Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Mavericks
The moment I stepped into my office, I knew today was going to be hell.
I had spent the entire morning trying to convince myself otherwise—distracting myself with back-to-back meetings, pushing through calls, drowning myself in reports, all while ignoring every single headline that had my name and Solenn’s plastered across it.
Spencer & Co. CEO Caught in a Heated Kiss.
Maverick Spencer’s New Office Romance? The world was having a field day with the gala scandal, but that was the least of my problems. Because no matter how many headlines I ignored, no matter how many times I told myself to focus, my mind kept circling back to one unforgivable truth.
I had slept with Solenn Wheeler.
The off-limits woman, the woman who had spent months challenging me, teasing me, pushing me just far enough to test my patience—but never far enough to break it.
Until last night. Last night, she had taken things too far, and instead of stopping her, instead of reminding her exactly who was in control here, I had let her drag me under.
And now? She was going to walk into my office, hand me my schedule, and pretend none of it had happened.
I sat behind my desk, fingers drumming against the wood, my jaw tight as I stared at the space in front of me where she’d be standing in a few minutes. I had told myself I’d be prepared for this moment, but the second the door swung open and she walked in, I knew—I wasn’t.
She looked perfectly composed, perfectly professional, completely untouched by the fact that we had spent the night tangled in my sheets, my hands on her skin, my mouth mapping out every inch of her body.
"Good morning, Mr. Spencer." Her voice was smooth, controlled, free of hesitation, free of any trace of last night.
Mr. Spencer.
I barely stopped myself from scoffing. That’s how she wanted to play this?
I leaned back in my chair, watching as she set a folder down in front of me with practiced efficiency.
"Your schedule for today," she continued, tone crisp and businesslike.
"Your 11 a.m. call with the London partners has been rescheduled to Friday. You have a meeting at two with the acquisition team, and I’ve pushed back your investor dinner to eight. "
I didn’t speak right away, just let my eyes linger on her face, waiting for something. A flicker of nervousness, a sign that last night was still affecting her the way it was affecting me.
But there was nothing.
No stumble in her words. No avoiding my gaze. No hesitation.
She was playing this too well. And for some infuriating reason, that only made me want her more.
I flipped the folder open, scanning the schedule. "You moved the investor dinner to eight."
She nodded once. "Yes. I figured you’d want more time to prepare for the acquisition meeting."
I lifted my gaze back to hers, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "Did you run that change by me?"
"Do I need to?"
There was something dangerously close to amusement in her voice like she knew exactly how far she could push before I snapped.
I exhaled slowly, closing the folder with deliberate care. "Fine." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Busy morning for you?"
"Not particularly."
I let my gaze drop for half a second, catching the faint shadow of a bruise on her collarbone, barely hidden beneath her delicate gold necklace. A sharp pulse of heat shot through me, something possessive, something unhinged.
She noticed.
Her throat bobbed, but her expression remained perfectly neutral.
"You sure?" My voice was measured, and controlled, but there was an edge to it now. "You weren’t… occupied?"
Something flickered in her gaze, so fast I almost missed it. But it was there.
For the first time since she walked in, she faltered. Just barely.
And I pushed.
"I was surprised when I woke up alone," I said casually. "You seemed comfortable enough last night."
Her lips parted slightly, a fraction of hesitation before she smoothed her expression back into that careful, infuriating indifference.
"I didn’t think you’d care," she said evenly.
Something in me snapped.
I hated how easily she said it.
Like she hadn’t left my bed still wrapped in my scent, my shirt, my touch. Like she hadn’t spent the night ruining every single rule I had ever set for myself.
I tilted my head, fingers drumming against the desk again. "You always walk away without saying anything?"
She smirked. "You always sleep with your assistants?"
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. Clever. Too clever.
I pushed back in my chair, finally letting her win this round. "Anything else I need to know?"
She didn’t hesitate. "No, Mr. Spencer. That’s all."
She turned, walking out of my office with perfectly measured steps like our conversation had been nothing more than routine.
I watched her leave, my hands curling into fists against my desk.
I had expected awkwardness, hesitation, and maybe even guilt. I hadn’t expected this.
This infuriating, unshaken calm.
This perfectly professional mask, as if she hadn’t spent last night coming apart beneath me, her nails digging into my skin, my name on her lips like a prayer.
I should have been relieved.
I wasn’t.
Because if I knew one thing for certain, it was this?—
Solenn Wheeler was a problem.
And she wasn’t going away.