12. Xavier
Kim was gone.
One second she'd been standing by her desk, and the next she was a blur of gray fabric disappearing into the stairwell, the heavy door slamming behind her with a sound that echoed through the suddenly silent floor.
I stared after her, my mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. She'd looked at Cole Matthews and run. Not walked. Not excused herself politely. Run. Like she'd seen a ghost. Like she'd seen something worse than a ghost.
What the hell?
I dragged my gaze back to the investors. The older man—Harrison Webb, the senior partner—was frowning in the direction Kim had fled, clearly confused. His associate, a younger guy with an eager face and an overpriced briefcase, looked equally bewildered.
But Cole.
Cole wasn't confused at all.
He was staring at the stairwell door with an expression that made something cold settle in my stomach.
His jaw was slack, his eyes distant, fixed on the space where Kim had been standing moments ago.
There was a rawness there, a hunger almost. The look of a man watching something precious slip through his fingers.
I knew that look. I'd seen it in the mirror more times than I cared to admit.
"Mr. Dubois?" Harrison Webb's voice cut through the tension. "Is everything alright with your secretary?"
"Yes, she's fine. Probably just remembered an urgent phone call." The lie came easily, the way lies always did. "Shall we proceed to the conference room?"
I gestured down the hallway, playing the gracious host, but my attention stayed locked on Cole. He was still watching the stairwell door. Still wearing that expression.
"Mr. Matthews?" I kept my voice light. Casual. "Do you know my secretary?"
Cole blinked. The rawness in his face shuttered, replaced by something more composed. More careful. He was good-looking in a polished, corporate way—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who probably played rugby at some Ivy League school.
Strong jaw, straight nose, blue eyes that probably made women swoon. His suit was impeccable, charcoal gray, tailored to perfection.
I sized him up the way I sized up every potential threat. He was older than me by maybe five years. More established. Probably more stable.
But I was better looking. And I had better hair.
"Kim," Cole said slowly, like he was testing the shape of her name. "Yes. I knew her. A lifetime ago."
"Knew her how?"
Cole's expression shifted. Something flickered behind those blue eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt.
"She was someone I cared about. Deeply." He paused.
Swallowed. "And I did something terrible.
Messed the whole thing up. I've wanted to make amends for years, but...
" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure she'd want to hear from me. "
I felt the heat of competition flare in my chest. Another man. Another man who'd cared about Kim. Another man who was standing in my office, looking at my secretary—my fake girlfriend—like she was something he wanted to reclaim.
I straightened my shoulders. Lifted my chin.
I could win this. Whatever history they had, whatever Cole Matthews thought he could offer, I could do better. I was Xavier Dubois. I was charming, persistent, and I'd already made Kim smile more times than I could count. I had an advantage here. I had proximity. I had—
"How long ago was this?" I asked.
"Six years." Cole's voice was quiet. "We haven't seen each other in six years."
My heart dropped through the floor.
Six years.
Zoe was five.
The math wasn't complicated. Even I could do it. If Kim and Cole had been together six years ago, and something had ended badly, and then nine months later...
What if he was Zoe's father?
The thought hit me like a punch to the chest. Kim never talked about Zoe's dad.
Not once. Not a single detail, not a single hint.
I'd assumed he was out of the picture entirely—dead, maybe, or just gone.
I'd never imagined he might walk into my office wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit and talking about making amends.
How was I supposed to compete with that?
What could I offer Kim? Stability? I was a fake boyfriend with an expiration date. A future? I was playing pretend so I could collect my inheritance.
Cole Matthews was... what? A second chance? A father for Zoe? The man who'd broken Kim's heart coming back to put the pieces together?
"Mr. Dubois?" Harrison Webb again. "The conference room?"
I snapped back to the present. Forced a smile. "Of course. Right this way."
We walked down the hallway—me, Harrison Webb, the eager associate with the briefcase, Cole Matthews, and his lawyer, a thin man with sharp eyes who'd been so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was there.
Gerald Morrison was already waiting in the conference room, documents spread across the table in neat stacks. The old man had been handling Dubois legal affairs—personal and corporate—since before I was born. If grandmother trusted him with her will, Sebastian trusted him with the company.
I pulled out a chair and sat down, trying to focus. This was supposed to be my moment. Twenty million dollars. The deal that would prove I was more than a family name. The first real success I'd achieved on my own.
But all I could think about was Kim.
"Before we begin," Cole said, settling into the chair across from me, "I have to ask. Harrison mentioned something about a child—a little girl who was in the office during one of your calls. Is she..."
"Let's focus on the contract," I cut in. My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Cole raised an eyebrow. "I apologize. I didn't mean to pry. She just looked so much like—"
"The contract." I pulled the stack of papers toward me. "Harrison, walk me through the key terms."
Harrison Webb exchanged a glance with his associate. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, tension crackling beneath the surface of professional pleasantries. But they were businessmen. They knew when to push and when to let something go.
"Of course," Harrison said smoothly. "As outlined in section three..."
He began his explanation. Investment structure, equity percentages, board representation, milestone payments. I nodded in all the right places. Made notes I wouldn't remember. Asked questions that probably made sense.
