30. Ember

30

EMBER

I found myself walking toward a meeting with Orion in the conference room, clutching the Davenport proposal revisions. After days of strained silence, I couldn't stand it anymore. The tension in the office was palpable—every interaction cold and formal, both of us pretending the dinner with Colton and Jessica had never happened.

Work-wise, things seemed to be going well. Eleanor Golding officially signed on for a huge project to improve one of her massive hotels downtown. She told anyone who would listen that she loved me and tried to give me credit for the deal, which admittedly helped the way people around the office regarded me.

People other than Orion, at least.

His only interactions with me were to curtly ask for updates on Davenport. Considering Davenport called me every day to chat about ideas for his business, I was expected to give Orion something concrete every time he asked. Mostly, though, the only concrete information I could gather was that Cole had somehow gained access to my cloud files and siphoned information from the research I did on Davenport’s factories. The insight explained how he had managed to weasel his way into Davenport’s good graces.

As much as I wanted to run and tell this to Davenport, I doubted the breach of my security would be a good look for the business he would potentially trust with his project, and decided to keep it to myself. Cole had played dirty, which I should’ve expected. Now, I just had to make sure I helped secure this deal, one way or another.

I paused outside Orion’s office and took a deep breath to gather my courage. I could handle a grumpy boss. The thing that set me on edge every time I interacted with Orion was knowing what we had squandered. There was so much potential between us, and I had screwed it all up. He wasn’t completely innocent, of course, but I put the majority of the blame for how things went on my own insecurities.

He was alone in the conference room, sleeves rolled up as he studied papers spread across the massive table. The sight of him like this—slightly disheveled, guard down—made my breath catch.

"What is it?” he asked, looking up suddenly at my arrival.

"Roman sent me the changes you made to our official Davenport proposal. You told him you would be happy to let me run the project, but you’ve changed everything. It’s all wrong.”

Whoops. There was that whole “speaking my mind, even when people didn’t want to hear it” quality Kora mentioned. I had planned to broach the topic more diplomatically, but something about Orion always flustered me and got my mouth running.

He straightened, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?"

"When we met with him the other day, I thought you might actually be starting to understand. But these plans?” I said, gesturing to the folder, which contained Orion’s modified version of my ideas. It also contained my suggested revisions of his new plans. “You want to turn the rubber factory into a historic hotel? Do you realize how much we would have to gut from that place to make room for?—”

“Of course,” he said, cutting me off. “I already know the exact costs of the materials and renovations. Three hundred and twelve rooms. Plumbing, electrical, and structural modifications. Design teams would do their best to preserve the legacy and flavor Davenport cares so much about.”

I gave a small laugh of disbelief. “You just don’t get it. Do you?”

“Oh, I get it. You’ve sold Davenport on some vanity project that will cause him to bleed money until his final days. Foster Real Estate has a legacy of its own, Ember. We make our clients money. Period. I’m not going to sink millions into these factories only to watch operations costs keep them from ever turning a profit in our lifetimes.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “If Davenport wants to cover the costs and run them at a loss, who cares? He’s the client. If somebody asks you for a mohawk, you don’t tell them it’ll look bad and pick a different hair style. You give them what they want.”

“We’re not hairdressers. And I told you. It’s about our company image. Our legacy of being able to say we’ve come out ahead for every client we ever worked with.”

"Some people care about more than profits," I snapped.

His jaw tightened. "Your objections are noted, Miss Hartwell. But given recent events, I'm reluctant to trust your judgment on this matter."

The formal tone stung worse than anger would have. I stepped closer, pulse racing. "This isn't about trust. It's about a personal grudge. You’re mad at me, so now you are going to lose us the deal because you want to spite me.

"Us?" His eyebrow raised. "That’s rich, coming from you.”

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, see the muscle ticking in his jaw. The air between us crackled with anger and something else—something that had been building since that night in his apartment.

"I'm trying to help you," I whispered. “That’s all.”

"Are you?" His voice was rough. "Because from where I'm standing?—"

"Where you're standing is too damn close," I breathed, but I didn't move away.

His hands gripped the edge of the table on either side of me, caging me in. "Then leave. Take your secrets. Take your ideas. Take it all and walk away."

Part of me wanted to. The hurt and confusion and guilt were almost too much to bear. Instead, I tilted my chin up defiantly. "You don't want me to leave. You want me . You're so caught up in your suspicions that you can't even admit the obvious truth here."

"Yes," he said, cutting me off. "Against every shred of good judgment, I want you. I've wanted you since that first day you walked in with your hate notes and your defiance. But that's the difference between us, Ember. Some of us can want without taking."

My heart was thumping so hard I was sure he could hear it. The smart thing would be to walk away. End this mess before it got worse. But I was too far gone, too invested in everything—in Eleanor's ducks, in Davenport's legacy, in the glimpses I'd seen of the real Orion at dinner with Colton.

And God help me, in the way he was looking at me now.

I found myself drifting closer, though I didn't remember moving. My breasts pressed against his chest as I breathed in his cologne. "I can tell you everything you want to know. All my secrets.”

“No,” he said. “This… inconvenient attraction I feel to you is the problem. It’s clouding my judgment. It’s a distraction. Here’s my proposal: we agree to stop pretending there’s anything more between us than physical attraction. We work together. I’ll be civil, and so will you. And when we want… that , we’ll allow ourselves to have it.”

“Want what?” I asked, swallowing with a click.

“Sex. But that’s all it will be. Is that clear? You’ll keep whatever you’re hiding about Cole and Northman Group to yourself. I’ll watch you very closely as you continue to work for me. Close this Davenport deal for us, and I’ll consider whatever devious shit brought you here to be water under the bridge.”

“So you want to be fuck buddies?” I asked.

“Not even that,” Orion said. “I want your body. The less we talk, the better.”

That stung, but I was pathetically desperate for any thread of hope—some slim chance of salvaging what it felt like was breaking apart beneath us. And maybe part of me even wanted this—the chance to keep my secret while still having him, even if only physically.

"I understand," I whispered.

Orion checked his watch, considering. When his eyes met mine again, they were dark with intent. "Fifteen minutes. The old storage room where your desk used to be. Lights off, door closed. Don't let anyone see you go in."

"Yes," I breathed, hardly believing this was happening.

He lifted his hand, thumb brushing my lower lip. "Good girl," he said softly. "Now go."

I turned to leave on shaking legs.

"Ember," he called after me.

I looked back over my shoulder.

"I expect to find you wet and ready when I arrive. Don't disappoint me."

I swallowed hard and nodded, then practically ran from the room.

Holy shit. What the hell am I doing?