Chapter 21
Strike One
Max
Iwatch as Eli strolls out of the coffee shop, balancing a tray of seven coffees and two boxes of pastries.
Even after my work emergency, I managed to drift back to sleep in the guest room for a few more hours.
It’s something I normally wouldn't be able to do.
Usually, an alert like that would have me spiraling, mentally running through a thousand checks, but Eli made me tea and demanded I lie back down. And I actually did.
The fact that I can’t remember the last time I felt safe enough to rest like this feels intimate in its own right. It’s as if Eli found me in more ways than one, and without asking, gave me exactly what my soul was starving for.
I wake up slow here. My limbs feel heavy, as if my body finally believes it’s allowed to stand down. I think I’m falling in love with that feeling more than anything else—the way my nervous system doesn't feel like it’s on call.
And that scares me more than that damn elk ever did.
Because I like it.
Too much.
When he climbs into the truck, I take the coffee from him and hold it still while he reaches back to set the pastries on the backseat.
“Do you always buy breakfast for your staff?” I ask.
“Every Monday,” he says.
And he does it again. Something else that makes me like him.
On the drive, he told me more about his history with Vanessa and how her business impacts his.
He explained that her only interest in sustainability is because it’s the latest trend for the Forbes list crowd.
It made me appreciate his heart even more—seeing that he has the same bone-deep passion for this work that I have for the latest tech advances.
When we arrive at the office, it’s clear we’re not in corporate Kansas anymore.
It’s a laid-back, high-functioning creative haven.
Open-concept floor plan. High ceilings. A full cafeteria with a juice bar.
A ping-pong table. Even an area with bean bags and a whiteboard wall filled with scribbles and formulas.
It screams we work hard and play harder.
Eli sets the pastries and coffee down on the communal table. “Team, this is Maxine Palmer. She’s a tech consultant who’ll be working with us on the pitch.”
I smile and wave. “Hi. Everyone can just call me, Max.”
A chorus of cheerful hellos greets me.
He turns to a striking woman with long, jet-black hair and legs for days. Indigenous, maybe. Regal, confident, stunning. “Lara, can you show Max around?”
“Of course,” she says, her smile both polite and unreadable.
She leads me through the space, pointing out design pods, engineering desks, testing labs, introducing me to the team as we go. I nod, smile, shake hands, and try to look like a woman who belongs here and not someone who’s internally vibrating.
It feels like the first day of school. New building.
New faces. That low hum of don’t mess this up buzzing under my skin.
Except this version comes with a very inconvenient twist: I’ve already made out with the teacher.
More than once. And now I’m expected to sit up straight, take notes, and pretend there’s nothing inappropriate echoing in my memory.
Everyone is friendly. Open. Welcoming. But I can feel the curiosity. Eyes linger a beat too long. Smiles sharpen with interest. Not suspicious. Not hostile. Just…aware. Like they’re clocking me. Trying to place me. Trying to figure out if I’m temporary, important, or trouble.
They have no idea. I’m all three.
When we reach Eli’s office, a clean corner with a glass door and zero ego, I don’t miss how much smaller it is than Drake’s office. Humble. Purposeful. But still impressive.
“He doesn’t use it much,” Lara says, clearly noticing I seem taken aback by its modesty. “He’s usually out on the floor with the team so he didn’t let us make a fuss over his office.”
Interesting. For all his walls, Eli stays hands-on.
“Thanks, Lara. That’ll be all,” Eli says, dismissing her from the impromptu tour.
Once fully inside his office, I set my laptop down on the table beside the sofa. He steps in after me, and closes the door.
“Meeting starts now.”
Ah. I guess this is Business Bear.
I pull up a blank document. “I’m going to need access to your business plan, customer data from the last five years, and your financial projections.”
He frowns. “Help me understand what you need all that for?”
I look up at him like he’s just called my work little or cute. “To know where tech will actually be effective, I need to understand the entire business. End to end.” I hold his gaze. “The more you argue, the longer this takes. And we don’t have that kind of time, Mr. Shaw.”
He says something under his breath, then turns to his computer and starts opening files.