But my mind was elsewhere. My mind was in the stairwell with Kim, wondering how far she'd run, wondering if she was okay, wondering what the hell had happened six years ago that could make her flee like that.
Cole kept watching me. I could feel his gaze, measuring, calculating. Trying to figure out what I was to Kim. Whether I was a threat.
Good. Let him wonder.
"...and if you'll turn to page forty-seven," Harrison continued, "you'll see the termination clauses—“
“Mr. Dubois, do you think I could speak to Kim?” Cole suddenly cut in. I hated the way he said her name. “I just need to…”
"I've read the contract," I said, loudly.
Gerald shifted in his seat beside me. "Mr. Dubois, perhaps we should review the liability sections more carefully. There are a few provisions that—"
"It's fine." I reached for a pen.
"Sir, I really must insist—"
"Gerald." I met his eyes. Held them. "It's fine."
I needed to get out of here. I needed to find Kim. I needed to make sure she was okay, needed to understand what was happening, needed to figure out how Cole Matthews fit into the picture, and whether I still had any chance at all.
The pen moved across the paper. Signature after signature, page after page. Cole signed his sections. Harrison Webb signed as witness. The lawyers exchanged documents, verified seals, and murmured about filing deadlines.
"Congratulations, Mr. Dubois." Harrison Webb extended his hand. "I think this is the beginning of a very profitable partnership."
I shook it. Smiled. Said something appropriate about looking forward to working together.
Cole was still watching me.
"I hope Kim is alright," he said quietly. "If you see her... tell her I'd like to talk. When she's ready."
I didn't respond. Just nodded once, curtly, and turned toward the door.
I found her in the break room.
She was standing by the window, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the city skyline. The afternoon light caught the side of her face, illuminating the tension in her jaw, the slight redness around her eyes. She'd been crying. Or close to it.
"Fancy seeing you here," I said from the doorway.
Kim didn't turn around. "Hey."
I stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. The break room was empty—no curious coworkers, no witnesses to whatever this conversation was about to become. Just the two of us and the distant hum of the coffee maker.
"Hiding out?"
Now she did turn. Her eyes narrowed, that familiar spark of defiance flickering to life. "I'm not hiding. I just needed a break."
"Right." I moved closer. Slowly, like approaching a wild animal. "A break that happened to coincide with our investors arriving."
"Coincidence."
"Kim."
"Xavier."
We stared at each other. Her chin was lifted, her shoulders squared, every line of her body radiating don't push me. But beneath the defiance, I could see the cracks. The tremor in her hands that she was trying to hide. The way she kept blinking, fast, like she was holding something back.
She wasn't going to tell me. Whatever history she had with Cole Matthews, whatever had made her run, she wasn't ready to share it. Maybe she'd never be ready. Maybe I'd spend the next three months of our fake relationship wondering, guessing, piecing together fragments that didn't quite fit.
That should have bothered me. It did bother me, somewhere beneath the surface. But right now, in this moment, it didn't matter.
What mattered was that she was hurting. And I couldn't fix it—didn't even know what it was—but I could do this.
I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms.
She went rigid. Every muscle in her body tensed, her hands coming up to press against my chest like she was about to push me away. I waited. Didn't let go. Just held her, one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head, and waited.
One second. Two. Three.
Then she softened.
It happened slowly, like ice melting. The tension drained out of her shoulders. Her hands stopped pushing and started gripping, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
She turned her face into my chest, and I felt her exhale—a shaky, uneven breath that seemed to carry the weight of six years.
I held her tighter.
I didn't know what Cole had done to her. Didn't know what their history was, what he'd broken, what he wanted to fix. I didn't know if he was Zoe's father, didn't know if Kim still had feelings for him, didn't know where I fit into any of this.
But I knew this: she was in my arms. She was letting me hold her. And for now, that was enough.
"I'm not going to ask," I said quietly, my lips close to her hair. She smelled like vanilla. Like something warm and sweet and entirely too good for me. "Whatever it is, whatever happened—you don't have to tell me. Not until you're ready."
Kim didn't respond. But her grip on my shirt tightened.
"I'll wait," I continued. "However long it takes. I'll wait until you trust me enough to tell me your story."
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn't crying. Not quite. She studied my face like she was searching for something—the lie, maybe. The angle. The hidden motive.
I let her look. Let her see whatever she needed to see.
"Why?" she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Why do you care?"
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being fake.
But I didn't say that. Couldn't. Some truths were too fragile to survive being spoken out loud.
Instead, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, "Because you're my favorite secretary. Obviously."
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Small. Reluctant. But there.
"I'm your only secretary."
"Details." I let my hand drop, but I didn't step back. Didn't put distance between us. "Come on. I'll drive you home."
"I have work to—"
"It can wait." I caught her hand. Squeezed it once. "Let me take you home, Kim. Please."
She looked at our joined hands. Then at my face. Then back at our hands.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay."
We walked out of the break room together. I kept hold of her hand, and she let me, and neither of us said a word about Cole Matthews or the contract I'd just signed or the questions still hanging in the air between us.
There would be time for answers later.
Right now, I just wanted to be the person she leaned on.
Even if I didn't deserve it yet.