I didn't answer Miles.

By lunch the next day, I'd almost convinced myself it was an empty threat.

Then I walked into the shared lounge on forty-eight to refill my water bottle, and he was standing by the vending machines.

"There she is." He set his coffee on the counter. "The girl who got me benched."

The room went quiet. Six people at the tables. A few more by the window.

"I didn't get you anything," I said. "You did that yourself."

"Oh, please." He moved to block the door. "You cried to Vale. You batted your little eyes, and suddenly HR is pulling me off three campaigns. Three, Clara. Do you know what that does to a career?"

"Move."

"You act so sweet. So innocent." He turned to the room, arms spread. "But this is who she is, guys. Fake. Vicious. She'll smile at you and stab you in the back the second it helps her."

Someone's chair creaked. A woman near the window pulled out her phone.

Two days ago, I would have run.

My hands curled into fists instead.

"You want to talk about fake?" My voice came out loud. Louder than I'd ever heard it. "You cheated on me in your car. In the parking garage. With Tessa. I have the video."

His smile slipped.

"Then you lied about me in front of six hundred people because you were embarrassed. And now you're mad that there are consequences?" I stepped toward him. "Nobody ruined your career, Miles. You're just finally getting caught."

A low whistle came from one of the tables.

Miles's face went blotchy red, starting at his neck.

"You little—"

His hand came up. Open palm, already swinging.

I didn't even have time to flinch.

A hand caught his wrist in midair.

Lucian.

He'd come from nowhere. Dark charcoal suit, no tie today, and a face so still it looked carved from ice. He twisted Miles's arm down and walked him backward, two steps, three, until his back hit the wall hard enough to rattle a framed poster.

"Mr. Vale—" Miles started.

"Don't speak."

Miles shut his mouth.

Lucian didn't raise his voice. The room went silent anyway. "Take one more step toward Miss Dunmore, and you'll be escorted out of this building. You won't need to wait for HR. I'll sign it myself."

"I was just—"

"One step." Lucian let go of his wrist. "Leave."

Miles left. He didn't look at me on the way out.

The lounge breathed again. Somebody laughed nervously.

And my knees went soft, like the bones had turned to water.

I grabbed the counter. Missed. Grabbed it again.

Lucian's hand closed around mine.

He didn't ask if I was okay. He just pulled me forward, past the tables and the stares, through the glass doors and down the quiet hallway toward the elevators. His palm was warm and dry, and his grip was so firm I couldn't have slipped free if I'd tried.

I didn't try.

My heart was slamming against my ribs, and I had no idea anymore if it was from Miles or from this.

At the elevator, he stopped. His thumb moved once over my knuckles.

"Your fingers are ice."

"Are they?"

He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it over my shoulders. It was heavy and still warm from his body. Cedar again.

I waited for him to say *it's fine* or *don't worry*. Something.

He pressed the elevator button.

"You're shaking," he said. "Go sit down."

That was all.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. A short, stupid laugh, right there in the hallway.

He glanced at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

---

That night, I couldn't stop seeing it.

His hand locked around Miles's wrist. His voice, low and flat. *Don't speak.*

I lay in bed in the dark with my face burning.

*This is insane, Clara. He's your boss.*

My hand slid under the waistband of my sleep shorts anyway.

I was already wet. That was the embarrassing part. Wet from a man who'd barely said ten words to me today.

I pressed two fingers against my clit and bit my lip.

*Fuck.*

I pictured his hand on my wrist instead of Miles's. Pinning it to the mattress. That cold gray stare dropping down my body like he was reading a file he wanted to memorize.

*Miss Dunmore. Your hands are trembling.*

"Lucian," I whispered into the dark.

I circled faster. My hips lifted off the sheets. I slid my fingers lower and pushed them inside myself, imagining they were his, long and steady, the same hands that held that pen.

*Fuck, fuck, fuck.*

I thought of his voice telling me to sit down. Telling me to stay still. Telling me to come.

I came with my face pressed into the pillow, thighs clenched tight around my hand, his name trapped behind my teeth.

For a long time I just lay there, catching my breath, mortified.

Then my phone rang.

I nearly fell off the bed.

*Lucian Vale.*

I stared at the screen. It rang again. I swiped.

"H-hello?"

"Did I wake you?"

"No. No, I was—reading."

A pause. "The Brennan board packet. Is it still in your bag?"

I scrambled for my tote. There it was. "Yes."

"I need it tonight. I'll text you the address."

"Tonight? Now?"

"Is that a problem, Miss Dunmore?"

"No, sir."

---

His penthouse was on the top floor of a tower on the Upper East Side. The doorman already knew my name.

Lucian opened the door himself.

His hair was wet, a few strands stuck to his forehead. Black slacks. A white shirt hanging open, buttons undone all the way down. I could see water still beading on his collarbone.

I forgot how to talk.

"You're fast," he said.

"You said tonight."

He stepped aside. I set my keys on the console table by the door, next to a pair of silver cufflinks, and held out the folder.

He took it. His fingers slid over mine.

My whole hand jerked. The folder shook between us.

He went very still.

One second. He looked down at my hand. Then at my face. His eyes stayed there, darker than I'd ever seen them.

I couldn't breathe.

"Go home, Clara," he said quietly.

My name. Not *Miss Dunmore*.

"Right." I grabbed my keys so fast they scraped the table. "Goodnight, Mr. Vale."

I didn't wait for him to answer.

---

In the elevator, I opened my fist to put my keys away.

A silver cufflink sat in my palm, tangled in the key ring.

I stared at it. Engraved initials. *L.V.*

*Oh my God. Go back. Give it back.*

My phone buzzed before I could move.

Miles.

A photo. Lucian in a tuxedo at some gala, his arm around a stunning brunette in a red gown. She was laughing up at him. He was almost smiling.

Underneath, one line.

*You really think he'd want someone like you?*