That’s what I thought.
“Look,” I say evenly, and he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “When we’re here—when I’m helping you—I call the shots. I need to be able to speak freely. No tiptoeing.”
He nods once. “Fair enough.”
“And,” I add, holding his eyes, “you give me your undivided attention. For one week, I’m the priority. Understood?”
I let the innuendo linger. I’m not just talking about the work or this pitch, I’m talking about everything.
I’ll play along. I’ll pretend this isn’t temporary and ignore the fact he makes a habit of loving and leaving women out of some twisted sense of self-preservation.
But while I’m here, I am the focus. The first thought. The only one. Until I’m gone.
I’ve never demanded anything like this before.
Like most women, I’ve entered relationships hoping for the best, allowing the man to dictate the pace, the direction, and the inevitable end.
It’s exactly why I actually prefer short-term entanglements.
The implications are clear, and I don’t have to worry about where things are going.
Things simply are what they are until they aren't. But something about this place—about Canada and this agreement Eli and I have entered into—makes a version of me feel possible where I can simply take what I want without feeling the need to earn it first.
I deserve this.
“Fine,” Eli says. “You have my undivided attention. You call the shots. Anything else?”
That was almost too easy.
“And when we’re…” I pause. “Home. At your house. You can burden me. Like I promised. And you can even take your frustrations out on me for being a pain in the ass.”
He frowns. “I didn’t say you were a pain in the ass.”
I smile, all innocence. “Day’s still young, Bear.”
The next thirty minutes are all data and discussion. He walks me through the structure of the company, revenue streams, growth projections, expansion plans. It’s all solid. Smart. But underneath the numbers is something rarer. Far more than branding. Integrity.
Every piece of his company is a forethought.
Something designed brick by brick with intention.
Each department exists for a reason. Every hire was strategic.
Engineers who care as much about sustainable materials as they do clean code.
Designers who understand form and environmental impact.
Operations leads with backgrounds in ethical supply chains and long-term land stewardship.
These aren’t people chasing a paycheck. They’re people chasing alignment.
Eli talks about them with quiet pride. About how no one here is interchangeable. Everyone was chosen because they bring a specific skill and a shared value system to the table. Because they believe in building things that last.
And I can tell they believe in him. It’s hard not to.
It’s clear this isn’t just a company to him. It’s a mission. One he’s protected carefully and grown purposefully.
We’re just starting to hit a rhythm where it seems like he’s letting me in further, when his phone buzzes.
He answers it without properly excusing himself. No pause. No explanation. Just walks out of the office and leaves me sitting here alone.
Strike one.
I sigh, stand, and stretch, letting the tension roll out of my shoulders as I wander the space.
The walls of his office tell a story even if this man is a closed book.
Awards for sustainability and innovation.
Framed press clippings. Photos of Eli shoulder to shoulder with what looks like government officials, and various leaders. He looks important.
He’s impressive.
And frustrating.
But still…impressive all the same.
Five minutes later, he storms back in, jaw tight, energy completely off.
“What was that about?” I ask, half expecting him to apologize for how abruptly he got up and left.
“Nothing. It’s fine.” His tone is clipped, sharp around the edges. I watch his shoulders creep up toward his ears like he’s trying to carry the weight of his entire life on them.
“Clearly everything’s fine,” I say flatly. “Your shoulders are practically touching your ears.”
“Max. Enough!”
Oh. Hell. No.
That tone might fly in a club with loud music. Maybe even behind closed doors in his bed. But not here. Not now. Not while I’m sitting in his office trying to help him keep his operation from unraveling.
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” I say, voice sharp. “I came here to help you. Don’t talk to me like I’m just another employee getting on your nerves. I don’t do disrespect, Eli. And I definitely don’t do temper tantrums.”
I snap my laptop shut and stand, headed for the door. And maybe a donut.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps. “We still have thirty minutes left in this meeting.”
“Let me know when you’re feeling better and ready to talk to me like you’ve got some sense. Until then, kiss my very natural Black ass.”
And in seconds, I’m walking out before I say something I can’t take back.