Chapter 12
Twelve
ZOE / VICTORIA
I woke up with three distinct emotions playing tug-of-war in my chest: Hot-and-bothered because apparently my body hadn’t gotten the “stop thinking about that kiss” memo; Panic-stricken because falling for your romance novel’s hero when you’re supposed to be the villain is definitely not in the writing manual; and Mission-focused because someone had to get this story back on its proper rails, even if that someone was currently hiding in her bedroom like a teenager after prom.
The hot-and-bothered part was winning, mostly because every time I closed my eyes, I could feel Jason’s hands in my hair, his mouth on mine, the way he’d growled when I… No. Stop that. Even if last night’s taco-fueled makeout session had been hotter than a habanero sauce eating contest.
The panic was a close second, mainly because my heart did this weird salsa dance whenever I thought about him, which was approximately every three seconds.
I wasn’t supposed to be falling for Jason Everett.
I was supposed to be playing the villain so I could wake up as plain old Zoe Mitchell again, preferably before I completely rewrote this romance novel into How to Fall for Your Not Actually Evil Husband: A Guide to Screwing Up Fiction.
And the mission focus? Well, that was running a distant third, but still putting up a valiant fight. Today was Operation: Get-Jason-and-Sophia-Together-or-Die-Trying.
I paced my bedroom like a caffeinated cheetah, occasionally pressing my ear against the door to listen for movement in the hallway.
Was Jason still here? Had he left for work?
I couldn’t face him. Not after last night.
Not after I’d run away babbling about “early things with people” like a romance novel heroine who’d forgotten her own plotline.
Every time I heard footsteps, my heart performed a complicated dance of panic and anticipation. Honestly, this was getting ridiculous. I was supposed to be the sophisticated villain, not some lovesick teenager hiding from her crush.
Elena walked past my door, and I yanked it open just enough to whisper-hiss at her like a deranged spy. “Psst! Elena!”
She jumped about a foot in the air, nearly dropping her cleaning supplies. “Mrs. Everett!”
“Sorry, sorry!” I gestured her closer with what I hoped was a casual wave but probably looked more like a nervous twitch. “Could you… um… let me know when Jason leaves for work?”
She blinked at me, probably adding this to her mental list of Weird Things the Boss’ Wife Does Now. “Of course, Mrs. Everett.”
An hour of nervous pacing later—during which I’m pretty sure I wore a permanent path in the plush carpet—Elena knocked softly. “Mr. Everett has left for the office.”
I practically sprinted downstairs, my stomach staging a protest despite last night’s taco feast. Look, stress-eating is totally valid when you’re accidentally falling for the wrong character in your own story.
Gregory took one look at my face and wordlessly started preparing what turned out to be breakfast nirvana: French toast that would make angels weep, bacon so perfectly crispy it deserved its own social media account, and fresh berries that looked like they’d been personally selected by Mother Nature herself.
And the coffee? Let’s just say the cup was less morning beverage and more small caffeinated swimming pool.
“Gregory,” I said reverently, inhaling the coffee’s rich aroma, “if I weren’t already technically married to the hero of this story—I mean, to Jason—I’d propose right now.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “I’ll add that to my resume, Mrs. Everett.”
“Please do. Under Special Skills: Can cure existential crises with breakfast foods.”
Ninety minutes and one minor wardrobe crisis later, I emerged from Victoria’s closet wearing one of Olivia Drake’s designs—sleek black pants and a silk blouse that somehow managed to look both sophisticated and approachable.
My hair was braided in a loose style that made me look younger, softer.
Less “ice queen who alphabetizes her designer shoes” and more “actual human who might smile occasionally.”
Kate, Anna, and Sam’s approving looks suggested they’d noticed the change. Though Sam’s approval quickly turned to concern when I outlined my morning plans.
“You’re skipping the Metropolitan Ladies’ morning tea?” Sam asked as we drove toward Everett Tower. Her tone suggested I’d just announced plans to take up professional alligator wrestling. “To spy on people? Again?”
“It’s a very important spy mission,” I assured her. “Much more crucial than watching society matrons passive-aggressively compliment each other’s plastic surgery while pretending to drink tea.”
“But—”
“Actually, I need you to handle something else this morning.” I channeled Victoria’s most authoritative voice, the one that probably made junior executives cry. “Could you check on the… um… quarterly charity allocation reports? Very urgent. Many spreadsheets. Many numbers.”
