Chapter 2
Orion
The woman in my arms weighed nothing compared to the chaos she’d just unleashed on my carefully controlled world.
Tashi George—marketing genius, accidental arsonist, and the owner of the most distracting curves I’d seen in forty-two years—had managed to turn my hotel into a crime scene, send my brothers and me a photo that would haunt my dreams for entirely unprofessional reasons, and nearly die in a fire.
All in her first twelve hours of employment.
I adjusted my grip as the ambulance hit another pothole, my thumb continuing those circles on her palm because stopping felt impossible. Her oxygen mask fogged with each breath, and I cataloged every sign of her recovery with the same obsessive attention I brought to quarterly reports.
Breathing: Regular.
Pulse: Strong.
Eye contact: Unfocused but present.
The soot streaking her skin should have written disaster on her face.
Instead, it highlighted cheekbones I’d noticed during our morning meeting, when she leaned over the revenue projections and I got an eyeful of her full cleavage.
It was then I’d lost track of Leo’s explanation of our Q3 marketing strategy.
The paramedic checked her blood pressure, and the sound of the blood pressure monitor pumping on her arm filled the tiny space.
Finally, he let the armband release with a hiss, then checked the oxygen meter he had stuck on her finger.
He pressed his lips together, and I didn’t like the dour expression on his face.
“What?” I said. There may have been an uncharacteristic note of worry in my voice.
“Vitals are stable,” the paramedic announced. “O2 stats are a little low, but that’s to be expected given what she’s been through. She’s lucky you got to her when you did.”
Lucky. Right. Because I’d been staring at that photo she sent—full breasts, one round brownish nipple displayed, crowning dangerous curves, a body that made me forget every professional boundary I’d ever established—when Ares had burst into my suite shouting about smoke detectors and security breaches.
My phone buzzed again. I checked it one-handed, keeping my other hand locked around Tashi’s.
Ares: Fire marshal suspects someone tampered with the microwave.
This wasn’t an accident. Ice slid down my spine. Someone had tried to hurt her. In our hotel. On her first day.
Me: Security footage?
Ares: Reviewing now. Multiple access points. Whoever did this knows our systems.
I looked down at Tashi, whose eyes had drifted closed behind the oxygen mask.
“Sir?” The paramedic’s voice pulled me back. “We’re almost there. I need to ask—is she on any medications? Does she have any allergies we should know about?”
“Food allergies,” I said, remembering her wine-only lunch. “She mentioned anaphylactic reactions. I don’t know specifics.”
The paramedic made notes. “I’ll mark her as NPO.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Latin is nil per os—nothing by mouth. That should do while she’s in the emergency room.”
The ambulance slowed, then stopped. Doors opened to reveal the emergency bay’s harsh fluorescent lighting and the organized chaos of a Las Vegas ER on a Thursday night.
They wheeled Tashi toward automatic doors while I stayed close.
A nurse tried to redirect me to the waiting area.
I gave her the look that made investors reconsider their negotiating positions. She stepped aside.
“Mr. Kolykos.” A doctor appeared, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral in that way that meant she recognized me and was pretending not to.
“I’m Dr. Reeves. I’ll be overseeing Ms. George’s care. If you’ll wait in—”
“I’m not waiting anywhere.” I kept my voice level, reasonable. “She’s my employee. She was injured in my hotel. I’m responsible for her medical care, and I’m not leaving until I know she’s stable.”
Dr. Reeves’s expression suggested she’d heard this speech before from concerned family members who weren’t actually family. “Sir, we have privacy regulations—”
“Then ask her.” I looked down at Tashi, whose eyes had opened again, still glassy from smoke inhalation but tracking our conversation. “Tashi, do you want me to stay, or should I wait outside?”
Her hand tightened around mine. The oxygen mask muffled her response into incomprehensible wheezing, but the grip on my fingers spoke clearly enough.
Dr. Reeves sighed. “Fine. But you stay out of the way and let us work.”
They transferred Tashi to an ER bed in a curtained-off section that smelled like antiseptic and desperation. Nurses moved with efficient precision—blood pressure cuff, IV line, oxygen saturation monitor, the choreography of emergency medicine playing out around us.
I stayed at the head of the bed, still holding her hand, watching her watch me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Embarrassment? Gratitude? Fear?
My phone buzzed.
Leo: Hotel’s secure. Guests are settled. Media’s already sniffing around. What do you want me to tell them?
