Chapter 11 Chase
Chapter eleven
Chase
The whiskey glides down smoothly, spreading warmth through my chest as I swirl the glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
Around me, the senior executive team is deep in discussion, dissecting our favorite topic of the moment.
Tonight, the grand ballroom at the Waldorf is nothing more than an extension of our boardroom—only with better lighting and a more expensive guest list. Our usual Jamaican coffees have been traded for Macallan and Krug, but indulgence like this stopped impressing us long ago. It’s expected.
What really makes our mouths water, what has us shifting in our seats, blood thrumming with anticipation, isn’t the luxury surrounding us—it’s the hunt—the high of the chase, the thrill of the game.
The Monarch deal is within touching distance, and there’s nothing more exhilarating than knowing we’re in touching distance.
“Monarch are dragging their feet,” Fergus mutters, rolling the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. “But it’s all posturing. They’ll sign.”
“They’re waiting to see how badly we want it,” Austen corrects, stretching an arm across the back of his chair. “Which is why we don’t blink. They’ll fold.”
“They don’t have a choice,” Jessica, our chief legal counsel, muses. “Our proposal wipes the floor with their other offers. It’s simply a matter of refining the edges.”
“They’re still holding that executive retreat in New Paltz next month,” Fergus adds. “If we don’t have them locked in by then, we’ll be negotiating on their timeline.”
Austen leans back, rolling his whiskey glass between his fingers. “Then let’s not give them that chance.”
He glances my way before adding, “I was thinking of taking Violet Harper along. She can present the software herself.”
He’s watching me as he says it, carefully, like he’s testing something, waiting to see if I react.
I keep my expression neutral. “She’s not senior enough for that.”
Austen lifts a brow, unconvinced. “She developed the core algorithm. It makes sense.” A slight pause. “Unless you think it’s a bad idea?”
A calculated question. And the bastard holds my gaze a second too long, like he’s reading between the lines. Like he knows.
The problem is, it isn’t a bad idea. It’s the logical move. But the thought of Violet in my sights for an entire weekend has something unfamiliar curling in my gut.
She’d be fine. Violet is smart. She doesn’t need me looking out for her.
But I can still taste her. Hear her soft whimpers as I ground her into the wall. Feel her heat against mine.
I exhale slowly, setting my glass down. “You’re the CTO, Austen. If you think it’s necessary, then so be it. But if they want a software demo, perhaps the entire team should be there.”
He simply nods, watching me with that same quiet scrutiny. Austen knows me better than I know myself sometimes. He can see I’m not myself around Violet.
A soft hand lands on my forearm. “You all talk too much about work,” Rosanna cuts in. “It’s a gala. Let’s enjoy it.”
I lift my glass, ignoring the way she angles her body toward mine, the way she’s been playing the role of the doting date all night. She’s here because of her ambassador role, nothing more, but she’s treating it like something else entirely.
I need space.
Without a word, I push back from the table and stand. Rosanna’s gaze flicks up to me, expectant, but I don’t spare her a glance as I step toward the open balcony.
Below, the masquerade is in full swing. A sea of masked figures moves beneath the chandeliers, light fracturing across silk and sequins. The energy is electric, chaotic, a world away from the controlled space I just left.
But then a figure cuts through the haze, wearing a dress that seems like it was tailored to test all my limits.
It clings to her like liquid night, hugging every curve tightly with a sexy scooped-out back that has my fingers itching to trail her silky skin.
Even from this distance, I sense it—the pull, the slow, smoldering gravity of her.
Violet.
She doesn’t see me. Not yet. But I see her.
And suddenly, nothing else matters.
For a second, I remember the last time I held her close. The way she melted against me before pushing me away.
My fingers flex around my glass.
“Chase Knight,” a voice purrs behind me.
I don’t turn immediately. I already know who it is.
Vanessa Sinclair, a high society party girl whose favorite hobby is billionaires.
I made the mistake of fucking her about five years ago, and she’s never let me forget it.
My irritation flares at how she got an invitation, but then I remember Fergus, our CFO, has been pining to get her under him.
If I recall, she was recently married, and Fergus loves nothing more than the challenge of a married woman.
Unfortunately for Fergus and myself, she’s still clearly focused on me.
Her dress brushes against my sleeve as she sidles next to me, leaning in.
She smells expensive—something floral, a little too calculated.
Her dark hair gleams under the light, but her once-striking face now has so much filler I’m concerned she may melt if she gets too close to the candelabras.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she whines, her mouth so close, her tongue is almost down my ear.
I take a sip of whiskey. “Maybe that should tell you something.”
She hums, tilting her head. “You always did like to play hard to get, Chase.”
“No, Vanessa, I never play hard to get. If I want something, I take it.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Immediately, I see the excited spark in her eyes.
“How’s married life, Vanessa?” I ask, shifting tactics, hoping the mention of her newly signed, legally binding contract might inject some sense into her.
“My husband’s away for at least a week.” The way her nails scrape over my biceps leaves no room for misinterpretation.
“Vanessa, you know I’m not interested in married women.”
“Oh, Chase,” she tsks, tilting her head. “Why be such a bore?”
A deep frown tugs at my brow as my gaze drops to Violet.
Ryan—sales, I think—slinks up behind her, the same guy who got too close to her at the company summit and made me want to put his head through a wall.
She jolts away the moment his hands graze her shoulders.
Good girl. But then she turns, her face lighting up with a wide, easy grin the second she realizes it’s him.
My grip tightens around my glass as he spins her again, and she stumbles into him, laughing.
For a moment, the chatter around me fades to static. The only sound is the measured control of my breath, the hard press of my teeth as I fight to contain the impulse clawing its way up my spine.
“You want her?” Vanessa’s voice slips through the red mist, laced with amused surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” My voice is tight, my control fraying, but I still can’t look away.
And neither can Violet. The second her eyes meet mine, I feel it—she feels it.
She’s trying to ignore me, to pretend I’m not there, but it’s useless.
Her gaze keeps darting back, drawn in by something neither of us can seem to fight.
Vanessa claps her hands, exhaling a quiet laugh, stepping in even closer. “Well, well. She’s unexpected.”
I say nothing.
She shifts herself toward me, lips brushing close to my ear.
“Oh, but I can see the attraction,” she murmurs, the words rolling over her tongue like a slow seduction.
“Those firm, perfect tits. Such a peachy ass. And those full, red lips? They’d look even better wrapped around that fat cock of yours. ”
My gaze snaps to her, sharp and cutting. She smirks. She knows exactly what she’s doing. And even though I’m aware she’s baiting me, my cock swells impossibly hard at the image she’s planted. Fuck. Now I’m angry and horny—the worst possible combination.
“I don’t mind sharing,” she whispers. “If she’s as fun as she looks.”
My jaw locks. “Walk away, Vanessa, before I have you thrown out. No one will lay a damn finger on Violet except me. If anyone so much as breathes on her, I’ll rip their fucking hands off.”
Her eyes widen, her smirk faltering. “You actually like her?”
But I’m not listening to Vanessa anymore. I take a step closer to the balcony when I see Violet disappearing down a hallway.
And before I even have time to think, my feet are moving.
Right towards her.