And his eyes—Those dangerous steely gray eyes.
They notice everything, swinging to me the second I step into view, his gaze moving slowly—appreciatively—over the burgundy dress, the way it fits my waist, the way it falls just above my knees… then back to my face.
“Emma,” he says, voice low enough that only I can hear it over the ambient buzz of conversation. “Right on time.”
“You’re early,” I reply, trying to keep my breathing steady.
“I don’t like waiting when something’s worth my attention.”
The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and before I can respond, he turns as two men approach.
“Emma,” he says, already shifting back into CEO mode, though his hand brushes lightly against the small of my back as he introduces us. “This is Michael Cho. And his legal counsel, Josh—”
He stops mid-sentence as the other man turns around.
And I nearlyfall over.
Because standing there in a navy suit, looking exactly like the smug asshole I remember, is Josh Hanlin.
My ex-fiancé.
The man who cheated on me with his own boss.
The man who told me I was too ambitious, too independent, too much and not enough all at once.
"Emma." Josh's smile is plastic and sharp. "What a surprise. I didn't know you worked for Titan."
"Josh." My voice comes out strangled. “I didn’t know you were in Chicago again.”
“Moved back a few months ago. Made partner at Cho’s firm.” His eyes rake over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "You look... great. Corporate life must be treating you well."
I'm vaguely aware of Donovan's expression darkening, but I can't look away from Josh.
"I'm doing fine," I manage. "How's Melissa?"
The barb lands. Josh's smile tightens. "We broke up actually. Turns out she wasn't as understanding about work demands as you were."
"What a shame," I say flatly.
Michael clears his throat. "Should we get a table? I'm starving."
We head to our seats, a corner table overlooking the water, Chicago glass and starlight stretching past us like a private skyline.
Donovan doesn’t ask where anyone wants to sit.
He just takes the chair at the head of the table, and without even looking, he places his hand on the back of the chair next to him.
For me.
Too bad the rest of the dinner isn’t anywhere near as smooth as Donovan’s chair move.
Michael Cho launches into pleasantries, wine selections, a brief run-down of how brutal the last quarter was for venture capital, but the tension doesn’t lift.
As for Josh, he’s too busy making subtle digs—about my career, my ambitions, my decision to leave Chicago.
“So, Emma,” Josh says once we’re settled, swirling his wine. “Still the hardest worker in the room?”
It’s a compliment dipped in poison, and Donovan doesn’t interrupt. He just sits back slightly, fingers steepled, watching. Letting me answer.
