Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Holly
Every delicious ache in my body reminds me of last night—his mouth, his hands, the way he made me beg while gripping that hammer like it was the like it was the only anchor in a storm neither of us could escape.
My thighs quiver with each step, tiny aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me, each one a replay of him claiming every inch of my body.
Staring into my reflection, towel tucked around me, I search for the version of myself who's about to go make my father see what everyone else already knows.
"You know that towel isn't bulletproof, right?"
Chance's voice carries that gravelly edge that makes my the most sensitive parts of me flare to life.
"Pretty sure staring it down won't make it stop attacking your confidence."
My lips twitch. I adjust the towel, letting it ride higher. "The view's not bad though. Care to weigh in, soldier boy?"
His jaw ticks—once, twice. His eyes rake over me like I'm his next mission objective. Good. After what he did to me last night, turnabout's fair play.
"Special delivery." He dangles my favorite panties between his fingers—the Fall Out Boy lyrics making my heart skip.
"My manifestation panties? Bold choice."
"First pair I ever touched." He drops to his knee like he's pledging allegiance to my pussy. "You bet your sweet ass I'm going with these." He holds the cotton open. "Step in, Squirt."
His fingers trail fire up my calf as I step in, mapping every sensitive spot he discovered last night. When he hits the back of my knee, I almost collapse.
"Getting wobbly there?" The cocky bastard knows exactly what he's doing.
"Dream on, penetration man.” But my voice catches as his thumb circles my inner thigh.
He grins at my little flamingo friend. "Morning, Otis." He bumps fists with my tattoo like they're bros now. "Looking sharp today, my man."
My heart does this weird flip-flop thing that has nothing to do with his proximity to my lady bits and everything to do with how fucking adorable he is.
"Your brain's going a mile a minute up there." His breath fans hot against my hip, sending sparks shooting straight to my core. "But you've got this, Holly. You're a fucking force of nature."
The cotton drags higher, his knuckles grazing places that make me gasp. His teeth scrape the crease of my thigh and I swear I see stars.
"Chance..." It comes out more whimper than warning.
"They won't know what hit them." His hands smooth over my ass, adjusting the fit with way more attention than necessary. His fingers trace the lyrics spanning across my butt.
"Actually..." His palm cracks against my right cheek, the sting going straight to my clit. "These don't do you justice." He kneads the spot where he smacked, all possessive and shit. "You're so much more…”
I grip his shoulders as he rises, his body pressing into mine like he can't help himself. His fingers trail over the words again, each touch stealing my breath.
He kisses me hard and fast, leaving me dizzy. "Go be more then they bargained for." He steps back and pats my ass, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes darken as I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
He likes what I do to him as much as I like what he does to me.
Game on, soldier boy. Game on.
The library doors loom before me, heavy and imposing, their frosted glass panels revealing faint shadows within. My father's profile is unmistakable, solid and sure. Beside him, Blake's shorter frame shifts restlessly, wrapped in smug confidence.
I adjust my blazer, the crisp fabric steadying under my fingertips. My manifestation underwear holds the line acting like my personal battle cry.
Hell yes, I am.
Pushing open the doors, I stride in like I own the room—because by the end of this, I might as well. Blake's head snaps up, his smirk faltering before he reassembles his facade. My father turns, and for the first time in...maybe ever, surprise flickers across his face.
"Holly?" His voice edges with confusion as he glances between Blake and me. "What are you doing here?"
I set my laptop on the polished table, movements calm and deliberate. "Same as you, Dad. Pitching to Vaultress Global."
Blake leans back, smirk stretching wider. "Playing with the big boys today?"
My lips curve into a razor-sharp smile. "Funny thing about big boys," I meet his gaze dead-on, "they usually don't need to hack into laptops to keep up with the girls."
The color drains from Blake's face, his smirk freezing. My father's frown deepens. "What is she talking about?"
"Nothing," Blake interjects quickly—too quickly, voice tight.
Before my father can press further, the door swings open. Ethan Kendrick strides in—tech genius turned reluctant CEO. Hair too long to be conventional curls over his collar despite his suit. There's something unpolished about him—an edge that makes me think of well-worn jeans, flannel rolled to the elbows, and easy laughter over good beer.
He's younger than most CEOs I've worked with, but most noticeable is his barely restrained energy. Slightly abrupt movements, eyes darting and scanning faces. He's sharp and chaotic—too much.
Luckily, I speak his language.
The tension in my gut eases a fraction.
He doesn't waste time on pleasantries, his gaze sweeping the room. "Good morning. What are the chances, McAdams and McAdams?"
My lips twitch. "Yes, what are the chances, Dad?"
Ethan's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait—you all know each other?"
