Chapter 28
Everett
The door opens, and her apartment wraps around me. I've been here before. Helped her pack when she moved to the townhouse. But tonight feels different. Tonight, I'm not here as her employer or her fake date.
Tonight, I'm here as the man who almost lost her.
"I'll grab some things." She drops her bag on the futon. "Shouldn't take long."
I catch her wrist. Gentle. She turns, eyebrows raised.
"Margot."
"Yeah?"
The word I need won't form. Instead, I pull her closer. Her chest meets mine, and I feel the hitch in her breathing, the way her pulse jumps beneath my thumb where it rests against her wrist.
"I missed you," I say. Raw. True. "These past days…I missed you."
Her eyes search mine. "I missed you too."
She rises on her toes. Presses her mouth to mine.
The kiss starts gentle, a tentative, testing - but hunger surfaces fast. Hers and mine, tangled together. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. My fingers slide into her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the angle.
"Everett." My name against my lips, breathless. "I want…"
"Tell me." I pull back enough to see her face. Flushed. Eyes dark. "Tell me what you want."
"You." Simple. Devastating. "I want you."
The dam breaks.
I walk her backward toward the futon, hands mapping the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She tugs at my shirt, buttons giving way under her fingers. Fabric hits the floor. Mine, then hers. Skin to skin. The warmth of her against my chest steals my breath.
We tumble onto the futon together. It's too narrow, springs protesting under our combined weight, but neither of us cares.
Her hands trace the planes of my shoulders, my chest. I explore her in return - the softness of her breast, the dip of her waist, the responsive arch of her spine when I find places that make her gasp.
"Tell me if I should stop." I hover above her, braced on my forearms. "Tell me if this is too fast or…"
"Don't stop." Her legs wrap around my hips, pulling me down. "Don't you dare stop."
I take my time. Kiss the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat. Trace the path of her collarbone with my tongue. She trembles beneath me, fingers digging into my shoulders, breath coming in short bursts.
"Everett…please…"
"Patience." I smile against her skin. "I've been dreaming of this."
"So have I." Her hips roll against mine, and coherent thought scatters. "And I'm done waiting."
All control leaves. I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moan as I settle between her thighs. The heat of her threatens to undo me. I reach between us, fingers finding wetness, warmth, the evidence of how much she wants this.
Wants me.
She cries out at the first touch. Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat. I worship that throat with teeth and tongue while my fingers work her, still learning her rhythm, what makes her gasp and what makes her curse my name.
"Inside." The word breaks on a moan. "I want you inside."
I withdraw my hand. Reach for my wallet, take care of the details, as she watches eyes dark with want.
Then I'm pushing into her. Slow. Controlled. Savoring every inch, every sound she makes, the way her body yields and tightens around me.
"God…Margot…"
"Move." Her nails slide down my back. "Please. Move."
I do. Slow at first, letting her adjust, letting us both adjust to this new territory. But her hips meet mine, demanding more, and restraint becomes impossible.
We find our rhythm. Bodies moving together, the futon creaking beneath us. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in. She wraps herself around me, legs and arms and heat, holding me close as we chase the edge together.
"I'm close." Her voice breaks. "Everett, I'm…"
"Let go." I shift the angle, hitting deeper. "I've got you."
She shatters. I feel it in the way her body tightens, the cry that tears from her throat, the tremors that shake through her. The sight and sound and sensation of her coming undone drag me over with her. Release slams through me, white-hot and devastating.
We collapse together. Breathing hard. Tangled in each other.
I roll to the side, pulling her with me. She tucks against my chest, one leg thrown over mine, hair a wild mess across my shoulder.
"That was…" She stops. Laughs. Soft and wondering. "I don't have words."
"Neither do I." I press a kiss to her forehead. "Which is unusual."
"Mr. Always Has a Plan ran out of contingencies?"
"Completely."
We lie in comfortable silence while our breathing steadies. Outside, the city hums. Here, a saxophone starts up somewhere below.
"I should probably get up," she says without moving. "Pack some things."
"Or we could stay here." My hand traces lazy circles on her back. "The clothes can wait."
"Mmm. Tempting." She props herself on one elbow, looking down at me. "But we have work to do. Remember? Grant Sutherland?"
Reality crashes back. The leak. The threat. My jaw tightens. "Right. Grant."
She catches the shift in my expression. "Talk to me."
I sit up, pulling her with me. We wrap the quilt around ourselves.
"Grant's been gunning for my position for two years," I start. "Ever since the board passed him over for COO. He's competent. Ambitious. Ruthless when he needs to be."
"But why do this? It hurts people."
I run a hand through my hair. "I don’t think he even thought of that. He’s too busy positioning himself as the stable alternative. The safe choice. If he can make me look unreliable, unpredictable…"
"The board reconsiders your role." Her face pales. "Everett."
