6. Chapter 6 #2
Because we spent three days arguing and getting accidentally married and having sex, and at no point did either of us discuss our professional lives beyond the vague acknowledgment that we both worked somewhere.
"When did you find out?" I ask.
"Thirty seconds ago when you walked out of that elevator."
I let my gaze sweep over Darcy Madison from head to toe. What I see almost makes me madder.
The panic in her eyes is real. The shock is real. She's not lying.
This is a coincidence.
A catastrophic, universe-orchestrated coincidence that has just taken an already complicated situation and made it exponentially worse.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears when I take a step forward.
She takes a step back.
Good. She should.
"Okay," I say.
She shifts on her feet, hazel eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay?"
"You didn't know this was my company."
It's not a question. I'm telling her what's true because I've already done the math and arrived at the answer.
"No. I would never—"
"Then we're done with that conversation." I lean against the conference table, crossing my arms. "You took this job because you needed it. You're good at what you do—Victoria doesn't hire incompetent people. And now you're standing here wondering if you should quit before I fire you."
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were." I watch her process this, watch the wheels turning behind those hazel eyes. "Let me save you the anxiety. I don't fire people because of personal complications."
"This isn't a personal complication, Declan. This is a disaster with a marriage certificate."
"Mr. Shaw," I correct, and her eyes widen slightly. "In this building, it's Mr. Shaw. That's rule number one."
Her pretty lips part, and I can see her recalibrating, remembering I'm not just the man she married—I'm the man who signs her paychecks.
"Mr. Shaw," she says, and there's an edge to it that I appreciate. She's not rolling over completely. "What happens when your staff asks how we know each other?"
"We met at Quinn's wedding. You're Jessica's best friend. That's the story. Simple. True. Nobody needs more than that."
"And when someone sees us talking—"
"They'll see a CEO checking in on a new hire.
Which is what this is." I push off the table, take two steps toward her.
She holds her ground this time, chin lifting.
"Here's what's going to happen, Miss Madison.
You're going to go back to that desk. You're going to do the excellent work Victoria hired you to do.
And in sixty to ninety days, the Mexican government will dissolve a marriage that should never have happened. "
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. We're both adults. We're both professionals. We made a mistake in Tulum. We're fixing it. End of story."
She's quiet, trying to decide if she believes me or will push back.
Of course she pushes back.
"What about the personal part?" she asks. "What happens when we're in the elevator together? Or the break room? Or when you're walking past my desk every morning and we're both pretending we don't—"
"We compartmentalize," I say, cutting her off. "I've been doing it for twenty-five years. You'll learn. In fact, you did a pretty damn good job of compartmentalizing back in Tulum, don’t you think?”
She doesn’t appreciate my swipe at her early departure from my hotel room.
Her voice hardens. “But I'm not you."
"No. You're twenty-four years old and this is your first real job out of—Miami, did you say?"
“Yes.”
“And what exactly were you doing in Miami?”
"Working for my father."
"Doing what?"
“I—I don’t see how that’s relevant."
I stare harder at Darcy, trying to keep my pulse in check. “Everything's relevant when I'm trying to assess whether you can handle this situation professionally."
Her jaw tightens. "I can handle it."
"Good. Then we don't have a problem." I turn back to the conference table, leaning against it once more. “Now, rules, Miss Madison. Pay attention. Because I’m not going to repeat myself.”
I start counting off on my fingers.
"One: In this building, I'm Mr. Shaw. You're Miss Madison. No exceptions."
"Two: The annulment proceeds through lawyers. No direct communication about the marriage unless I initiate it."
She starts to protest, and I look at her. She closes her mouth quickly.
"Three: The marriage stays hidden from press until dissolved. No social media. No public appearances together. If this leaks, it damages both of us. But mostly you."
“I don’t see how—"
"I hate to break it to you, Miss Madison…” I stalk towards her, and this time she doesn’t step back.
The height difference is striking at this distance, and I use it to my advantage.
“Traditional media is inherently chauvinistic.
Before the week is up, they'll paint you as a femme fatale seductress who targeted the CEO with the sterling silver reputation.”
She blinks. “YOU have a sterling silver reputation?”
I grin at that. Apparently, Darcy Madison is not as clueless as I assumed.
“Absolutely not.” I reach out and straighten a dark flyaway hair against her cheek. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. “But so far, the hospitality arm of my nightclub business will be. Thomas Shaw Services will be the shining beacon that turns this nightlife conglomerate into something…palatable.”
Her face flushes. "That assessment doesn’t seem fair.”
“No. It doesn’t. It does seem like reality, however. Which is why rule three matters."
I hold up a fourth finger.
"Four: It’s best that you and I…minimize contact."
“Minimize,” Darcy echoes.
“Different floors when possible. Different times in common areas. I’ll have Victoria map out your schedule.” I adjust my collar. “And I’ll make sure you have access to mine.”
Her small throat bobs; for a second I swear I can hear her heart. “You want me to avoid you."
"I want us both to make this manageable. That means creating distance."
"Fine." She crosses her arms, and I ignore how the gesture pushes her tits up generously. "What happens when we can't avoid each other? When we're stuck in an elevator or a meeting?"
"We're professionals. We handle it."
"You keep saying that like it's easy."
"It's not easy. It's necessary." I head to the end of the table.
"Miss Madison, I'm going to be very clear with you.
What happened in Tulum was a mistake. An incredible, ill-advised mistake that we're both going to forget happened the moment the annulment paperwork clears.
Until then, you do your work to the best of your abilities. And so will I. Understood?"
She looks at me for a long moment.
"Understood. Is there anything else…" She blinks, chin lifted. “Mr. Shaw?"
The formality hisses with so much venom I'm surprised I don't drop dead on the spot.
"That's all, Miss Madison. You may leave."
Careful not to brush against me on her way out, she moves toward the door. But just as she reaches it, she stops and turns.
"For the record?" Her voice is quieter now, and when she looks at me there's something in her eyes that cuts through all the professional distance I just created. "I didn't sneak out Sunday morning because I regretted it."
I should let it go, let her leave with the rules intact.
But that tricky common sense of mine is still in Mexico.
"Then why did you sneak out?"
"Because if I'd stayed, I would have wanted to do it again." She pauses. "And that seemed like a bad idea."
A beat passes. The conference room suddenly seems smaller.
I inhale deeply, blinking once. "Get back to work, Miss Madison."
"Yes, Mr. Shaw."
She leaves. I stand there, watching her head down the hall through the glass.
Then I grab my phone and text my lawyer.
ME: Need the annulment expedited. Whatever it costs.
His response comes back immediately.
brYCE: I’ll see what I can do. Mexican law is complicated.
ME: Make it uncomplicated.
brYCE: Is there something I’m missing here, Declan? You seem eager.
I look through the glass walls at Darcy Madison sitting at the reception desk, head down, typing with fierce concentration.
Me: Just handle it.
I put the phone away, grabbing the Tulum brief.
I go to my office, close the door, and tell myself this will be fine—that Darcy and I are both professionals and can absolutely handle working in the same building without this becoming exponentially more complicated.
I'm forty percent convinced.
Which is thirty percent less than I was this morning.
Progress is apparently moving in the wrong direction.