"Hi, I'm Holly McAdams. And this is my father, William McAdams."
Recognition flickers in his eyes as he shakes my hand. "I saw the same last names, but assumed if you were related, you'd be on the same side."
"Yes, that does seem like the natural order of things, doesn't it?" The irony is subtle—just enough to keep Blake squirming.
"Well, how about we get started? Ladies first."
"Not at all. Let them show me how it's done."
Blake goes first, all flash, no substance. He tosses buzzwords like confetti—streamlining, synergy, leveraging market dynamics. Corporate spaghetti thrown at walls. There's polish, but no soul. No depth.
My father speaks next. His tone shifts—steady, conservative, predictable. His decades of experience shine through, but the approach feels tired. He leans heavily on Blake to inject "youthful energy" into the proposal, only highlighting how formulaic it is.
Ethan nods along, expression polite but unreadable. "Thank you. It's comprehensive." His tone is neutral, almost detached. No spark. No excitement.
Blake shoots me a smug look. My father watches me carefully, his expression harder to read.
When Ethan gestures for me to begin, I don't dive into charts. Instead, I slide my laptop away and lean forward. "What inspired the name Vaultress Global?"
The question catches him off guard. His posture shifts, something raw flickering across his face—pride mixed with vulnerability.
"It was my great-grandmother. She was a cryptographer during World War II. Worked in intelligence, not that you could find out much about her. They didn't exactly give women credit for their accomplishments back then.”
Don’t look at your father… don’t look at your father… don’t look at your father…
“I’m sure she had plenty to say about that."
His eyes light up with easy laughter. "She did. Often punctuated by a middle finger." His voice lowers, laced with pride and sadness. "She used to say I wasn't out of step—I was just ahead of the beat."
I let his words hang in the air, watching the tension ease from his shoulders.
Has anyone ever asked him his why? I’m willing to bet not.
"Ethan, let's talk about maximizing your resources to live up to and honor what you’ve built—change the world, but ultimately, let’s make sure you’re grandmother doesn’t have one of those middle fingers aimed at you…”
He cracks a smile, the kind that makes me believe he’s holding back a laugh.
Good.
I turn to my first slide: Conservative: Steady & Secure. "This option is for stability. Low-risk investments, gradual growth. Reliable, predictable, resilient against market shifts."
His fingers tap softly against the table—subtle, but I notice. His mind is already moving forward.
Next slide: Moderate: Smart & Strategic. "Now, if you're willing to take calculated risks, we move into the moderate plan. A blend of conservative and ambitious investments—emerging markets, growth stocks, ETFs. Balance between innovation and security."
Ethan tilts his head, attention sharpening. "Emerging markets. Which ones specifically?"
"AI-driven cybersecurity and renewable energy. Both volatile, yes, but at the forefront of global innovation. With the right timing, massive opportunities for long-term growth."
His tapping stops, focus locked on me. There it is—the shift I waited for.
Finally, my last slide: Aggressive: Full Throttle. "For companies ready to push the envelope, this plan focuses on high-growth, high-reward opportunities. Small-cap stocks, renewable energy, disruptive tech—these are the arenas where leaders emerge."
Ethan's posture shifts completely. He leans forward, elbows on the table, full attention locked on me. "Disruptive tech. You're talking about risk-heavy investments."
"Exactly. But not reckless ones. This isn't about throwing money at every shiny innovation—it's about identifying game-changers before they hit the mainstream. Companies with potential to redefine industries. Like Vaultress has."
The corner of his mouth quirks up—the first hint of a smile. "And you think you can identify those game-changers?"
I meet his gaze head-on. "I know I can. Because I don't just look at numbers—I look at people. Their decisions, vision, grit. That's what makes or breaks an investment, what Vaultress needs to stay ahead. This plan isn't for the faint of heart, but neither is your company—or your great-grandmother."
Ethan leans back, lips curving into an almost amused smile. "Bold wins," he murmurs.
"Bold wins," I echo. "But only when paired with precision. That's where I come in."
The room falls silent. Ethan studies me, thumbs tapping together as if weighing every word. Finally, a glint appears in his eye. "You've given me a lot to think about."
He glances briefly at my father and Blake, both unnervingly quiet. My father's expression is neutral, but his gaze lingers thoughtfully.
Ethan rises. "I'll meet with my team and follow up during cocktails tonight on my decision."
As I gather my materials, my father catches my eye. He gives the faintest nod—subtle, almost imperceptible. But for him, it might as well be a standing ovation.
I don't let it show. I adjust my blazer, nod politely to Ethan, and walk out with my head high. Behind me, Blake mutters under his breath, but it's just noise.
This time, I don't need anyone's approval. I already know I'm the one they can't afford to lose.