Chapter 2 #3
“Speaking of losing your touch,” Julian shoots back. He pushes off the desk and straightens his tie, smirk widening. “How about you swing by the club this weekend? Leandra has been asking after you.”
The muscle in Dane’s jaw ticks once, but he doesn’t bite. He scrolls through another screen, ignoring the bait. My mind, however, is already buzzing with the name. Leandra. She probably walked straight out of the same factory as the Black brothers, a big, fat check in every box labeled ‘perfect’.
Julian catches me watching and grins, “Still alive, Sloane. I thought my brother would have buried you under a mountain of paperwork.”
I paste on a sweet smile, my tone veering into Stepford wife territory. “Oh no, Mr. Black is far too kind for that.”
Julian’s grin deepens, clearly catching the undercurrent, but it’s Dane’s reaction that freezes me. His gaze snaps to mine, the heat of it hitting me before he shuts it off. It tingles across my skin, like he’s cutting straight through the sugar to Ivy underneath.
“Speaking of paperwork,” Dane bites, his stare so chilling I take a step back. “Get back to the office and finish the Bexley report. I want it on my desk before I leave.”
“Yes, Mr. Black,” I reply like the perfect assistant, pleased to have an excuse to escape.
The trading floor buzzes around me as I scurry to the elevator, a storm of voices and ringing phones, but none of it registers.
Not when I can sense his eyes tracking me like he’s trying to decide whether I’ve been hiding someone he’s only now starting to see.
As soon as the elevator doors close, I let out a ragged breath, mouthing Sorry, Sloane, up to the ceiling. I knew I would be out of my depth today, but what I didn’t bank on was him. How his stare slides over my skin like the lightest touch.
Creative, free-spirited is usually my type. Not billionaires who radiate control and danger. Not men who make the threat of punishment seem like temptation.
With Sloane’s guidance, the rest of the day flies by as I get to grips with the Bexley report and the million other items on his to-do list. After today, I never want to hear the name Bexley again. And after Dane’s done with them, I probably never will.
Without Dane hovering, it’s easier to talk to Sloane.
I thought dance was exhausting, but this is a whole other form of mental tiredness.
I can’t wait to face-plant into my bed this evening and forget Dane Black ever existed.
My heart drops when Dane reappears about the time everyone else is getting ready to go home, looking as though he’s only just getting started.
He’s with Maria Hamel, the head of PR. A vamp beauty with blood-red lips and alabaster skin so pale she looks one sniff away from sinking her fangs into my neck.
They remain holed up in his office for what seems like hours.
Every so often, her irritating laugh cuts through the now deserted office.
What are they even laughing about? Probably reminiscing about all the people they’ve decimated in the last twenty-four hours.
I’m slumped at my desk, fingers aching from typing, brain fried, wondering if I’ll ever be allowed home again when he finally appears in the doorway. His jacket’s gone, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms, his hair falling over his forehead a little.
Maria struts out, tossing him a fawning smile, which he reciprocates.
Who knew he could actually smile? She flashes me a condescending smirk as she glides by, red stilettos clawing through the plush carpet.
I try my hardest not to react, but an involuntary eye roll forms, which I quickly play off as if I have something in my eye.
I bury my head behind my desk monitor, hammering my keyboard like I’m impossibly busy, ignoring the way my heart has kicked up a notch simply from his proximity.
Eventually, I risk a glance around the edge of the screen. He’s still there, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, twisted amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes—wearing that look again. The one that makes me feel like I’m prey, he hasn’t quite decided what to do with yet.
“Sloane.” He breaks the silence, his voice cracking like a whip. “Did you call the London and Zurich offices?”
“Yes, Mr. Black.”
“Edit my presentation.”
“Yes, Mr. Black.”
“You didn’t forget to email me the Bexley report.”
“No, Mr. Black.”
“You can go now.”
I flash him my fakest smile as he turns back to his office without another word, dismissing me like I’m nothing more than background noise.
The moment he’s out of earshot, I can’t help parroting under my breath, “Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags fucking full, sir.”
Immediately, his stride falters.
Then he pivots and closes the distance slowly. He plants both hands on my desk and leans in until his shadow swallows me.
And damn him for looking even sexier this close.
“Did you say something, Sloane?” His voice is low. Lethal.
Oh, God—there’s no way he heard.
I clear my throat, eyes wide and innocent. “Only that your schedule is... really full.”
He studies me, eyes darkening, jaw tight. “Keep it that way.”
“Yes, Mr. Black.”
There’s a charged pause as our gazes lock in a silent standoff, before I break first and look away.
“If that’s all, Mr. Black,” I say, my breath unsteady. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“For today, yes.” His mouth curves faintly. “But I suggest you get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
I exhale as he turns back to his office, puzzled by his last comment, but I shake it off. He must be referring to the endless paperwork. With him gone, Sloane will power through whatever’s left in no time.
Afraid that he’ll change his mind, I sling my handbag over my shoulder and hurry to the elevator, eager to visit Elsie and Sloane at the hospital.
Before the doors slide shut, I catch one last glimpse of Dane—every inch the ruler of his kingdom, reclined in his chair, feet on the desk, phone glued to his ear, one hand raking through his hair.
I’ve been counting down the seconds until this moment all day.
I don’t belong in this world.
Sloane’s world.
So why does my chest sink when the elevator doors glide shut and he slips out of view?