Chapter 9
Ambrose
Ihad never cared for the whispers—those small, frightened minds who think they know what demons were. Who we were. They looked at me and saw sin. And maybe they were right. Perhaps I was beyond redemption.
I exhaled slowly, the weight of restraint pressing into my chest like iron. The leather creaks beneath me as I leaned back in my chair, letting the stillness settle in around me.
My eyes found her instinctively, as they always do.
She sat only fifteen feet away, the glow of her screen lighting her face, fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. So efficient. So focused. So painfully unaware that she was the most dangerous thing in this building—and that was saying something, considering I was in it.
She didn’t know how beautiful her scent was. The smell of a garden. Flowers masked by my pheromones, like a single peony in a dark forest.
And every day I breathed her in without touching her, it felt like being starved with a feast inches from my lips.
How could I not know that it was her that night?
And when she had touched me—when she had welcomed my touch—it was as though for the first time I finally understood what it meant to see redemption.
And underworld help me, I wanted to be saved.
I reached for my phone, already knowing I shouldn’t. Already knowing I would.
Her profile opened with a touch.
I smirked, half against my will. My thumb hovered. Typed. Sent.
Are you available this week?
I hit send and lifted my gaze just in time to see her glance down at the screen. A flicker. If I hadn’t been watching her so closely, I might’ve missed it—the smallest, quickest dart of her eyes toward me.
Such a telling little liar.
I looked back down at my phone, giving her the illusion of privacy. And just as I expected, when she thought I was no longer watching, her reply lit up the screen.
Possibly…Are you okay?
A cough rumbled out of me, masking the low laugh clawing up my throat.
Okay?
I felt more alive than I had in years. The ache in my chest—the suffocating pressure of my pheromones trying to claw their way out—gone.
Her touch healed me.
And yet, here I was, still starving.
I prefer to be preventative with these things.
I might be free tomorrow night.
“Might be?”
Do not tell me you wish me to beg. Not that I wouldn’t do it.
Maybe I like a man willing to be on his knees.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
She’s going to kill me.
Do not tempt me to call you here now, Flower.
Well as much as I would like to receive that call, I don’t think I could escape without my boss noticing.
Oh?
My gaze lifted. She was chewing the inside of her cheek. A tell. She was trying too hard to look like she was just answering emails.
I went still. The quiet stretched thin. Then I typed—
Is your boss challenging?
Actually, no. Strict, in love with his rules, sure. But you can tell he cares about his work.
About you, I wanted to type. Not work. About every breath you take in this damn building.
And what about you? What do you care about?
Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that one out.
I paused, my thumb hovering over the screen. No more games, not right now.
I slid my chair back, stood, and pressed the intercom.
My voice came out smooth, calm. Dangerous only if you knew what to listen for.
“Harper, can you come here?”
Her head jerked up, startled.
She swallowed, cheeks flushing as she nodded quickly, gathering her phone and notebook like this is just another routine meeting. Like I was not the man who made her moan and cry out in pleasure as her face was pressed into my couch.
She entered a moment later, stepping into my space with that same unsure boldness she wore that night.
“Close the door.”
It shut with a soft click.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I took a slow step forward. Then another.
She stayed where she was. Brave little flower.
Stopping just short of touching her, eyes locked on hers, I watched as they flickered with recognition. With need.
“Well, what do you think?”
Her eyebrows furrowed as she canted her head to the side.
“About?”
The corners of my mouth lifted. “Your company’s new scent. I am wearing it. What is it missing?”
Understanding flashed across her face as her eyes found mind. Her lashes lowered, she stepped closer. Close enough that the hem of her skirt brushed my pant leg.
“May I?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded once. Just once. Anything more and I might have forgotten how to breathe.
Tilting her face toward me, her nose brushed along the line of my jaw—not fully touching, just hovering—before she drew in a breath. Slow. Measured. Lethal.
Her eyes fluttered shut as the scent registered. “It’s different,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “Less sharp. More… grounded. Warm.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked, watching the subtle movement of her lips as she spoke.
