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I stare at her, surprised. She looks back at me professionally and adds, “A CEO doesn’t show up at the office with a hickey on his neck.” Then she walks out and closes the door behind her.

Fuck. The woman from two nights ago, I don’t remember her name. The next morning, I saw the mark on my neck, felt the scratches on my back. I had been too angry and worked up to realize then that I’d be covered in evidence of that night.

I was at a business partner’s bachelor party, fresh out of a meeting that ran far longer than it should have and was full of ridiculous excuses about a job that’s at risk of not being finished on time. I can’t stand that—everything I run at Hartho gets done on schedule.

On top of it, I’ve wasted too much time in traffic getting there, which only pissed me off more.

So when that woman practically threw herself into my lap and casually said she’d do anything for one night with Ethan Hardy—yes, she said my name as if I were just a brand and not a person—I decided to provoke her a little, to see what she was made of.

Frustrated, I get up from my seat at the head of the table and go to my office. Everyone here is in high gear, busy saving billion-dollar deals or opening new ones. All these people were handpicked by my father and John—Sierra, Liam and Zayn’s father—when they ran Hartho, and later by me and my brothers, along with Liam and Zayn, of course.

Sierra never joined in on the hiring decisions we made. Her focus has always been only on marketing, and there she alone makes all the calls.

Now we have two major companies under Hartho, still tightly connected and under my management. Each one of the guys handles the part of the business that interests them, while I make sure everything keeps running smoothly and thriving.

“You have the documents that need urgent signatures on your desk, and you can check your schedule for this week on the calendar,” Irina tells me as I pass her on the way to my office.

I don’t reply, just nod. Once in my office, I walk in without closing the door and sit down. Hitting the button that connects me directly to her, I see her glance at it, realizing I’m calling her. She rolls her eyes but gets up, adjusting her dress, and heads toward me.

“You need me?” she asks with a professional smile.

“Close the door and take a seat,” I say.

Arms crossed over her chest, she raises an eyebrow and stays put.

“Now,” I add with authority.

Smiling, she shuts the door and strides like a feline to my desk, then sits down delicately, looking me straight in the eyes.

That’s what I liked about her from the start—she knew who I was, she knew that all New York is basically under the rule of the Hardy and Thomas families, yet she was never intimidated. She answered briefly, clearly, and intelligently to everything in that interview.

She speaks only when necessary, never oversteps, and every task I hand off to her is executed flawlessly.

“Are you going to tell me why you called me, or are you just going to stare at me all day?” she asks, irritated.

Chuckling softly, I tip my head and look her over from head to toe.

“I think I need you,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“The fuck from last night not good enough?” she asks sarcastically.

“You jealous?” I reply, smirking.

She rises and steps toward me slowly, letting her hand drift lightly over the edge of the desk. Before she can deliver any intelligent retort—as I know she will—I hit the privacy button with my foot and reach out to pull her onto my lap. Caught off guard, she falls against me and gasps.

Smirking, thoroughly amused, I say, “I asked you something.”

Looking into my eyes, I see her gather all her composure and say, “I don’t think it’s news to either of us that there’s a physical attraction here, but no, I’m not jealous, Ethan.” She unbuttons my shirt, inches closer and continues, “We’ve got ten minutes, tops. If you think you can help both of us, then we can make the most of them.”

I throw my head back and laugh—properly—for the first time in a very long time.

“I can help you in two minutes flat,” I whisper in her ear. “But I’m not in the mood,” I add, a smug smile spreading across my lips. “I need help with this.” I tell her, then place a folder in her hands and push her gently so she moves off me.

THREE

Thalia

Ughh… this morning couldn’t have started any worse. The same name is calling for the third time this week, and no matter how many times I ignore the calls, I know I’ll have to answer eventually.