The meeting wraps up soon after, with Austen steering the discussion toward timelines and deliverables—a territory in which Mark excels. Thankfully, by the time Austen is sweeping out of the room, Mark’s mood has picked up drastically.
Mark shifts his focus back to us, addressing us with an air of superiority. “I think that went well overall,” he says, clasping his hands together. “But Seb, a word of advice—try not to speak out of turn next time.”
Seb leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “I was just saying the truth. Violet deserves some credit.”
Mark’s jaw hardens, but he doesn’t argue. “We’ll debrief more tomorrow. For now, good job, everyone.”
Seb nudges me as we gather our things. “See? Even Mark can’t deny it. You’re the brains behind this, Vi.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help, Seb.”
“What?” Seb snorts. “Must be all those times I distracted you withWarhammervideo game strategy.” He flashes a grin as we make our way toward the elevator, but whether he knows it or not, he’s always been my sounding board, offering insights that somehow make everything click.
“I’ll tell you what,” Seb says with a low whistle, hitting the call button. “I wouldn’t mind working in this executive suite. Have you seen the offices up here? They’re bigger than my apartment.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not hard,” I quip, earning myself a middle finger salute.
I glance around, shifting slightly on my feet. “Is there a restroom nearby? I must’ve drunk a gallon of coffee just to survive that meeting.”
I take another glance around and shake my head. “Actually,” I say, just as the elevator doors slide open. “I’ll check around and catch up with you downstairs.”
“Okay, Vi. I’m outta here.Warhammeris calling.”
I roll my eyes and wave with a smile as he disappears behind the closing doors. I love Seb. The place would be dull without him.
In search of a restroom, I venture down the expansive hallway, my heels sinking into the sumptuous carpet as I admire the framed accolades adorning the walls. The meeting ran on into early evening, so it’s deserted. The admin staff have left for the day, and Mark mentioned that the executive team is offsite for a client function.
Growing desperate and still unable to find one, I peek into an open office door and spot an adjacent ensuite, figuring it won’t do any harm if I pop in there quickly.
My jaw drops when I step inside. Polished, dark hardwood floors contrast against soft beige walls, and a massive mahogany desk anchors the room, its glossy surface pristine save for a crystal paperweight, a gold fountain pen, and a minimalist laptop. Behind it, a leather executive chair sits with a commanding view of the city through towering windows that stretch across the far wall. The windows frame a breathtaking view of the Manhattan Skyline twinkling at night.
I dart into the ensuite, pulling the door closed, leaving it slightly ajar in my haste. The bathroom is just as spectacular, a sanctuary of polished marble with a rainfall shower that could house a family of four.
Finishing up, I turn on the faucet and quickly wash my hands, drying them with a towel.
I freeze when a thunderous crash echoes through the room, followed by a loud clatter and a string of curses. Panic flickers through me that I’m caught in the middle of a burglary.
Cautiously, I inch toward the crack in the door and peer through the gap—only to stifle a gasp.
This is no burglary.
Oh, hell no.
The only theft taking place is the loss of a woman’s clothes, and she’s more than willing.
“Oh, yes, Chase, please...,” she cries as he swipes everything off his desk, sending paper and objects clattering to the floor. She sprawls back against the sleek wood, chest heaving, her entire body arching as he spreads her legs and rips off her panties with a sharp tear.
She’s supermodel-gorgeous—long, lithe legs, cascading blonde waves, and a body so succulent it could have been airbrushed.
Of all the offices in all the buildings in Manhattan, it had to be his. Chase Knight, the ruthless CEO and billionaire owner of Knightwell Technology—the biggest bastard ever to grace this planet. A demon cloaked in Armani.
He carries his cutthroat reputation like a badge of honor, and it’s well-earned. He started in private equity, where he orchestrated hostile takeovers for fun.
I’ve only been in a room with him a handful of times. Enough to know he’s the kind of man you never cross. With broad shoulders and muscles that pull at the seams of his impeccably tailored shirts, he’s the embodiment of power. If his dark, brooding gaze and machine of a body weren’t intimidating enough, the rumors are. They say he can end someone’s career with a single, calculated remark.
Once, I had the misfortune of a shared elevator ride where I cowered in the corner like a mouse while he eviscerated someone on his phone so scathingly my ears rang for the entiremorning. I’m sure he had no idea I was there. People like me are invisible to men like Chase Knight.
“Oh, Chase,” the woman shrieks like a banshee, “fuck me, please.”
