CHAPTER FOUR: STAYING AWAY, GETTING PULLED BACK

The door shut behind me with a soft click, but it might as well have slammed.

I leaned my forehead against the cool wood, exhaling everything I hadn’t let myself feel inside Damien Blackwood’s office. Embarrassment. Confusion. Frustration. And something far worse—something I didn’t want to name: a strange, aching anticipation I couldn’t shake off.

I kicked off my heels, dropped my bag on the counter, and headed for the couch, curling up like a child who’d touched fire and couldn’t decide whether I wanted the pain or the memory to fade first.

My phone buzzed twice.

Tasha.

> “Girl, you alive? You were supposed to call after the meeting!”

“Wait—are you dead or married?”

I managed a weak smile and typed back:

> “Neither. Come over. I need to talk.”

She showed up less than twenty minutes later with a carton of strawberry ice cream and a bottle of wine tucked under one arm.

“I brought your comfort duo,” she announced, breezing in like a force of nature. “Now talk. Or drink. Whichever works.”

I sat cross-legged on the couch, oversized sweats swallowing me whole, shame clinging to my skin like humidity. “You won’t believe what happened.”

Tasha plopped down beside me, already scooping. “Did he insult the shelter? Make some arrogant billionaire comment about ‘solving poverty’ with robots?”

“No,” I muttered.

She froze mid-scoop. “Oh God. Did he hit on you?”

I didn’t even answer. I didn’t have to.

Tasha stared. “Wait—wait. He did? Oh my God, you PRUDE. What did you do?”

“I walked in on him having sex with his secretary.”

Silence.

Then: “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Like—pants down, actual thrusting?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to count,” I said dryly.

Tasha’s jaw dropped. “Holy—okay. Back up. Start from the top. Slowly. I need visuals.”

I groaned and covered my face with both hands.

“Come on,” she begged. “You walked in on Damien freaking Blackwood doing the dirty with his secretary. That’s like a live-action billionaire romance novel!”

“It wasn’t romantic,” I muttered. “It was mortifying. I was early. The secretary didn’t even lock the damn door. And then he saw me—while he was still going at it—and didn’t stop. Just looked right at me.”

Tasha gasped. “What a savage.”

“I tried to leave. But he stopped me. Got dressed—cool as ever—and started acting like nothing happened. Then came the whiskey, the intense eye contact, the weirdly... intense compliments—”

“Wait, did he touch you?”

I shot her a look.

Tasha squealed. “He did, didn’t he? Where?!”

“My hair. My jaw. My wrist. It wasn’t like that.”

“Girl,” she said, eyes wide, “you’ve been celibate for two years. That definitely counts as third base.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Okay, okay. Serious mode.” She inhaled. “How did it make you feel?”

I hesitated.

“Be honest,” she said softly.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Flustered. Angry. Confused. I mean—he just gave us two million dollars, and I went there to say thank you. I wasn’t expecting… that. And now I feel like I’ve been pulled into something I don’t understand.”

She handed me a spoonful of melting ice cream. “That’s fair. But girl—what’s wrong with being pulled into something? He’s hot. You’re human.”

“I don’t want to be that woman,” I said quietly. “The kind who forgets why she’s here just because a good-looking man breathes in her direction.”

Tasha softened. “Sweetheart, you’ve got more integrity than half the city combined. But it’s okay to want. You’re not weak for being attracted to someone. You’re just... alive.”

I didn’t respond.

She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Let me guess—you’re thinking of staying away.”

“I have to,” I said. “It’s the only smart thing.”

“Well,” she said, hopping to her feet with a suspiciously smug smile, “too bad I already made plans for tonight.”

“What kind of plans?”

“Girls' night out.”

I groaned. “I can’t. I’m emotionally exhausted.”

“Perfect,” she grinned. “That’s when people dance best. You’re coming.”

Hours later, the bass thudded through my bones, and a drink sweated in my hand as I stood in the middle of a too-crowded downtown club.

I hated clubs.

The flashing lights. The sour smell of old alcohol. The claustrophobic swirl of limbs, perfume, and laughter. But Tasha was relentless, and I hadn’t had the energy to argue hard enough.

“You need to dance!” she yelled over the music. “Let all that billionaire tension out of your system!”

“I don’t have any billionaire tension,” I lied.

“Oh honey. It’s written all over your face.”

I took a sip of my drink, trying to ignore the buzz in my chest. My eyes wandered through the crowd—just to keep busy—until I saw him.

Damien Blackwood.

My heart tripped.

He was near the back bar, dressed in black with his sleeves rolled up, hands tucked casually into his pockets, smirking at something the bartender said.

What the hell was he doing here?

This wasn’t his world. Not the noise. Not the sweat and strobe lights. He belonged in boardrooms and luxury suites, not... here.

And yet, he was here. Looking so maddeningly unbothered, like the night had been designed just to frame him in that exact light.

He turned.

Our eyes met.

And he smiled.

Every nerve in my body jolted.

Tasha followed my gaze. “Who are you staring—oh. Oh my God. It’s him, isn’t it?”

“I need to leave,” I muttered, already trying to push through the crowd.

But he was faster.

The people between us seemed to melt away, or maybe I just stopped noticing them. And then—he was right in front of me.

“Miss Hart.” His voice was smooth, low—like the music quieted just for him.

“This is a coincidence,” I said, keeping my expression flat.

He tilted his head. “Fate.”

Tasha cleared her throat beside me. “Hi. I’m the best friend. The one who drags her out of emotional spirals.”

Damien’s eyes never left mine. “You have excellent timing.”

My heart was beating too fast. I didn’t want this—not here, not now.

Then he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “I thought you were staying away.”

“I was,” I whispered.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t come for you.”

“No,” he said softly. “But you found me.”

I took a step back, tension prickling down my spine. “I’m not in the mood for mind games.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then don’t follow me.”

“I didn’t,” he said simply. “But now that you’re here... I don’t intend to let you walk away so easily.”

The way he said it—it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

I stared at him, trying to figure out what he wanted from me.

But deep down, I already knew.

And worse—part of me wanted it too.