"I know." The weight settles across my shoulders. "Which is why we need to move fast. Prove the leak came from him. Get ahead of whatever he's planning next."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then her chin lifts. I’ve learned that stubborn tilt means something is going on.
"I want to help."
"Margot…"
"Not sit on the sidelines." Fire enters her voice. "Actually help. I'm not some damsel waiting to be rescued. I have skills. I have access. I can…"
"I know." I cup her face, cutting off the defensive spiral. "I know you can help. I'm counting on it."
The fight drains from her posture. "Oh."
"Did you think I was going to bench you?"
"Maybe?" She softens the words with a smile.
I lean in, kiss her once. Quick. "So. How do we catch him?"
Her eyes light up with the same expression she gets when directing. Strategic. Creative. "What do we know about him?"
"Corporate climber. Conservative values, or at least publicly. Married. Country club member. Very concerned with appearances."
"Appearances." She repeats the word, tasting it. "What if we fed him bad information? Something he couldn't resist leaking? Embarrass him?"
"A trap."
"Exactly." She shifts, pulling the sheet tighter. "Make him think he's getting insider intelligence, but it's actually…what? False merger details? Fake breakup news?"
I consider this. "The problem is proving he's the source. We need documentation. A clear trail."
"His wife." The words come out sudden, excited. "What about his wife?"
"What about her?"
"You said he values appearances. What if she's the weak link?" Margot's mind races. I can practically see the gears turning. "Does she know you? Would she trust you?"
"Not directly. But…" Pieces click together. "The Sutherlands belong to my club. A lot of the member’s and their wives use the spa services. Thursdays is a big day as I recall."
"Your club." Her eyebrows lift. "Of course you have a country club membership."
"Focus, playwright." But I'm smiling. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking…" She sits up straighter, quilt slipping. I force my gaze to stay on her face. "What if I became a member for the day? Your guest. Spa privileges."
"You want to befriend Mrs. Sutherland."
"Better." Her smile turns wicked. "I want to gain her trust. Play the nervous girlfriend who doesn't want to embarrass her powerful boyfriend at elite social functions. Ask for advice. Get her talking. Then…"
"Drop a story." Understanding dawns. "Something scandalous enough that she tells Grant. Something he can't resist leaking."
"And when it gets out…"
"We trace it back to him." My chest expands. "Margot. That's brilliant."
"Theater training." She grins. "Playing a role. Gaining trust. The long con."
I pull her against me, kissing her hard and deep. She melts into it, hands in my hair.
When we break apart, her eyes are bright. Dangerous.
"What would the fake information be?" she asks.
"Something destabilizing. Something that would make me look unstable or reckless." I think. "Maybe we're actually breaking up? Or I'm making risky merger moves?"
"Or we're eloping." Her grin widens. "Really lean into the instability angle. Make it scandalous."
"You're enjoying this."
"I'm enjoying having agency." She pokes my chest. "I've been the damsel. The assistant. The pretty date. Now? Now I get to be the spy."
Something warm unfolds in my chest. Pride. Admiration. Desire all over again.
"After tonight," I say slowly, "I feel like I have a partner in crime."
"Partners in crime sounds about right."
I pull her close, breathing her in. "The play's the thing."
She pulls back, eyes wide. "Did you just quote Hamlet?"
"Wherein we'll catch the conscience of the king." I meet her gaze. "Or in this case, a backstabbing executive."
Her laugh fills the small apartment. Bright. And unguarded. The sound I've missed more than I realized.
"Okay." She kisses me once more. "Let's do this. Let's catch a rat."
"Starting Monday. I'll add you to the club membership. Get your photo, credentials. I’ll check when Mrs. Sutherland uses the spa. You'll have some time to prepare."
"To become a convincing socialite wannabe who needs help navigating your world." She considers. "I can work with that."
"You're sure about this? It could backfire. If Grant realizes what we're doing…"
"Then we improvise." Her jaw sets. "I'm not letting him hurt you. Hurt us. Not without a fight."
Us. The word settles between us. Heavy. Real.
I stand, pulling her up with me. The quilt falls away.
"Pack your things," I say. "We have work to do."
She salutes, grinning. "Yes, sir."
"And Margot?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." The words come out rough. "For trusting me. For fighting with me instead of walking away."
Her expression softens. "Where else would I go? This is the most interesting gig I've ever had."
"Gig." I raise an eyebrow. "That what we're calling it now?"
"Partnership." She corrects. "Conspiracy. Revenge plot." Her smile turns wicked. "Take your pick."
I kiss her again. Slow. Deep. Promising more when we get home.
Grant Sutherland has no idea what's coming.