Chapter 22 Violet
Chapter twenty-two
Violet
The sky darkens, and the heavens open as I sprint the last block to the coffee shop, where I have arranged to meet Millie.
Pushing through the door, I shiver, welcoming the rush of warmth and the rich, familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee.
My eyes sweep over the mostly empty tables, but there’s no sign of Millie.
Frowning, I check my phone, expecting a message. Nothing.
With a sigh, I order a latte and sink into one of the well-worn leather sofas, firing off a quick text.
ME
At the coffee shop, everything okay? You said Bittrade Coffee on Park Avenue, right? Cya soon :)
The barista calls my name, and I fetch my coffee, my gaze drifting to the rain-streaked windows. Outside, the skyscrapers blur to gray, their sharp edges softened by the relentless downpour. The steady hum of rain against the pavement mingles with the hiss and gurgle of the coffee machines.
It’s not like Millie to be late, especially when she was the one who insisted on meeting here.
I stir my coffee absentmindedly. The business district is a bit of an odd choice for a Saturday morning—not exactly our usual spot—but she said it was convenient.
Perhaps she’s putting in overtime. I know she’s been busy with a project recently.
I’ve decided I will tell her about Chase today, especially since I’m meeting him and Austen’s kids this afternoon, but that’s assuming she even shows.
But to be fair, I can’t put it off much longer without hurting her feelings.
I recheck my phone and refresh the screen, but still nothing. My fingers tighten around the device as I exhale sharply, my patience wearing thin. Outside, the rain intensifies, pounding the sidewalk in an unrelenting rhythm. Great. I’ll get drenched on the way home.
As I’m about to give up, the bell above the door jingles, drawing my gaze.
My pulse kicks up, hope flickering—but it dies just as quickly when I see a tall figure step inside, dressed all in black.
His umbrella obscures his face as he gives it a sharp shake, sending droplets scattering before sliding it into the stand by the door.
Then he looks up.
I do a double-take. Elliot Hargreaves. Knightwell’s fiercest competitor.
Chase’s biggest headache. My stomach knots instinctively.
I’ve always found him...pleasant enough—friendly, even.
Maybe a little too friendly. But I’ve heard the stories.
The kind of man who smiles as he buries the knife in your back.
His gaze lands on me immediately, and a wide grin spreads across his face.
“Violet,” he drawls, striding toward me with an easy confidence.
“What a lovely surprise. What brings you to this side of town?” He shrugs off his expensive jacket, slinging it over the chair across from me like he’s already decided to stay.
“Don’t tell me you are finally reconsidering my offer to tour our new offices?
” His hand disappears into his pocket, retrieving a sleek Goyard wallet.
He flips it open, sliding out a black card. “Let me get you a coffee, Violet.”
I stand, preparing to leave, when my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
MILLIE
Sorry! Got held up, be there in fifteen minutes.
Shoot. Now I don’t have an excuse to leave.
I plaster on a polite smile. “Thank you, Elliot, but I just had a coffee. I’m meeting a friend.” I emphasize the last part, hoping he gets the hint.
If he does, he chooses to ignore it. “Let me get you something else, then?” I hesitate. Leaving now would be rude, and Elliot thrives on pretending we’re all part of one big, happy business family. “Okay,” I relent. “A water would be great, thanks.”
He disappears to the counter and returns moments later—not just with a bottle of water, but with a plate piled high with delicate pastries. A fork rests on either side, as if this is some kind of shared indulgence.
“You have to try the cakes here,” he says, spearing a bite of sponge and waving it under my nose. “They use a classic French recipe—ensures the fluffiest texture.”
I take the fork from him, suppressing a sigh. As pushy as he is, the moment the vanilla sponge and strawberry cream hit my tongue, I nearly moan.
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth as I chew. “That’s delicious.”
Elliot smirks, nudging the plate closer. “Told you.”
I let myself take another bite, reasoning that I haven’t had breakfast, and this is too good to resist. As I chew, Elliot watches me, his coffee cup resting against his lips. There’s something unreadable in his expression, like he’s waiting for something.
“What brings you here on a Saturday morning?” He finally asks, setting his cup down.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” I say, glancing at my phone. “But she’s running late.”
“Of course, you already said.” The smirk doesn’t falter.
“I work here now. Our new building is just over there.” He gestures behind him to one of the sleek, towering skyscrapers like it’s nothing more than a street sign.
It’s easy to tell Elliot grew up steeped in wealth.
The confidence of knowing he’ll never want for anything.
I glance at it, impressed despite myself. “It’s incredible.”
“Thank you, Violet; I’m glad you’d like it.
” There’s pride in his tone, but also something else—something calculated.
“We strive to be the best, and that’s reflected in every area of the company.
” He reaches for a napkin and suddenly leans in toward me.
I stiffen, realizing he’s aiming to wipe the corner of my mouth.
Before he can, I swipe it out of his hand and do it myself.
