Chapter 2
Chapter Two
DEREK
The door closes behind Audra Sullivan with a soft, decisive click.
I don’t move.
For a few seconds—longer than I’m willing to admit—I just sit there, staring at the empty space she occupied like it might explain something if I look hard enough.
Her scent still lingers, faint but unmistakable.
Clean. Warm. Controlled. Nothing like the sweet, cloying perfumes that usually hang around my office after late nights and bad decisions.
Damn it.
I push back from the desk and scrub a hand over my face. This shouldn’t rattle me. Nothing rattles me. I built this company on long nights, hard calls, and never letting anyone see me sweat. Audra Sullivan walking in and out of my office shouldn’t feel like a disruption.
And yet.
She’s sexy as hell—there’s no denying that—but it’s her mouth that gets me. Sharp. Precise. Unafraid.
That mouth is the thing fantasies are made of.
When it’s closed.
When it’s open, it’s dangerous.
I stand and pace, irritation buzzing under my skin. I’ve never had a problem compartmentalizing. Work is work. Sex is sex. Women who want access to my name, my money, my time—they know the rules, even if they pretend not to.
Audra doesn’t play by those rules.
And that’s the problem.
None of the usual distractions are working anymore. The clubs. The models. The women who laugh too loud and touch too easily. I find myself cutting nights short, bored halfway through conversations I used to enjoy.
My mind drifts—uninvited—to intelligent green eyes and the way she said Sir like it was both a challenge and a dare.
A knock interrupts my thoughts, followed immediately by the door opening.
“Dude,” Mark Fuentes says, strolling in like he owns the place—which, technically, he does—“who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
I glance at him. “Do they even make Wheaties anymore?”
He drops into the chair across from my desk, stretching out like he’s settling in for entertainment. “No idea. But if they do, someone definitely pissed in yours. You look like you just lost a staring contest with yourself.”
I lean back and cross my arms. “Sullivan.”
Mark’s mouth curves slowly, like he’s been waiting for that answer. “You need to get laid.”
I shoot him a look. “No thanks.”
“Preferably by her,” he adds without missing a beat.
“Hard pass,” I say flatly. “She’s not my type.”
He snorts. “That’s a lie.”
“She’s frigid,” I counter. “And she hates me.”
“She’s not frigid,” Mark says, rolling his eyes. “She’s fiery. Muy caliente.”
I scoff. “You’re projecting.”
“No,” he replies. “I’m observing. Big difference.”
Before I can respond, the door opens again.
“What are we observing?” Alex Rios asks as he steps inside.
“Close the door,” I say.
He does, arching a brow as he takes the second chair. Alex is broader than Mark, quieter too—but when he speaks, it’s usually with annoying accuracy.
“Derek thinks Audra Sullivan hates him,” Mark informs him.
Alex laughs. Loud. Unrestrained. “Jesus Christ, you really are a special kind of dumbass.”
I glare. “I don’t see what’s funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Alex says, wiping his eyes. “Because she absolutely does not hate you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We do,” Mark says. “You’re just blind.”
“I am not blind,” I snap. “I’m realistic. She calls me out every chance she gets.”
Alex leans forward. “She challenges you. That’s different.”
“Not in my experience.”
Mark sighs like he’s explaining something painfully obvious. “When’s the last time a woman challenged you and wasn’t hot for you?”
I open my mouth—then stop.
“Well?” Alex presses.
“She… puts extra emphasis in her walk when she leaves,” I admit reluctantly.
Mark’s grin widens. “Does she look back?”
I hesitate.
“Yes,” I mutter.
“And does she say ‘Sir’ like it’s both an insult and a promise?” Mark adds.
Silence.
Both of them stare at me.
Alex whistles low. “Oh, man.”
“This whole time?” Mark asks.
“Not the whole time,” I say defensively. “Just recently.”
Alex leans back, shaking his head. “Jamie knows.”
“Of course she does,” Mark says. “Girl code. HR secrets.”
Jamie.
Fantastic.
A strange knot tightens in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“So what now?” I ask, more to myself than them.
Mark grins. “Now you’re screwed.”
“No.”
“Absolutely,” Alex says. “She’s the kind that doesn’t fall easy—and doesn’t forgive fast.”
“I’m not interested in anything serious.”
Mark raises a brow. “No one said serious. Just… complicated.”
“Let’s call the wedding planner,” Mark jokes.
“Hell no,” I snap. “I don’t do marriage.”
Alex studies me. “Still haunted by the family track record?”
“My parents. My grandparents. Every disaster story except one aunt and uncle. Marriage ruins people.”
“That’s not marriage,” Mark says. “That’s bad communication.”
“Tell that to my childhood.”
Alex stands, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re already in trouble.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he says calmly. “Because she doesn’t want you for what you can give her. She wants you because you don’t know how to give her what she actually wants.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Mark heads for the door. “First comes the fun. Then comes the fall. Then comes the denial.”
“And the proposal?” Alex adds.
“Never,” I say.
Mark gets the last word in. "I swear to God, watching you avoid your feelings is exhausting.”
They laugh as they leave, the sound echoing far too long in the suddenly quiet office.
I glance down at my desk.
The retirement folder is still there.
Mrs. Fielding.
I exhale slowly, then pick up my phone and type a note to Jamie.
Retirement party — confirm details.
I stare at the message before sending it.
For the first time in a long time, I realize something I’m not sure I like.
Audra Sullivan didn’t just walk out of my office.
Jesus Christ.
She took control of the room with her.