“I think so.” Her brow furrowed as she thought it through, stepping into that place where instinct meets intellect.
“It’s masculine, obviously, but not aggressive.
There’s a softness underneath it—like earth and smoke and something slightly sweet…
maybe vanilla?” She tilted her head in consideration.
“But then there’s something colder under all that.
Not unpleasant. Just… far off. Like you’re standing in a warm room, but you haven’t taken your coat off yet. ”
Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, unsure. “Sorry. That probably doesn’t help.”
“No,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “It helps.”
Her brows pinched together as she breathed in again, this time more deliberate. “It’s missing something,” she murmured.
My brows lifted. “What?”
She paused, eyes narrowing in thought as she considered.
“I don’t know. Something intimate to really tie it together.
“Musk? Maybe amber? It’s already got a hint of vanilla, but I think the addition of the labdanum and benzoin that make up the rest of amber scent accord would make it complete.
And you know what they say— the warm, powdery, sweet scent of amber has a unique and sensual quality.
Add that in and I think you got the next best seller. ”
“I knew there was a reason I hired you.”
“Oh?” She asked, turning to leave—her hips swaying with her movements. “And here I thought it was for my killer good looks and charming personality.”
I chuckled as she left the office, her scent still hanging in the air.
“Why do I feel like this is dangerous,” I whispered to myself.
Empty platters of sushi, perfume samplers, and crumpled pieces of paper littered the table, the remnants of a night that had stretched far longer than anticipated.
The soft glow of the dimmed lights cast long shadows over the scattered notes—ideas for marketing campaigns, sketches of new scents, and lists of celebrities and influencers I needed to contact.
And with only a few more weeks until the launch, time was not on my side.
Unfortunately for her, that meant Harper was staying late, too—losing sleep to my schedule, to this office, to a job she had the sense to leave hours ago. But she hadn’t.
She sat across from me, curled up in her chair, sipping on a beer.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I started, my voice low. My bottle hovered between my fingers as I gestured toward her barren ring finger. “Is there a story?”
Harper followed my gaze, her hand settling against her thigh.
A quiet breath escaped her, shoulders falling like she had been hurt and was too proud to show it.
“Well, I thought I knew someone, and as it turns out, I didn’t know them at all.
You know, you think you know everything about someone after spending years together.
Apparently, I missed the note on him taking his assistants on business trips, you know—the sexy kind.
I mean come on,” she laughed, shaking her head as she took another sip, “it’s such a cliché! Who even does that anymore?”
A pang of guilt nestled in my chest but was quickly taken over by my own jealousy—anger. That someone could be so close to having her, only to throw her away.
I scoffed, taking another deliberate sip of my beer, letting the bitterness curl over my tongue. “Some men,” I murmured, “have no idea the luxuries they hold in their hands. Especially human ones.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a challenge glinting behind them. “You don’t need to flatter me, sir.”
Flatter her?
If only she knew. My gaze drifted to her mouth, lingering—too long.
Her lips parted slightly, and when her tongue darted out to wet them, I felt it.
Heat. A slow smoldering, the raking feeling of my pheromones fighting to escape.
“I’m not flattering you,” I said slowly.
“I’m simply astonished you can look in the mirror every morning and still believe that what I say is anything but the truth. ”
She squirmed in her chair, suddenly finding the window very interesting.
If only she knew how much I wanted to bend her over my desk, show her exactly how she deserved to be worshiped.
“So,” I murmured, setting down my bottle, “tell me. What is it, then? Your perfect love. You’ve told me about the worst… now give me the dream.”
She hesitated, her fingers wrapping around the neck of her beer bottle a little too hard. “It’s stupid,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I am intrigued.”
Her eyes flicked to mine as if assessing whether or not I would laugh before she finally answered.
“You know in those romance movies where she is leaving because the guy was a total fool? Where he runs after her right as she is about to board the plane in one big grand gesture for everyone to see, because all he cares about is her. Not what people think, or all the ways they might not work, because all he needs is one chance. It’s stupid, but that is what I want.
