9. Reid
Chapter nine
Reid
The doors slid open and I stepped out first, straightening my cuff like I hadn’t just had her pinned and trembling against the wall. I tried to rid myself of the thought of feeling her body heat through that thin dress again, her pulse racing against my grip.
Christ. My cock was straining so hard against my slacks it was almost painful. Every step I took felt like punishment, a reminder of what I didn’t do. Of what I’d wanted to do.
I should’ve taken her neck in my teeth, dragged the sound out of her throat she was choking back.
I should’ve fucked her against the wall until she forgot her own name and all she remembered was mine.
Until the whole building knew I was fucking the former in-charge’s fiancée. My body was screaming for it.
But instead, I forced myself to keep walking, jaw tight, every muscle strung taut. Because that’s not what this was about. This wasn’t about love, or forgiveness, or any of the shit she used to make me feel.
This was about control. About ruin, watching her fall apart not because I worshipped her, but because I owned her.
I let out a slow breath, willing my dick to go down, reminding myself that fucking her now would give her the one thing she didn’t deserve…
relief. No, I’d hold it. I’d bide my time.
And when… if I finally gave in, it wouldn’t be soft or loving.
Because nothing about the woman she was, the woman she became when she left me…
was either of those things. Not anymore.
But when I tried to ignore her, and the effect she was already having on me again, my mind fell on the boy.
Her son… their child. Eugene. The way he ran to me without hesitation, small arms around my neck, already afraid I would let him go…
like I was supposed to stay. He trusted me too easily.
Looked at me like I was supposed to be there.
It felt like recognition. It should’ve meant something. Maybe once, it would have.
But wanting him, wanting her, wanting what should have been mine from the start, none of that changed the past. None of it changed anything.
It didn’t change the fact that I’d be tearing every brick of their perfect facade apart until the only thing left standing was me. There would be targets, victims, casualties. Eugene, despite his innocence, included, but I could live with that.
My assistant Alexander fell into step beside me as we approached the boardroom, clipboard in hand, rattling off numbers as we cut down the long corridor. “The Tokyo expansion is projected to net five percent less than their CEO’s estimate. Head of the Masahiko family is stalling.”
His voice was steady, clipped, exactly what I paid him for. Normally I absorbed every word, filing every problem, each number, each new statistic into my mind. Today, it was background noise.
Because halfway down the corridor, despite myself, I looked back.
And Genevieve was there.
She walked several paces behind, her arms crossed tight over her chest, trying to make herself smaller, more invisible. But she wasn’t invisible. Not to me or to the eyes that turned as we passed.
She avoided looking at me as my eyes lingered on her.
“So why the delay now?” I muttered, turning back.
Alexander hesitated only a moment before answering.
“Tokyo’s markets have been unpredictable.
The press of the Newman Trust being put under your control is starting to spread.
With the presence of your newest billion-dollar liability, they’re waiting to see how it stabilizes before they put their name behind you. ”
I didn’t break my stride as my jaw tightened. “Of course they are.” He wasn’t wrong. The Masahikos didn’t hesitate when power aligned in their favor. They followed success like sharks scenting blood in the water.
This was expected. Other CEOs, corporations willing to pause their growth, would hold onto what they had while they sat back and watched. To see if my reputation survived being tied to Newman Trust.
It wouldn’t last long. In the end, I was still the one they sought out for opportunities, for a lifeline. It was only a matter of time before they came back.
“And the Reynolds Capital deal is waiting on your approval,” Alexander continued, oblivious to the woman behind us slowing in her steps as we approached the conference room as he flipped through a fresh set of reports.
“Confirm it,” I said, and he stepped away.
I turned to face her as she stopped only a couple feet away.
“You don’t need me in there,” she muttered, eyes fixed on me. “This is business between you and your family.”
“My family?“ I repeated, my tone dark enough to make her flinch.
Her chin lifted, stubborn despite the tremor in her voice. “Yes, Reid. Your family. Parading me around like some prop to make whatever statement you convinced yourself of is ridiculous.”
“You’ve been a trophy wife prop for years. What’s the difference?” I asked, hiding the smirk that wanted to tug at my lips as her expression grew angry, her eyes fuming at my words.
