His arm drapes loosely over my waist. Nothing demanding, just there. The thrill of his proximity skitters through me like the most addictive drug.
He caresses my face, his lips finding mine with a kiss so perfect that it rips the soul right out of my body, stealing it for himself. I feel his hardness pulsing against my thighs, but he doesn’t push for anymore; he just keeps kissing me until I can’t feel my fingers and toes, and I can’t think of any more reasons to deny this for myself. And even though I realize I’m getting in too deep. I don’t stop. For now, I just let myself sink into his arms and leave the worry until tomorrow.
Chapter twenty-one
Chase
I step into Austen’s office, adjusting my cuff as I head toward the reception desk. The meeting at Monarch had been a disaster. What was supposed to be a finalization discussion felt more like a step backward—cold, hesitant, like they were already looking elsewhere.
And I have a damn good idea of where.
Austen’s secretary, Zara, fluffs her hair the second she sees me, her cheeks flushing pink the way they always do. In the past, I might’ve played into it, just for the hell of it, but right now, I don’t have the patience.
“I need to see Austen immediately,” I clip.
“Of course, Mr. Knight. Let me just—” She scrambles to press the intercom, her voice a little breathless. “Mr. Wells, Mr. Knight, is here to see you.”
Austen’s reply is immediate. “Send him in.”
I push through the glass doors into his office. A minimalist’s dream—sleek black furniture, clean lines, not a single thing out of place.
“Chase,” he says, motioning me in. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Yeah, well,” I say with a grimace, “neither did I.”
Austen frowns, sitting across from me. “What happened?”
“They’re pulling back.” My jaw tightens. “They barely looked at the final contract. Their entire attitude has shifted.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “Austen, this should have been a done deal. Something has changed.”
“Elliot.”
I exhale sharply. “It has to be. Their hesitation felt like they already had another option in mind, and let’s be real—who else is in play?”
Austen’s jaw tightens. “It’s these damn leaks. If he’s using our proposal to strengthen his own bid...”
“Then we’re screwed unless we find out how he got his hands on it. Where are we with the internal investigation?”
Austen runs a hand through his hair. “I.T.’s checked our system—no unauthorized logins, no data breaches. Legal has reviewed access logs for our cloud storage, nothing unusual. And if someone printed a hard copy of the proposal, there’s no record of it.”
“So this isn’t accidental,” I say flatly. “Which means this isn’t just a leak—it’s a mole.”
Austen nods grimly. “Someone inside is feeding Elliot information.”
I exhale sharply. “We need to put someone on this full-time.”
“What about Devlin?” Austen suggests. “He handles risk assessment—this is his territory.”
I nod. Devlin’s meticulous, discreet. If there’s a mole, he’ll find them.
“First step,” I say, “we look at who had access to the Monarch proposal and the algorithm. Any files shared, meetings attended, notes taken—anyone who knew enough to help Elliot tweak his bid.”
“And if the mole printed a copy, even if they covered their tracks digitally,” Austen adds, “they still had to physically take it.”
“Which means someone, somewhere, saw something.” I tap my fingers against the chair’s arm. “We’ll find them.”
Austen nods.
I exhale, standing up. “Before I forget about this Saturday—still good for me to take the kids out in the afternoon?”