A completely hopeless, stupid kind of love. ”
“And you don’t think you will find it?”
She looked up from her own beer, her eyes dancing between mine. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Despite my love of fairy tales and happily ever afters, I don’t think Cinderella ever gets the prince. At least not in real life.”
I laughed as I took another sip of my drink.
She didn’t know how wrong she was.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have some idea of love that I can laugh at to make me feel less embarrassed about confessing my deepest, darkest secrets to my boss?”
“Like blackmail?”
She gave a mock-innocent shrug. “What can I say? My boss taught me how to fight dirty.”
I chuckled, a smile tugging at my mouth before I could stop it. “I hate to disappoint, but I don’t think I believe in that kind of love. At least not the unconditional kind.”
“So, what then?” she pressed, sticking her leg out to poke mine with her stocking-covered toes. “Do you want terms and conditions even in your love life?”
“Well,” I said, pretending to consider it, “that would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Each party fulfils their obligations and acts on their parts. Both left satisfied.”
Setting her beer down on the table, she flipped over a piece of paper from a scrapped idea. “So,” she said, a mischievous look in her eyes, “what are they?”
“Pardon?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Your terms and conditions for love. Tell me.”
“And why are we doing this?”
“Hello? Manifestation! So, hurry up. What do you need in order to have your love?”
My eyes danced between hers and the paper before I laughed, throwing my hands up in surrender before crossing my arms over my chest.
“She must smell good.”
Harper barked a laugh at that. “Seriously? That is the first thing?”
“I’m a demon. We tend to be sensitive about these things. And this is my love, not yours, so keep writing,” I lectured, barely holding back a smile. “I want her smile to light up a room when she walks into it. And clause A to that, I must be able to always make her smile.”
After she finished writing it down, she looked up at me expectantly. “Anything else?”
“One more. She must want me to love her.”
A silence stretched between us, the mood somehow turning serious.
“Give me your hands,” she finally spoke, perking up in her chair holding out her own hands palm up, a mischievous look sparking behind her eyes. When I didn’t immediately comply, she rolled her eyes, pushing her hands forward again.
I smirked, taking one last sip of my beer before I set it down, placing my hands in hers.
And then she laughed—actually laughed—as she shook her head.
“What? You asked for my hands.”
“No,” she managed through her laughter, “hold your hands slightly above mine, palm down.”
My eyes narrowed as I followed her instructions, lifting my hands slightly above hers, the warmth of her touch lingering on my hands.
“Okay,” she started, “I am going to try to hit the tops of your hands. No flinching allowed. You must pull your hands away before I hit them. If I hit you, my turn continues. It is only your turn when I miss.”
Before I could answer, her hands quickly flipper over, slapping the tops of mine with a loud crack, followed by her infectious laughter.
“I was not ready! Go again that doesn’t—”
Another slap. More laughter.
Alright, Flower. This is how you want to play?
As she moved her hands back under mine, I watched intently. The tips of her pinkies poked out at the sides, slightly pink from hitting me.
As soon as she twitched, I ripped my hands back, narrowly missing being struck again.
“Ha!” I yelled, pointing at her as her bottom lip stuck out in an overly dramatic pout. “Now it’s my turn, Harper.”
“Fine, but I will let you know I am a master of—”
She gasped as I hit her, not hard, but with enough force that the tops of her hands were blushing.
I stared at her, full of pride as my lips pulled back in a smirk that revealed the tips of my fangs.
“Wow,” she whispered, lifting her hands to examine them, concern lacing her voice. “I didn’t know that Ambrose, CEO of Essence, likes to beat his employees.”
I barked out a laugh as her serious mask cracked, revealing a cunning, toothy grin. “Oh, is this more blackmail?”
Harper rolled her shoulders in a cocky shrug as she grabbed her bottle by the neck, lifting the dark glass to her lips. She tipped it back, taking a sip, her eyes never leaving mine.
I could not remember the last time I had been so relaxed at work.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, between the banter and the lingering glances, I realized something worrisome.
I didn’t want the night to end.
And I didn’t want her to leave me behind when it did.