Department heads cycle through their updates, but their words barely register. All I hear is the blood roaring in my ears.
At some point, I risk a glance at Chase. He looks completely at ease, untouched by the tension still gripping my chest, exactly like the cold-hearted bastard he is.
Then, just as the last speaker steps away, Chase moves forward again, smoothly reclaiming the room. “Before we wrap up, our ten-year anniversary is coming up, and we’re celebrating in style.”
A ripple of interest moves through the crowd, murmurs spreading.
“We’ve booked the Waldorf Astoria for a masquerade ball. Formal invitations and a few gifts from the hotel will be handed out now. Consider it a thank you for your hard work.”
The doors at the back of the auditorium fly open, and a procession of hotel staff sweeps in, dressed in elaborate, gilded costumes, their masked faces adding a theatrical touch. The reaction is immediate—low whistles, amused laughter, the rustle of people sitting up to get a closer look. Everybody reaches eagerly for the invitations and small velvet boxes they’re handing out, the intrigue lightening the mood entirely.
I don’t take one.
Ryan glances at me as the masked attendants move through the aisles, his voice tinged with sympathy. “Guess I spoke too soon. He threw in a vague threat, after all.” He hesitates, then adds, “Sorry, that was my fault. You okay?”
I force a small smile, but inside, I’m hollow, like something has curled in on itself. “Yeah. Just need the bathroom.”
I slip out of my row, weaving past the chattering crowd. I don’t look at the masked attendants or the sleek invitations they hand out.
I don’t look at Chase as I pass him.
But as I reach the door, his voice cuts through the noise, low and rough. “Take the damn invitation, Violet.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself. That I would rather spend the evening watching paint dry.
I don’t.
I may have got away with running my mouth once, but I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get away with it again. Instead, I focus my mind on Gracie. Picturing her being happy at college. And I don’t acknowledge him at all.
But I sense his eyes on me the entire way out.
Chapter nine
Violet
I storm down the hallway, my mind spitting out every curse word it knows—some in foreign languages, just for variety. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the distant hum of conversation from the conference room. To think I actually got up early this morning and took extra time to look nice for this stupid summit. And for what? To be humiliated in front of the entire company.
At least I was dressed for the occasion, I think bitterly. The navy silk of my shirt must have complemented the red-hot flush of my cheeks perfectly.
I barely make it around the corner before I hear footsteps, fast and deliberate. Then his scent hits me—familiar and too close, making my body pulse with something I don’t want to acknowledge.
Before I can react, his fingers thread through mine, the grip firm and possessive. My skin prickles at the contact—his warmth against my cold fingers, the way we fit together far too perfectly.Heat surges up my arm as Chase tugs me into an empty boardroom. The door clicks shut behind us, its finality making my pulse stutter. I wrench my hand back, pressing it to my chest like I can erase the way it felt in his. My heart slams against my ribs as I force myself to meet his gaze.
“What now?” I spit, fury blazing in my eyes. “Did you suddenly remember another reason I suck and just couldn’t wait to tell me? Maybe we should go live with a global summit, broadcast my failures in high definition for everyone to see.”
For a moment, he stays silent, just staring at me—like an opponent in the ring, calculating whether to retreat or strike without hesitation.
“I’m pretty sure last year,” I press on, my pulse hammering at the heavy silence, “I fell asleep in the summit and you didn’t bat an eyelid.”
His mouth twists in an unhinged grin. “Thank you, Violet. Your winning charm is almost too much.” He steps forward, his gaze locking onto mine with a heat that burns straight through me. The steel-like control evident in the auditorium is gone, replaced with something dark, something wild.
“Violet,” he murmurs, his voice low, chest rising with every breath, “Did it ever occur to you that just being in the same room is too much?”
He steps forward again, and I step back, my body moving on instinct. But it doesn’t matter—he’s closing in, backing me into a corner, inch by inch, until my spine hits the cold, hard wall.
“Why can’t you just forget I exist? Just how it was before,” I mumble, my voice shaking, barely audible. “Why, now, do you have to notice every single mistake I make?”
A gasp catches in my throat when he pins me to the wall, one hand settling on my hip, pulling me so close his breath caresses my cheek.
