The 20th floor was in a state of absolute, unmitigated panic.
"He's coming," Maya whispered, peering over the edge of her cubicle like a soldier in a trench. "The Omen has been sighted. The elevators just chimed, and I saw a flash of a charcoal suit that cost more than my internal organs."
Aria froze, her highlighter bleeding a neon-yellow puddle onto her report. "Who? Jax?"
"No," Leo hissed, frantically hiding his stash of desk snacks. "The Big Bad. The Robot. The guy who you apparently thinks that his lap is a lounge chair. Blackwood is on the floor."
Aria's heart did a violent somersault. Ever since her "Great Escape" from his office, she had been trying to blend into the shadows. She had the billion dollars tucked away in a high-yield savings account she was too afraid to touch, and she had been taking the stairs-all twenty flights of them-just to avoid the elevators.
"He's never been to the twentieth floor," Aria whispered, her eyes wide. "There's nothing here but dusty archives and middle management. Why is he here?"
"I think we both know why, 'Baby Please,'" Maya teased, though her hands were shaking as she straightened her keyboard.
Then, the air in the room changed. It became heavy, charged with the scent of a brewing storm and expensive sandalwood. The usual office chatter died instantly. You could have heard a paperclip drop.
Killian Blackwood rounded the corner.
He didn't look like a man on an inspection. He looked like a predator surveying his territory. He walked with a slow, predatory grace, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him, Jax was trying-and failing-to look professional, though he caught Aria's eye and gave her a frantic "good luck" wink.
Killian stopped at the head of the department. His icy blue eyes swept over the room, causing several accountants to physically shrink into their chairs. Finally, his gaze locked onto Aria.
Aria tried to look busy. She picked up a stapler. She realized it was empty. She picked up a pen. It was upside down.
"Mr. Blackwood," the Department Manager, a nervous man named Mr. Henderson, stammered as he hurried over. "We... we weren't expecting an unscheduled audit. Is there a problem with the quarterly projections?"Killian didn't look at Henderson. His eyes stayed on Aria, tracking the way her pulse was jumping in the hollow of her throat. "I've decided to take a personal interest in the... ergonomics of the lower floors," Killian rumbled. His voice carried across the room, deep and resonant. "I'm told the archives are particularly... inefficient."
"The archives?" Henderson blinked. "But sir, that's just Miss Vance's area. It's quite small-"
"I'll start there," Killian interrupted.
He walked straight toward Aria's desk. Every step he took felt like a drumbeat in her chest. He stopped right in front of her, leaning down so his shadow completely eclipsed her workspace.
"Miss Vance," he murmured. The corner of his mouth twitched-a private, dangerous little half-smile. "I noticed you haven't spent your 'settlement' yet. I assumed you'd be halfway to a private island by now."
Aria looked up, her face heating up. "I like my job, Mr. Blackwood. And I like my coworkers. I'm not for sale."
"I'm not buying you, Aria," he whispered, leaning closer until only she could hear him. His eyes turned a dark, molten gold for a split second. "I'm investing. Now, show me these archives. I believe we have a lot to discuss regarding... safety."
Aria looked at her friends. Maya was giving her a thumbs-up; Leo was pretending to be a statue. With a sigh of defeat, Aria stood up. "Right this way, sir."
She led him toward the back of the floor, into the narrow, dimly lit rows of filing cabinets. As soon as the heavy door swung shut behind them, cutting off the view of the rest of the office, the atmosphere shifted from "corporate" to"territorial."
Aria turned to face him, her back against a shelf of 2019 tax records. "You can't be here, Killian. People are talking. They think you're going to fire everyone because I sat on you."
Killian didn't answer with words. He stepped into her space, his large hands reaching out to grip the edges of the metal shelves on either side of her head. He caged her in, his massive frame blocking out the light.
"Let them talk," he rasped. "I spent ten years building this company so I could do whatever I wanted. And right now, what I want is to know why my mate is hiding in a room full of dusty paper."
"I'm not hiding!" Aria protested, though her breath was hitching. "I'm working!"