Me: Nothing.
Leo: We can’t say nothing.
Me: Then tell them we can’t comment until the fire marshal has completed their investigation.
Leo: That’s worse. Makes us look like we’re hiding something.
Me: That’s the truth. And every real journalist out there knows it.
Leo: Fair. I’ll handle it. How’s our girl?
Our girl. The phrase hit differently than it should.
Me: Stable. Waiting on test results.
Leo: Good. Ares is losing his mind over the security breach. You know how he gets.
Me: Give me regular reports.
Leo: Aren’t you coming in?
Me: I’m not leaving her alone in a strange hospital.
Tashi George lay in the hospital bed with an oxygen mask, her dark curls matted with sweat and smoke. Her jacket hung from the back of a nearby chair, soot-streaked and scorched along the cuff.
A nurse checked her vitals, and I stood just outside the threshold of the hospital room, pretending I wasn’t imagining how soft her skin would feel beneath my palm. I should have stayed in the waiting room. Instead, I stood there watching her like a man who didn’t know better.
The pulse monitor beeped steadily. Her chest rose and fell in deep, shaky breaths. When she adjusted her position, her tank top shifted slightly, and I saw a flash of the photo she’d accidentally sent me. The image had burned through my phone and directly into my bloodstream.
I’d seen women pose. I’d seen women tease. This wasn’t that. It was raw, emotional, furious. A digital fuck-you from a woman who’d been pushed too far. And she sent it to the wrong people.
Or maybe the right ones.
My phone buzzed. I closed my eyes, willing the flood of heat in my chest to be just anger. Not panic. Not the primitive roar of territorial possessiveness that hadn’t let go since I carried her down those hotel stairs.
I turned and strode down the hall to the corner of the waiting area, thumbing a reply to Ares with lethal calm.
Me: Pull security footage. Elevator, hallway, anyone near her suite in the last 24 hours. I want names by the hour.
Ares: Copy. Already started.
I pocketed the phone and let the tension roll off my shoulders like smoke off a flame.
Then I made the mistake of returning to her doorway to gaze at her again.
Tashi. She shifted on the hospital bed, her thighs exposed beneath a navy-blue blanket, her fingers twisting the oxygen tubing.
Her eyes met mine for half a second—wide, wary, still ringed with smudges of black liner and ash.
She gave me a tiny nod. And that was it.
I stepped inside.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She pulled the mask down. “Like a baked potato. But less crisp.”
A laugh scraped my throat, surprising us both. She smiled, tired and wary, but it reached her eyes this time.
“Doctor says it was mostly smoke inhalation,” she continued. “Lungs are a little angry, but nothing permanent.”
I nodded, silent for a beat too long. The memory of her body pressed against mine as I carried her still clung to my hands. The scent of smoke in her curls, the way she had tucked herself under my chin like she belonged there. As if she trusted me.
“I should apologize,” she said suddenly, breaking eye contact. “About the—”
“Don’t,” I interrupted. “Not here. Not now.”
She bit her lip. That damned lip. “But I—I mean, it’s a fireable offense, and I completely understand if you do terminate my employment.”
“Tashi,” I said, stepping closer. My voice dropped. “This is Vegas. I see worse things by the hour. And you’ve heard the slogan, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide. I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. Because that photo didn’t make me angry. It didn’t make me judge her. It made me feel.
Desire, yes. That was the obvious part. But deeper than that? It was the look in her eyes in the photo. Rage and humiliation and power all tangled together. I knew someone had tried to hurt her on purpose, and every protective instinct I had surged up with a voice like thunder.
The air in the room turned colder. She looked down at her lap, then to the IV line in her hand. Her fingers curled tight.
“Even when I sext the group chat by mistake?” The smile returned to her face. Sharp and brave.
“Especially then.” I didn’t touch her, but I let my hand rest on the edge of the bed. Close enough that if she reached out, our fingers would meet.
She stared at my hand like it was a grenade with the pin pulled.
“I don’t understand,” she said finally. “I sent you—all three of you—a photo of my…” She gestured vaguely at her chest. “And then I nearly burned down your hotel. Most bosses would’ve escorted me out in handcuffs.”
“Most bosses,” I said carefully, “didn’t pull you out of that fire.”
Her eyes went liquid. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to make her cry.
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she whispered. “The hotel room is—I assume it’s destroyed. My stuff. My laptop. Everything I brought.”
