My breath stutters. “And this works for people?” I choke out.
He smirks immediately. “When it’s done right.”
Before I can come up with a reply, he leaves, only to return with a crisp, printed document and a sleek black folder. “This is the contract. Read it before you sign anything. Ask questions. Highlight anything you don’t like. I don’t care if it takes a week or more. If you don’t feel completely secure in this, it won’t happen.”
I open it carefully, scanning the front page, and pretending to be unsurprised that this is already ready for me. There’s an NDA clause. That figures. Boundaries section. Play terms. A health disclosure part—wow. He’s not playing. The contract spells out what’s on and off the table, how safe words work, even a note on mental health resources and check-ins.
It’s not what I expected. It’s…responsible. Kind of terrifyingly so.
And I can’t lie—my stomach is flipping like I’m back in high school and just got asked to prom by the hot senior. He watches me like he’s cataloguing my reactions. “No pressure. You can walk out right now and I won’t text, call, or chase you.”
My fingers hover over the edge of the paper. I think about every time I’ve handed myself over for scraps. Every time I convinced myself that love had to hurt just a little to be real.
This doesn’t feel like love. But it feels honest. It feels like something with rules I can actually understand.
I meet his eyes. “Okay. Let’s try.”
He nods once. “I’ll grab a pen.”
My stomach does that flipping thing again, but I manage to nod. I’m not sure what I just agreed to, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like giving myself up. It felt like stepping in.
7
ETHAN
Lila leaves before I finish my shower, and I let her go because I want to see what she does with the space. She’s careful, but she looked back twice on her way out, which tells me enough. She isn’t running. She’s overwhelmed and she’s fighting it, and that’s fine. I can handle that.
I dress fast and move through the penthouse with my phone in hand. There’s already a stack of overnight updates from the Hong Kong office, but I skim them instead of answering. My attention keeps drifting back to her signed contract on the dresser.
The elevator drops straight into the garage, and the driver opens the back door without being told. I settle in, loosen my cuffs, and check my messages again. Nothing from her yet. She’s probably pacing her apartment with her hair still damp and her clothes stuck to her skin. She’ll replay every second of last night, and she’ll pretend she can forget it once she gets to work. She won’t.
Traffic moves fast, and soon enough, the tower comes into view. I straighten my tie and step out before the car fully stops.Security nods, people step aside, and the elevator doors close before anyone else can get in.
I check the time and note I’m slightly early.
The elevator doors open on my floor, and the first voice I hear is Sloane Mercer’s. She’s talking too loudly, laughing at something unfunny, and her tone is syrupy in a way that immediately puts me in a bad mood.
“Mr. Cross,” she says when she spots me, and she falls in step beside me before I can stop her. “Good morning. You look sharp today.”
“Thank you,” I say, and keep walking.
She laughs like I’ve given her something warm to hold. “I was just telling Victoria how dedicated you are. Up early, in before everyone, never slowing down?—”
I stop walking.
Victoria Lane stands at my office door.
She’s leaning against the frame like she owns it, one hand on her hip, her smile tight and far too red for the morning. Her hair is sleek, her suit is new, and her eyes are narrow enough to pick apart the entire floor in a single sweep.
“Ethan,” she says with that irritatingly high lilt in her tone as she pushes off the door. “You’re hard to catch these days.”
Sloane lights up beside her. “I brought her up personally,” she adds. “We were discussing partnerships and brand expansion. Victoria has incredible reach, so I thought?—”
“That’s enough,” I bite out. “Go back to your division.”
Sloane freezes. “Of course. If you need anything?—”
“I don’t.”