Chapter 12
James
James gripped the leather steering wheel of his car so hard his knuckles turned white.
He sped through the city streets, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth.
The confrontation in the bakery played on a relentless, infuriating loop in his mind.
He hated the way Olivia had looked at him—no longer pliable, no longer eager to please, her eyes filled with a defiant clarity that made his stomach twist with unease.
And Leo. The mere thought of the man standing in that cramped office, acting like Olivia’s personal guard, sent a pulse of pure, unadulterated fury beating against James’s temples. He hated feeling undermined. He hated losing control of the narrative.
By the time he parked in the underground garage of Amanda’s upscale apartment building and rode the elevator to her floor, he was vibrating with pent-up aggression.
He unlocked her door with his spare key, pushing it open and slamming it shut behind him, sealing out the mess he had left across town.
Amanda walked out of the kitchen, holding a half-empty glass of Pinot Noir. She wore a sleek, dark crimson silk robe that clung perfectly to her curves, the fabric shimmering under the modern pendant lights. She smiled, her dark eyes lighting up with eager, calculating curiosity.
"Well?" she purred, taking a slow sip of her wine. "How did the lunch go? Did you handle her?"
James did not answer with words. He crossed the hardwood floor in three long strides, snatched the fragile wine glass from her fingers, and slammed it down onto the marble console table.
He grabbed her waist, hauling her flush against his body, and brought his mouth down on hers in a bruising, punishing kiss.
He needed this. He needed the distraction, the heat, the absolute validation that he was the one in charge. Their teeth clashed, their tongues tangled, and he tasted the rich, dry wine on her breath as he pushed her backward.
"Take your clothes off," he ordered, pulling back just enough to look into her flushed face. His chest heaved, his adrenaline still running dangerously high.
Amanda’s smile widened into a wicked, knowing smirk, but she refused to drop the subject. She reached for the knot at her waist, slowly untying the silk belt. "You didn't answer my question, James. How did it go?"
Irritation flared hot in his chest as the image of Olivia’s flour-dusted apron invaded his mind again. He slipped his tailored suit jacket off his shoulders, tossing it carelessly onto the pristine white sofa.
"Olivia is just being stubborn," James muttered, loosening his silk tie and yanking it from his collar. "She is throwing a tantrum and playing hard to get."
Amanda let the robe slide off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in nothing but a sheer black lace bra and matching panties. "So she didn't hand over the documents?"
"She thinks she has leverage," James scoffed, his fingers working quickly at the buttons of his crisp shirt.
"But she is crazy about me. She has spent the last five years obsessed with making me happy.
She is just acting out because she wants my attention, trying to prove a point.
She will come crawling back soon enough, and she will be the one apologizing for causing a scene. "
He stripped his shirt off, tossing it aside.
The cool air of the apartment hit his heated skin.
"I just need to play her game for a few more days, let her think she is winning.
Once I get around her and secure the paperwork, I can kick her out on my own terms. I am not letting her cause a corporate scandal just because she got her feelings hurt. "
Amanda reached behind her back, expertly unhooking her bra.
She let it fall to the floor, exposing her bare breasts.
Her dark eyes gleamed with raw, unfiltered satisfaction.
She loved his ambition; she fed on his ruthlessness.
She stepped right into his space, pressing her bare chest against his skin.
She grabbed the back of his neck, guiding his head down, offering herself to him.
James took her in, his mouth closing over her breast. His tongue swirled around the tight peak, sucking hard. The taste of her skin, the expensive perfume, the sheer, intoxicating willingness of her body—it was the exact antidote he needed to erase the humiliation of the afternoon.
Amanda let out a soft, throaty moan, her hands trailing down his stomach. She unbuckled his leather belt with a sharp flick of her wrist and dragged the zipper of his trousers down. She reached inside, her manicured fingers wrapping firmly around his hard, aching cock.
"Have I told you recently how much I love this all-powerful, game-controlling side of you?" Amanda murmured, her breath hot against his ear. She stroked him, her grip tight, demanding, and incredibly skilled. "I can't wait to see that little mouse finally put in her place."