Sam’s expression suggested she wasn’t buying my very professional excuse, but she nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Everett.”
I felt bad lying to her, but I couldn’t risk anyone knowing my real plan. Especially since my real plan involved bribing a maintenance worker to trap two people in an elevator like some sort of deranged romance novel fairy godmother.
As we pulled up to Everett Tower, I straightened my shoulders. Time to get this story back on track.
Even if the part of my heart that still tasted like horchata and midnight kisses wished it would stay derailed forever.
The Everett Tower lobby was as busy as a beehive designed by architects with a marble fetish. I tried to channel my inner spy movie heroine as I made my way to the reception desk, but it’s hard to be stealthy when you’re wearing designer silk and your face was recently viral on social media.
“Mrs. Everett!” Claire’s smile was genuine. “Another surprise visit?”
“Claire.” I glanced around before leaning in conspiratorially. “Quick question—you wouldn’t happen to know any of the maintenance guys here, would you?”
Her eyes lit up with interest. “Oh, you mean like Mike and Tony? They’re great—always helping me when my computer freezes or when Janet from Accounting jams the printer again.”
“Perfect.” I lowered my voice to what I hoped was an appropriately mysterious level. “Think they might be up for a little… strategic elevator maintenance?”
Ten minutes later, Claire, Mike the maintenance guy, and I were huddled in a corner like we were planning a casino heist instead of a romance novel intervention.
“So let me get this straight,” Mike whispered, though his whisper was about as subtle as a foghorn. “You want me to stop the elevator? On purpose?”
“Just temporarily,” I assured him. “Like a romantic little… technical difficulty.”
“For you and Mr. Everett?” Mike waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Trying to spice things up, eh?”
“What? No! I mean… it’s complicated.” How do you explain to a maintenance guy that you’re trying to get your husband together with his destined love interest because that’s what the plot demands?
“We should make a group chat,” Claire suggested, practically bouncing with excitement. “For coordination! Oh, and we should add Madison from the executive floor—she can let us know when Mr. Everett’s heading for the elevator.”
“A group chat?” I blinked. “For Operation: Elevator?”
“I was thinking more like Project Cupid’s Lift or maybe The Up and Down of Love?”
“Those are… definitely words that you just said.”
But Claire was already creating the group, her fingers flying over her phone screen. “We need code names! I’ll be Eagle Eye, Mike can be Tech Wizard, and you can be?—”
“Let’s maybe hold off on the code names,” I suggested quickly, though Mike looked disappointed. “But yes, adding Madison is smart. We need eyes up there.”
“Copy that, Eagle Eye,” Mike said with a wink, and Claire beamed.
With our covert operation set up—complete with a group chat that Claire had somehow already decorated with elevator and heart emojis—I headed for the executive floor.
This time, I didn’t try to hide as I walked past the cubicles.
Let them look. Victoria Everett visiting her husband’s office wasn’t exactly suspicious.
What was suspicious was the way my heart started doing that salsa dance again as I got closer to Jason’s office.
Focus, Zoe. You’re here to fix the plot, not make it more complicated.
But as I caught my reflection in a glass partition—young, fresh, almost glowing—I couldn’t help but remember how Jason had looked at me last night, like I was something precious and wild and…
My phone buzzed with a message from “Project Cupid’s Lift ????” group chat.
Claire: Eagle Eye in position! Tech Wizard standing by!
Mike: Elevators are go for Operation: Love Stuck
Madison: OMG, is this actually happening??? So exciting!!!
What had I gotten myself into?
The moment I saw Jason through his office door, my brain short-circuited like someone had dumped coffee on the master control panel.
He was bent over some reports, the morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catching the silver at his temples.
His jaw—that unfairly perfect jaw that I now knew exactly how it felt under my fingers—was set in concentration, one hand absently running through his dark hair in a way that made my fingers itch to do the same.
He looked powerful there behind his massive desk, every inch the commanding CEO in his perfectly tailored suit.
But there was something else too—a gentleness in the way his lips moved slightly as he read, the same gentleness I’d glimpsed last night before he’d kissed me senseless.
The contrast was doing dangerous things to my heart rate.
And those hands… I watched as he picked up his coffee cup, remembering exactly how those strong fingers had felt tangled in my hair, gripping my hips, pressing me against the wall…