Chapter 1 #2
As I exit the elevator and walk onto the top floor that had once been occupied by Braxton, I tighten my jaw.
The man was insistent on using the entire floor as his office, a monument to his own ego.
Despite his age, he was never without a companion on his arm—the ‘flavor of the week’ as he so charmingly put it.
But as I walk through the hallway today, all the pictures of the scantily clad models that he had slept with at some point—his trophy wall—are gone.
The doors on either side of me are closed, and at the end of the hallway sits a small office that belongs to the CEO’s assistant.
The woman behind the desk is a sharp-eyed brunette with a pixie cut framing her angular face perfectly.
She looks to be the same age as me, if not a little older.
Her crisp white blouse doesn’t have a single crease in it, and her pencil skirt goes past her knees—a refreshing change from Braxton’s preferred dress code.
At least that confirms one thing: this CEO isn’t going to be obsessed with the hemlines of his employees.
“Miss Thorne,” the woman greets me politely, her brown eyes calm and steady like still water. “My name is Clarice Jameson. The CEO is waiting for you.”
Clarice. The woman who sent me that email.
I’ve been to my fair share of meetings, enough to read the undercurrents and power plays. For a moment, I find it odd that she doesn’t refer to the CEO by his last name. However, the momentary confusion vanishes as I look at the imposing door before me. “Thanks.”
“Are these the files you were asked to compile?” Clarice asks, holding her hand out.
“Yes,” I reply curtly. “And more. I’ll hand them over to him myself, if you don’t mind.”
She gives me a polite smile. “Of course, right this way.”
She opens the door for me, announcing clearly, “Miss Thorne is here to see you.”
Braxton’s room has been stripped clean of his gaudy decorations and personal photographs.
The only things remaining are the sofa set, the imposing mahogany desk, the glass coffee table, and his leather chair—all quality pieces that speak to the company’s success in the luxury yacht market.
The new CEO has his back to me, his hands folded behind him, as he looks out the floor-to-ceiling window at Manhattan’s skyline shimmering in the heat.
Even with his back to me, his presence is commanding, filling the space with an energy that makes the air feel charged.
His suit is perfectly tailored to him, cutting an attractive figure that speaks of money and power.
The man clearly looks after himself, and in my eyes, that means he’s got discipline.
He’s also quite secretive since no matter how much I tried to research, I could find no trace or record of the acquisition online.
“Thank you, Clarice. You can go now.”
That deep baritone voice has me jerking like I’ve been struck by lightning. I know it. I know it all too well, the way it used to whisper my name in the dark, the way it used to make promises it never intended to keep.
“Wait—” But Clarice is already closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with the man who sounds far too much like someone I know.
Someone I never wanted to see again.
He turns around slowly, like he’s savoring the moment.
“Ethan,” I breathe, a wave of shock and anger washing over me like ice water, followed immediately by a heat that I refuse to acknowledge.
Five years have done absolutely nothing to diminish his looks, and I curse whatever cosmic joke this is.
I had secretly hoped that if we ever met again, he would have grown warts and broken his nose at some point, but I’m deeply disappointed.
If anything, he looks better—a little older, but his amber eyes are still as sharp and piercing as I remember, like they can see straight through to my soul.
His dark hair is slicked back stylishly, and the only thing slightly different about him is the trim beard that frames his jaw.
I hate that it adds to his physical appeal, hate that my treacherous body still responds to the sight of him.
One look at him has my heart skipping a beat in a rhythm I’d forgotten.
But it’s followed immediately by a hollow pain, a scar that’s never healed in all these years, still raw and aching .
He studies me with those predatory eyes, taking in every detail like he’s cataloguing changes. “Natalie.”
The lingering silence stretches between us, and I can tell he’s waiting for a reaction. Well, I’ll be damned if I give him what he wants.
When I just stare at him, the corner of his lips twitch in that familiar almost-smile that used to make my knees weak. “You’re not even going to greet me? I thought we were closer than that.”
My voice is cool, fused with an indifference that takes every ounce of my strength to muster. “You called me to your office, Mr. Wilder. What can I help you with?”