She made a move to step away from me, but I didn’t give her the chance. My hand shot out, fingers circling her arm, and with one smooth pull I dragged her against me, her shoulder brushing my chest as we continued toward the door.
Her warm skin under my palm, softer than it needed to be. She stiffened, but her pulse jumped under my fingers, a quick flutter against my thumb that made me wonder if I was imagining it.
Her scent curling up into my throat invaded my lungs, intoxicated my mind. My cock throbbed, begging for some kind of fucking release from this torment.
The door swung open and the low hum of voices stopped abruptly as I entered, almost dragging my brother’s fiancée into the room. “Gentlemen,” I murmured, before pulling out a chair and placing her into it.
There were faces of confusion, glances of uncertainty; a few even exchanged concerned looks, but no one muttered a word. Gregory’s chair, once the head of the table, sat empty.
I went straight to it.
Genevieve seemed like a deer in headlights, confusion and embarrassment wrapped in one, frozen in her seat as I sat beside her.
Alexander, ever efficient, moved to my right with a folder already in hand. He laid a thin stack of reports across the table.
“The Newman Trust’s quarterlies are projected to stabilize by the end of Q3,” he said, his voice steady. “Private banking clients are beginning to return. Forecasts for next quarter show a twenty percent recovery under your restructuring plan.”
“Already?” one of them men far side of the table asked.
I glanced his way. “When you build a plan with reasonable input and actual oversight, things tend to move forward.”
The man frowned. “Those numbers… they’re just impossible.”
“With basic math and a solid foundation, they’re possible,” I said flatly.
A ripple of unease shifted through the room before there was a slight release. Shoulders relaxed, pens stopped tapping, someone exhaled in quiet relief. They wanted to believe it. Needed to.
But the woman beside me didn’t.
Genevieve’s expression had changed from shock to confusion as she skimmed the pages Alexander had just handed her, eyes tracing the columns of figures she couldn’t quite make sense of.
Her brow furrowed, mouth parting like she wanted to personally ask how the numbers could possibly add up. Probably wanted to know why they were so promising given my promise to destroy it all.
I didn’t give her the chance.
“Stabilizing the company isn’t enough,” I said, cutting through the hush. Every head turned toward me again. “The figures buy us breathing room, but they don’t fix perception. The market doesn’t follow facts… it follows confidence.”
The older men exchanged wary glances. I continued before any of them could speak.
“That means we stop hiding. We host again. Charity events, galas, whatever the hell it takes to remind the city that the Newmans are still a name worth saying aloud. Appearances are everything,” I continued.
“People follow the image of power before they ever follow the man who wields it. So we give them the image first. They’ll believe the rest soon enough. ”
My gaze flicked toward Genevieve, seated beside me. She didn’t look up, but her shoulders tensed under the weight of every word.
A cough broke the quiet. “And Gregory’s role in all this?” one of the older men asked, voice cautious.
I didn’t hesitate. “Obsolete.”
The silence in the room was deafening. No one challenged it. They all knew it was true; they’d just been waiting for someone to say it out loud.
I leaned back slightly, letting the silence settle before continuing. “From here on, our focus isn’t just numbers. It’s perception. Investors want to see stability, not panic. That means presence, doing whatever it takes to remind the public and the media this family isn’t crumbling.”
A few exchanged looks were passed, but they said nothing.
“Ms. Devereaux will help coordinate the appearances,” I added, tipping my head toward Genevieve without looking at her directly.
As if all the men finally realized she was still here, their eyes locked onto her.
I was sure her gaze was burning a hole into my skull as she glared at me.
“She has a background in public relations and event management, experience we’d be foolish not to use.
Names, locations, guest lists, everything goes through her before it reaches me. ”
“With the press involved,” someone began, eyes finding mine, “what happens if they decide to speculate about…”
He trailed off, looking between her and me. As he did, I couldn’t help the slow curve of a smile trying to tug at my lips.
“Let them. A good scandal tends to draw more attention than a clean reputation ever could.”
The meeting had adjourned and Genevieve sat silently, watching me from the seat I’d forced her into.
“You’re giving them false hope,” she said finally.
“Better than me giving them actual hope like Gregory and falling through every time.”