Hearing her insult Olivia fed the ugliest, most arrogant parts of his ego. It ignited a dark, consuming passion inside him. James grabbed her hips, pulling her firmly down against his groin, relishing the burning friction between their bodies.
Then, he forced her backward, spinning her around and pinning her back against the cool painted drywall with ruthless precision. He looked into her dark, hungry eyes, feeling the power seep right back into his veins.
"It will be just the two of us very soon," James promised, his voice rough with absolute desire. "And nothing is going to get in the way of our plans."
He didn't wait for a reply. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her off the floor.
Amanda wrapped her long legs around his waist, letting out a sharp gasp as he shoved her panties aside and thrust deep inside her in one brutal, unyielding motion.
The breath was knocked from her lungs, replaced instantly by a loud, echoing moan.
James hammered into her, pinning her to the wall, his hands gripping her bare ass with bruising force.
The room filled with the wet, harsh sound of their bodies slapping together.
Every frantic, punishing thrust was driven by his desperate need to dominate, to conquer, to prove that he was untouchable.
Amanda dug her nails into his shoulders, her head thrown back against the drywall, matching his relentless rhythm.
He fucked her with a wild, selfish passion, burying himself as deep as he could go, losing himself in the blinding heat and the undeniable reality that here, in this room, he was a god.
***
Olivia
For the past three days, Leo had insisted on driving Olivia to the bakery every morning and picking her up every evening.
Olivia had tried to argue. She insisted she could drive herself, that she could manage, and that he had a business to run.
But Leo refused to let her travel alone while James was acting unpredictable.
He was protective, but he was not controlling.
He did not order her around or demand compliance.
He asked, he gave her options, but he made it clear he was not comfortable leaving her unprotected.
Every time she tried to push back, Leo answered in a way that made her feel cared for rather than cornered.
Still, every evening when he brought her back to his house, Olivia went straight to the guest room. She did not linger in the kitchen or sit with him in the living room. She told herself she was just being polite, giving him his space after work.
The truth was more complicated.
Olivia knew Brooklyn was staying in the guest house out back.
Even though Leo had told her Brooklyn was only a friend, Olivia still felt like she was intruding.
She did not want to take up space in his home.
She did not want to interrupt whatever dynamic he had with the beautiful, confident woman living fifty feet away.
Most of all, she did not want to be the broken, crying married woman staying under his roof while someone else was nearby.
She was deeply grateful for Leo. She felt safe with him. But beneath the safety, she felt embarrassed, displaced, and unsure of where she belonged.
It was a little past eight in the evening when Leo unlocked his front door.
Olivia followed him inside. She was exhausted from another long day of pretending to function. Her body ached from standing in the kitchen, her mind was full of unread messages from lawyers, and her heart felt bruised from everything she was not ready to process.
As soon as they stepped inside, Olivia turned toward the stairs, ready to disappear into her room like she had done every night.
Before she could reach the first step, Leo gently caught her arm.
His touch was careful, light enough that she could have easily pulled away. Olivia stopped and turned around.
Leo studied her face, his icy blue eyes taking in her exhaustion. "That's enough of running away."
Olivia tried to deflect, offering a tired smile. "I'm not running away. I'm just tired. I don't want to bother you. I know you have things to do tonight."
Leo did not let her hide behind the excuse. "You're not bothering me, Liv." He dropped his hand from her arm. "You are helping me make dinner."
"Leo, I really don't—"
"I already took the chicken out," Leo continued, walking toward the kitchen as if it had already been decided, though he left her the room to refuse if she truly wanted to. "Wash your hands. You're on biscuit duty."
Olivia let out a soft sigh, the fight draining out of her. She followed him into the warm light of the kitchen. "What are we making?"
"Chicken pot pie," Leo said, pulling a large cast-iron skillet from the cabinet. "With a biscuit topping. The recipe is decent, but I fully expect you to insult it."
Olivia tied an apron over her clothes and moved to the island. "I don't insult food, Leo. I just offer constructive culinary criticism."