Where the hell is Millie? This is beginning to piss me off now.
“How’s life at Knightwell?” Elliot asks, a sly curve to his mouth. “Everything going well?”
I keep my expression neutral. “Oh, you know, busy, busy.”
“Listen, Violet,” he says, his tone shifting. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but it’s highly likely that we’ll win the Monarch contract. And you must realize how huge that is in securing a dominant stake in the finance world.”
My stomach clenches. I don’t like where this is going.
“Well,” I say carefully, “it’s not over yet.”
Elliot’s smile widens, but there’s a sharpness to it. “If you came to work for us, you’d be involved in one of the most exciting projects in recent years. Your opportunity for growth would be limitless.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think—”
“Chase won’t fast-track you to success,” he interrupts. “He’ll use your brain, your talent, take everything you have to give... and keep all the credit for himself.” His tone hardens, eyes glittering. “Just like he’s always done. Built his empire on other people’s blood, sweat, and tears.”
My mouth opens before I can stop myself. “Why do you hate him so much?”
Elliot smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “I don’t.” His tone is measured, careful. “This isn’t personal. Hate and love have no relevance in business. In some ways, I admire him.”
My phone buzzes again, and I seize the distraction.
MILLIE
So sorry, Violet. I won’t make it after all. Just got hit with a killer migraine. I’ll make it up to you, I promise ;-)
Relief and disappointment war within me. Relief that I can finally escape this conversation. Disappointment that, even knowing Millie’s migraines are severe, a part of me still wishes she’d been here to save me from this.
“Everything okay?” Elliot asks, tilting his head.
I force a smile. “Yeah. My friend isn’t coming after all.”
“Shame. But that means you’re free, doesn’t it?”
I grab my bag, already standing. “Actually, I should get going.”
Elliot frowns. “At least let me give you a ride.”
“I’ll take the subway,” I blurt.
His lips quirk. “In this weather? Do you have an umbrella?”
I falter.
His smirk deepens. “Didn’t think so.” He grabs his from the stand and flicks it open as we step outside. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”
I hesitate, but there’s no arguing with him once he’s decided. “Fine,” I mutter.
The cold rain immediately lashes against my skin. Elliot angles the umbrella above us, standing a bit too close as we fall into step. The streetlights cast a dim glow on the slick pavement, and for a moment, the only sound is the steady drum of rain against fabric.
When we reach the subway entrance, he pulls a business card from his pocket. But instead of handing it to me, he flips it over, scrawls something onto the back, and presses it into my palm.
I glance down.
A job offer.
And the salary is staggering.
Elliot bows his head. “Think about it.”
I shove the card into my bag and step toward the subway entrance. “Have a good morning, Elliot.”
“I’ll see you around, Violet.” There’s a confidence in his tone I don’t like.
As I descend the stairs, I feel the weight of the card in my bag, like it’s burning a hole through the fabric.
Before my phone signal dies, it rings, Chase’s name appearing on my screen.
I let it ring a few times before I answer. Even though just seeing his name has my insides doing the samba, I don’t want to appear too keen.
“Chase,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Hey, baby.” His voice—silky smooth and just a little rough from travel—wraps around me, stirring something warm in my chest. It’s a reminder of how much I’ve missed him.
“How was Tokyo?”
“Fine. But jetlag is a bitch.”
“No better way to get rid of jetlag than spending an afternoon at a trampoline park with a four- and five-year-old,” I smile down the phone, the pathetic giddiness I’ve tried to avoid knotting through my veins.
He groans. “I really didn’t think it through.” There’s a pause, then his voice dips, edged with something teasing. “But you know how you can make it better?”
I already know where this is going, but anticipation still hums through me.
“Stay at mine tonight,” he confirms.
Gracie is staying at Gabi’s, so I don’t have an excuse. Not a real one. I’m not sure why I’ve been avoiding it—perhaps because it makes things seem too real, like I’m giving up the last scraps of control I have.
“Okay,” I agree, humor curling in my tone. “As long as you promise not to lock me in.”
“Don’t give me ideas,” his voice deepens, and my pulse picks up. My mind scrambles with something to say, but a subway delay announcement cuts through the silence instead.
“Where are you?” Chase asks.
“Oh, I met Millie for coffee, but I’m heading home now.” I leave out the part about Elliot. Chase would be livid if he thought Elliot was bothering me, and I don’t want anything ruining the afternoon. There’s a pause, like something in my tone has given me away.
“Is everything okay?” he says.
Guilt prickles at my skin. “Yeah. Just tired.” The lie sits heavy on my tongue.
He doesn’t push, but something lingers between us, unspoken.
“I should go,” I say. “My train will be here soon.”
“All right.” A beat. Then, softer, “I’m glad you’re staying.”
The words settle inside me, stirring something I can’t ignore like he sees what I’ve been trying to avoid—that I’m already in too deep.
I swallow. “Me too.”
As the line disconnects, the truth presses in.
I’ve already fallen, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.