“At least he’s gone for a bit,” I say, standing. “Want to grab a sandwich? I need food before I eat the leaf from that office plant over there.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Seb spins in his chair to face me, already reaching for his jacket.
As we wait for the elevator, Seb taps his foot. “You know, Vi, this entire project would crash and burn without you. Mark knows it, Austen knows it, and I’m damn sure Chase knows it. Why was he so quick to rehire you?”
As if to answer his question, the elevator doors slide open to reveal Chase draped in his dark suit, his phone pressed to his ear, his gaze slicing through me with unnerving precision—like a demon summoned to remind me who’s in control.
“You coming, Vi?” Seb asks, holding the elevator door with his arm. Another thing I can add to my Seb appreciation list is his ability to remain unruffled. Even if the Pope and the Dalai Lama were inside negotiating world peace, he would still breeze in without batting an eyelid. Following his lead, I step in, every muscle tense as Chase’s presence squeezes the air from my lungs. Why is his damn scent so intoxicating? Raw and masculine—like the promise of the best sex of your life.
Chase shifts slightly, angling his broad shoulders as he continues speaking into his phone. His voice drips through the elevator, low and smooth, like whiskey poured slowly over ice. It brushes against my nerves, soft as velvet, right before it cuts.
“I don’t want to hear about obstacles. Find a way around them,” he snaps, ending the call with a flick of his thumb, sliding the phone back into his pocket like the conversation was never worth his time.
Awkward silence drifts in like a dense fog. I watch the illuminated floors flash by as if it’s the most fascinating thing ever. My breathing suddenly sounds obnoxiously loud, like I’ve been chain-smoking for the past decade.Has it always beenthis loud?And now it’s all I can hear, a full-on respiratory crisis in Dolby surround sound.In contrast, Chase remains perfectly composed, the picture of cool indifference. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t shift, just stands there with effortless control as if I’m invisible.
When the elevator finally arrives at the Ground Floor, I feel like I’m returning from a ten-day expedition at high altitude.
Chase, the perfect gentleman, stands back to let Seb and I pass, finally acknowledging our existence with a wry smile. “Try not to die from alcohol poisoning during your lunch break, Violet. We need you on the project, and it would be a headache to replace you at this stage.”
Seb, the traitor, chuckles while I stare at Chase like he’s sprouted two heads. Great, now I look like I’m functioning with one semi-working brain cell and a breathing affliction.
Meanwhile, Chase glides past us to a goddess waiting for him at the plush sofas next to reception. Of course, she’s gorgeous. I bet she wouldn’t be seen dead on Tinder. Only the Raya dating app. good enough for her.
“I think today calls for a cheeseburger,” Seb says, unaware I’ve just died inside for the tenth time today.
“And a chocolate milkshake,” I add, sneaking a glance at Chase and Miss Ten-out-of-Ten as he leads her to the company chauffeur, holding the door open as she slides in gracefully.
Of course, I’m not jealous.
Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll start to believe it.
Christ, who am I kidding?
I so am.
Chapter six
Chase
“Hey Austen, can I call you back later? I’m on my way out.”
“Hot date?” He sighs. “Those were the days.”
“Don’t pretend, Austen, that you’re not blissfully happy and that you’d rather crawl through vomit than navigate New York’s dating scene.” I was the best man at his wedding. I know how gaga he is for his wife.
“If you must know,” I continue, stretching out in the back seat. “I’m heading to Velvet Lounge. Word on the street is that Elliot’s been cozying up to Monarch, and we both know whispers like that usually start at Velvet. Figured it’s about time I paid a visit.”
“Christ, I should’ve known Elliot Hargreaves would worm his way in.” A loud crash is followed by a shriek, then Austen’s voice rises. “Santi, I told you—no rollerblades on the table!”
Austen lets out a weary sigh as world war three plays out in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
I smirk. “Good luck, buddy. See you Monday.” I hang up just as my driver eases to a stop outside Velvet Lounge, the softglow of the entrance promising an evening of information and, hopefully, a damn good whiskey.
Friday nights usually mean two things to me. Fine dining followed by fine fucking. But, lately, I’m not in the mood. Not to mention Elliot, as part of his lifelong quest to be a giant pain in my ass, is determined to steal the Monarch contract from under our noses. I know for a fact that big players in the Monarch team are regulars here.
The Velvet Lounge is an exclusive members-only gentleman’s club with a door policy that demands a ten-digit bank balance, a title that turns heads, and an ego to match. It’s the kind of place that gives Elliot Hargreaves a boner. Dark mahogany stretches as far as the eye can see, the rich scent of leather and expensive cigars thick in the air, mingling seamlessly with the stench of old money. Here, power moves are made under the veil of low lighting and smooth jazz, where fortunes shift with a firm handshake and a well-aged whiskey.
Navigating through the cluster, I nod occasionally to familiar faces and settle into my usual corner seat, offering a clear view of the room. I spot Monarch’s people and nod in their direction, but I don’t move towards them yet. I play the long game—always.
