pushed inside her in one deep thrust that her moan punched straight through me.
I swallowed it with a kiss as I buried myself on her neck.
Her body was still trembling around me from before.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt, and I kissed her again, hard, desperate, like I was starving for the pieces of her I didn’t get last night.
She broke the kiss to gasp my name, head falling back, eyes fluttering closed. And I wasn’t letting go.
Not yet.
“Look at me,” I said, hand at her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. “I want you looking at me when you come again.” Her eyes locked onto mine, and I swear to God, I felt her way before I even heard the sound she made.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not until the desk creaked under us and her body clenched around mine so tight I saw stars.
I held on for one more second of madness, of us, and then I followed her over the edge with a groan that tore out of me.
And as the last wave of release crashed through me, raw and consuming, I buried my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her, anchoring myself to her.
“You are something else, Samantha,” I whispered against her skin, low, wrecked, unguarded. Her fingers ran through my hair, her breath still shallow, her heart thudding loud enough I could feel it.
And then—a click.
The door opened. I forgot to lock it.
“Oh my— fuck.” Harper’s voice cut off like she’d walked face-first into a brick wall.
Sam gasped, scrambling upright, blouse half open, her legs still tangled on my body.
Harper stood in the doorway, holding a folder, looking unbothered in that terrifyingly competent way she had, but her eyes widened exactly once before narrowing.
“Sorry, I should have knocked,” she said flatly. “I brought the investor brief.”
“Harper—” I started, trying to reach for whatever dignity I had left. She lifted one hand. “Nope. Don’t want to hear it. Just… fifteen-minute warning before your call with the Singapore team. Try not to still be inside each other when it starts.”
The door clicked shut. Sam looked at me, hair wild, cheeks flushed, her blouse completely askew. And then she started laughing, bright, breathless, incredulous. “I think I just saw Harper short-circuit,” she said between laughs. I groaned and leaned forward to rest my head on her shoulder.
“We are never going to live that down.” She pressed a kiss to my temple. “Better make it worth it then.” I let out a half-laugh, half-sigh and looked up at her. Her smile was smug, radiant, and completely unapologetic.
She stepped down from the desk and fell to her knees in front of me. “Samantha, what are you do—”
“I told you, making it worth it”, she took me into her mouth, and my head fell back. I grabbed her hair, pulling it slightly as she guided me in and out of her mouth, over and over again. I finished with a groan, pulling her hair harder and one hand on the desk.
“Well, Mr. Jones, this meeting turned into something unexpected.” She said, wiping her mouth and handing me a tissue.
“I believe we’re officially official now,” she said, voice teasing, putting her pants back on. “I guess so.”
“I can’t believe Harper walked in on us mid-desk sex.” We both laugh at that. “Oh, and I think I might’ve left a heel mark on your HR paperwork.”
“Perfect,” I muttered, zipping up my pants. “Exactly the kind of company culture and chaos I envisioned when I took this job.”
She grinned. “Oh, admit it, you love the chaos I bring to the table, or well, the desk.” I looked at her, at the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, hair still a mess from my hands, and felt it again— that crack in my chest. The thing I hadn’t planned for.
The feeling I was no longer trying to deny.
“I do love the chaos,” I said. “But only because it’s with you.”That shut her up for exactly three seconds. Then she blinked, soft and slow.
“Well, Mr. Jones, good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
My phone buzzed on the corner of the desk. I glanced at it. Singapore team, in 5 min. Sam caught the look, groaned dramatically, and leaned back on her elbows.
“God, nothing kills a post-orgasm glow like international time zones.” I stood, fixing my shirt, then leaned over to kiss her, slow, deep, with just enough bite to make her hum.
“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” I murmured.
Her brows lifted. “Are we talking about dinner or another HR violation?” I straightened my tie. “Why not both?” She smiled and walked away. The rest of the day was uneventful, just a bunch of meetings.
I texted Sam to come to my apartment for dinner.
Me: My place, at 7 p.m.
I’ll make you dinner. How does that sound?
It was a simple invite, but my pulse didn’t get the memo. I stared at the message longer than I should’ve before hitting send, and when she replied.
Samantha Hayes: Do you even know how to turn on an oven?
I smiled like an idiot.
Me: Guess you’ll find out.
And she did.
When she knocked, I was already in the kitchen trying to make sure nothing was burning.
I opened the door with probably too much confidence for a guy who had nearly set off the smoke alarm twenty minutes earlier.
She stepped in, glanced around, and raised one perfectly arched brow. “You really cooked?”
“I did,” I said, proud but cautious. She narrowed her eyes, taking in the scent. “Did you burn anything?”
“Not a single thing,” She laughed, head back, full and unguarded, and that was worth every second of effort.
The kind of laugh that made a man think of forever.
Dinner wasn’t elaborate. Just steak, mashed potatoes, asparagus, a bottle of wine Harper insisted I try, and a chocolate tart I’d picked up from a bakery two blocks away.
“This is actually really good,” she teased, cutting into the steak.
“I excel under pressure,” I said, pouring her wine. “And if you finish everything, you might get dessert.”
“Promise?” she grinned. “We’ll see, eat up.” She rolled her eyes, laughing at me.
For a moment, nothing else existed. Just her, in my space. In my orbit. Exactly where I wanted her to be. I served dessert, and after she licked chocolate off her fork and made me rethink all my life choices, I reached across the table, suddenly more serious. “Samantha.” She looked up.
“Be my girlfriend.” She blinked. “What is this, middle school?”
I didn’t blink. “You drive me crazy, you are insanely beautiful, you look at me like I deserve you, and I want to do everything to make you keep feeling like that.” Her breath hitched.
“Look, I’m almost forty, I’m divorced, and I’m the CEO of a company that technically belongs to you.
I’m not playing games here, not with you. ”
I pressed forward. “I know you are still young, with a whole lot of future ahead of you, but I want you. All of you. In my life, my days, my nights. At my dining table. In my bed. All of it.”
She stood. Moved around the table. Straddled my lap with that familiar mix of power and grace that always undid me. “Took you long enough, 1A,” she whispered, kissing me slowly. I curled my hand behind her neck and kissed her back. “Is that a yes?” She smiled against my mouth.
“It’s a hell yes, Mr. Jones.” Her ‘hell yes’ was still echoing in my chest when I carried her to the couch, her laughter warm against my throat. “I thought we were aiming for soft tonight,” she teased. “We are,” I said, settling her down gently, “but I like soft with a view.”
I lit a few candles. That, yes, Harper made me keep them stocked ‘in case I ever decided to have a soul’, and dimmed the lights until the room glowed golden, shadows dancing on the walls like something out of a movie.
She curled into me, legs tucked beneath her, her hand pressed against my chest like she was syncing her heartbeat to mine.
I wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“I like it here,” she murmured.
“In the apartment?”
“No. Well, yeah, but in this moment, I mean.” God. She didn’t even know how much that wrecked me.
“You make it easy to forget everything outside of right now,” I said, my voice lower than I meant. “The work. The pressure. The noise.” She tilted her head up, eyes soft. “That’s exactly how I feel with you.” We didn’t talk much after that. We didn’t need to.
The playlist I’d put on shuffled into something slow and nostalgic, piano and low vocals filling the space between us.
She slid off the couch and offered her hand. “Dance with me.” I stood, took her hand, and we danced. Right there in the middle of my living room, barefoot.
And I swear that was the most intimate moment we’ve shared so far.