Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“That’s very generous of you,” I say carefully. “I’d love to see more of the operation.”
“Wonderful. Shall we say, eleven o’clock? I’ll have someone meet you in the lobby.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Oh, and Miss Baxter?” Her voice drops a degree, turning frosty. “I trust you had a pleasant evening last night after you left the gala.”
My stomach clenches. Oh no. Don’t tell me she knows.
“It was fine,” I manage. “Just went back to the hotel.”
“Good. I do so value a quiet night in.” Another pause, loaded with implication. “I’ll see you soon.”
She hangs up.
I stare at the phone, my heart thudding against my ribs. Yeah, that wasn’t just an invitation. That was a summons. I have a feeling she knows exactly what went on last night (at this point, who doesn’t?), and I’m about to get yet another lecture about boundaries.
Professional. Cold. Operative.
I’m still repeating it like a mantra when my mobile buzzes.
This time, I recognize the number. My pulse ratches up a notch.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Vanguard’s voice is rough, like he hasn’t slept. Like he’s been up all night thinking about…
“Hey,” I say, aiming for neutral and landing somewhere around breathless.
A beat of silence. “I went back for you last night. You were gone.”
“Oh. Yeah. I found my own way down.” I keep my voice light, casual, no biggie. “Some people were having a party up there. I hitched a ride on the elevator.”
“I looked for you. At your hotel.”
I see.
I picture him hovering outside my window, searching for me. The thought should be unnerving, but it just makes my thighs press together. Being stalked by a superhero? Don’t mind if I do.
“I got back late,” I say, which isn’t technically a lie. “We must have just missed each other.” Last thing he needs to know is where I went after. I think I need to start being more careful.
Another silence, heavier this time. I can hear him breathing, can almost feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing through the phone.
“Mia.” His voice is softer now, careful. “About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I think we do.”
“I really think we don’t.” I close my eyes, steeling myself. Professional. Cold. Operative. “It was a moment. It happened. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”
The silence that follows is so long, I check the signal bars to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.
“Is that what you want?” he finally asks, and there’s something vulnerable in his voice that makes my chest ache. “For it to not be a thing?”
No. God, no. I want it to be everything. I want you to fly through my window and finish what we started. I want to feel your hands on me again, because no one has ever touched me like that and I’m terrified I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing that feeling…
“I think that’s what’s best,” I say instead. “For the profile. For both of us.”
“Right.” His voice has gone cold. Distant. A door closing. “The profile.”
The finality hurts.
“I should mention—Julia called me just now. She’s invited me for a tour of Global Dynamix. At eleven.”
“She what?” he says sharply. “Why?”
“She said she wanted to give me context for the piece. Show me what you’re really working toward. And by you, I mean the company.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I frown. “Why not? It’s exactly the kind of access I need for the article.”
“Because Julia doesn’t give tours.” His voice is tight. “She doesn’t extend personal invitations to journalists on an unscheduled whim. If she’s reaching out to you directly, it’s because she wants something or she’s trying to figure something out.”
“She wants me to see what she wants me to see. She wants to make sure I write something flattering.”
“Julia doesn’t care about flattering press. She cares about control.” He hesitates. “Come to my place instead. We can continue the interview there. I’ll answer whatever questions you want. Any of them. You can have full access to me.”
The offer hangs between us, tempting and terrifying. His penthouse. Alone. After what happened last night?
And full access to him?
I know exactly what that means.
“Vanguard, I can’t,” I say, the use of his name deliberate. “I need to keep things above board. If I come to your place right now…”
“You’re scared,” he says quietly. “Of me?”
“I’m scared of myself. Of making things complicated when they can’t be. Not right now, not when I have a job to do.”
“The job…”
“I need to do this interview with Julia,” I go on. “It’s important for the piece. For the full picture. I know you can understand that.”
He grumbles in response.
“I’ll call you after,” I tell him. “Maybe we can schedule something for tomorrow, somewhere professional.”
“Professional.” He laughs sourly. Then, he sighs, and I can practically hear him rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure. Fine. Go to your meeting with Julia. Get your tour. Take it all with a grain of salt.” A pause. “But Mia? Be careful with her. She’s not what she seems.”