Ethan tilts his head slightly, like he’s examining a particularly interesting specimen, before placing his hands in his pockets. The gesture draws my attention to his body, and I curse myself for noticing.
His jacket is hanging from the back of his chair, his grey waistcoat properly buttoned, revealing his trim figure that speaks of expensive gym memberships and personal trainers.
He always cut a striking image even back then—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of confidence that came from never being told no.
Maybe that’s what attracted me to him in the first place.
Or maybe it was because out of all the women he could have had, he chose me.
Of course, I know better now. He never wanted me—not really.
I was just a means to an end. A part of me, despite the hurt and heartache, has always been viciously satisfied that he never got what he wanted from me.
He bedded his ex-best friend’s younger sister and got nothing out of it.
Aside from an unsatisfactory sexual experience, that is.
“The Head of Human Resources,” Ethan says casually, but there’s something predatory in his tone. “You have quite a reputation in the industry. Why this company?”
“Is this an interview, Sir?” I ask with a level tone. “Are you trying to assess whether or not to keep me on? ”
“Sir?” Ethan repeats softly, and there’s something dangerous in the way he holds my gaze.
Despite the fury bubbling within me like molten lava, I feel a jolt of unwanted attraction that makes me want to scream.
He always had this effect on me, this ability to make me lose my carefully constructed control.
I had hoped that five years and the callous way in which he used me would have knocked some sense into me.
I guess my body doesn’t agree with my brain.
His eyes probe me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. “I’m curious as to why you were willing to work with a blatant womanizer. Braxton Thompson’s reputation is quite well-known in certain circles.”
“Ah.” The realization hits me like a slap, and my anger sharpens to a fine point. “You want to know if I slept my way to the top?”
I shift my weight to my other leg, my eyes flashing. “After an MBA and a Masters in Human Resources, I didn’t see the need to sleep my way anywhere. And I’ve become quite selective about my lovers. I don’t let just anybody into my bed anymore.”
The implication hangs in the air between us, and I watch as Ethan’s mouth sets in a hard line, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “I see.”
“Is that all?” I ask sweetly, injecting just enough venom to make it clear I’m done with this conversation.
“No,” he replies shortly, his voice dropping to that tone I remember all too well. “Before leaving, Braxton gave me a list of employees he considered incompetent. Your name was on that list.”
I just stare at him, drawing on every acting class I never took to keep my composure. It’s taking every ounce of my self-control to keep my raging emotions in check in front of him.
Ethan walks over to his desk, picking up a file and retrieving a single paper from it, holding it out to me.
His fingers brush mine as I take it, and I hate the way my skin tingles at the contact.
Reluctantly, I focus on the paper. Layla hadn’t been able to procure this list no matter who she contacted this morning, so it’s my first time seeing it.
Fury twists within me as my eyes run over the names, hot and vicious.
They’re all women.
Every single name on this list belongs to a woman—women who had the audacity to tell Braxton Thompson no, women who chose professionalism over his advances.
I was wrong in thinking Braxton was just a coward. He deserves a special place in hell. On his way out, he made sure to target all the women who refused to spread their legs for him. Vindictive asshole doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Iris’s name is on the list, as well as my assistant’s. Mine, however, is at the very top, underlined twice, like he wanted to make sure it got special attention.
“How lovely,” I murmur, disgust dripping from my voice like acid before looking up at Ethan. “Am I to understand that you’re planning to fire everyone on this list?”
“You are the head of HR. You tell me.” His voice is deceptively casual. “Is everyone on this list incompetent?”
“No.” The word comes out flat and definitive.
Without missing a beat, Ethan plucks the paper out of my hands and tears it in half before throwing it in the trash bin beside his desk. His actions take me completely by surprise. “What are you doing?”
“You just told me they weren’t incompetent. I would rather believe you over that old pervert.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something almost respectful in his gaze. “It didn’t escape my notice that all the names on this list belong to women.”
I glance at the trash bin before turning my attention back to him, trying to process this unexpected turn. “Are you planning to make cuts?”