The laptop. Christ. I hadn’t even thought about her belongings.
“We’ll handle it,” I said. “Insurance, replacements, whatever you need.”
“And where am I supposed to stay?” Her voice cracked. “I can’t afford another hotel. I spent everything I had getting here, and my first paycheck isn’t for two weeks, and—”
“Stop.” I moved closer, finally giving in and taking her hand. Her fingers were cold. “You’re not paying for anything. The hotel will cover your accommodations until we sort this out.”
“You mean until you fire me.”
“I’m not firing you, Tashi.”
“You should.” She pulled her hand back, wrapping both arms around herself like she was holding the pieces together. “I’m a disaster. A literal disaster; a fire-starting, inappropriate-sext-sending disaster.”
I wanted to tell her the fire wasn’t her fault. That someone had sabotaged that microwave deliberately. But the lawyers would have my ass if I admitted liability before the investigation concluded. So instead, I said, “You’re not a disaster. You’re having a bad day.”
She laughed, sharp and bitter. “A bad day. Right. That’s one way to describe professional suicide.”
“Tashi.” I waited until she looked at me. “Has it occurred to you that maybe—just maybe—we don’t want to fire you?”
Her eyes went wide. “Why not?”
Because when I carried you down those stairs, something shifted.
Because that photo showed me a woman who refuses to be a victim.
Because someone tried to hurt you and every protective instinct I have is screaming that you’re mine to keep safe.
I couldn’t say any of that.
“Because you’re good at your job,” I said instead. “And because what happened tonight wasn’t your fault.”
She studied my face like she was looking for the lie. I let her look.
“Okay,” she said finally, so quietly I almost missed it. “Okay.”
“Get some rest,” I told her. “We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she said, but her hand reached for mine again.
I took it. “I know.”
“Mr. Kolykos.” A nurse entered the room abruptly, wrecking that moment of intimacy. “We need to clean Ms. George. Please step out.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
“You should get a cup of coffee. She’ll be here a few more hours.”
“Fine. Where can I get one?”
“The café is down the hall. Take the first corridor on the right, then the next left.”
I followed the directions and found myself in a dour little room with vending machines and a cooler with sandwiches and salads.
“Café. Right,” I muttered. I poured a cup of coffee, black, and nearly gagged at the first sip. Not Vegas standards. I trashed the nearly filled cup.
My phone rang. Leo’s picture popped onto the screen.
“Conference call,” he said without preamble. “Ares is losing his shit. Hold on.”
A click, then Ares’s voice came through, tight with controlled fury. “Tell me she’s okay.”
“She’s stable,” I said. “Smoke inhalation, some burns on her hands from trying to put out the fire. They’re keeping her overnight for observation.”
“And you’re still there.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
“Orion—” Ares started.
“Don’t.” I cut him off. “We’re not having this conversation.”
A pause. Then Leo, diplomatically: “Security footage?”
“Nothing yet,” Ares said.
Damn.
“But why?” Leo said slowly. “She just arrived. Nobody even knows she exists yet.”
I shook my head because I had no answers.
“For what?” Leo’s frustration bled through. “Sabotage? Blackmail? This doesn’t make sense.”
“It will,” Ares said grimly. “Once we find the perp and make him talk.”
“What are we telling her?” Leo asked. “She’s going to have questions.”
“Nothing,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Orion—”
I cut Ares off again. “The lawyers will have to address this issue before we say anything publicly about the fire. We keep this quiet until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Silence on the line.
“He’s right,” Leo said finally. “If we play this wrong, we will lose the hotel.”
“I don’t like it,” Ares muttered.
“Neither do I,” I admitted. “But we do this by the book. Investigate quietly. Keep her safe. Figure out who the hell is targeting our hotel and why.”
“And the photo?” Leo’s voice carried a hint of amusement now. “We gonna talk about that?”
“No,” I said firmly.
“Because I have thoughts—”
“Save them.”
“She’s gorgeous, Orion. You saw it. We all saw it. And the way you’re acting—”
“Leo.” Warning.
He sighed. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“It is for tonight. I’m staying here. You two handle the hotel.”
“On it,” Ares said.
The line went dead.
I stood in that hallway, looking back toward Tashi’s room, and wondered what the hell I’d gotten us all into.
Tashi George wasn’t just a new hire anymore. She was mine to protect. And someone was going to pay for trying to take her from me.