Chapter 6 Chapter 6
Sebastian’s POV
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight as I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. The city sprawls below like a glittering web, New York’s skyline sharp and unforgiving under the late afternoon sun. But I’m not seeing any of it. My mind is fixed on her.
Lena Sawyer.
The name rolls through my thoughts like a forbidden whisper, stirring something dark and primal that I’ve spent years burying under layers of control.
She’s brilliant. She’s very brilliant, and it’s mind-blowing. I saw it in her application first—a spark of originality in her marketing pitch that cut through the bland corporate drivel we get every day. Innovative and bold, with a fresh perspective that could actually move the needle for Lancaster Industries. And then she walked into that interview room, her hazel eyes wide with shock, and everything shifted. I remember her from the club.
How could I forget? That night at Onyx, she stumbled into my orbit like a comet, fiery and reckless, her lips tasting of tequila and desperation. She was heartbroken; that much was clear, but there was a fire in her that drew me in and made me break my own rules for a moment. I carried her out when she passed out, tucked her into that hotel suite, and left before I could do something I’d regret. I didn’t think I’d see her again. A one-night intrigue, nothing more.
But there she was, in my boardroom, her chestnut hair tied back professionally, those expressive eyes shifting from green to gold under the lights. Fuck. She’s so pretty in an innocent manner. Not the polished, predatory beauty I’m used to in this world—the socialites and executives who know the game and play it hard. No, Lena has this wide-eyed vulnerability, like she’s still figuring out how sharp the world’s edges are. Her petite frame, strong but delicate, hiding that phoenix tattoo I glimpsed when her shirt rode up in the club.
I’ve seen her face properly now, in the harsh light of day, without the haze of alcohol and dim club lights. And it’s etched into my brain. Those full lips, the way she bites the lower one when she’s nervous, the curve of her neck that begs to be traced.
I shift in my seat, my cock twitching at the memory. Damn it. I tell myself she’s just a distraction I do not want. I built this empire by keeping my worlds separate—business in the boardroom, pleasure elsewhere. Mixing them is a recipe for disaster, for scandals that could topple everything I’ve worked for. I’ve seen it happen to lesser men, their legacies ruined by a pretty face and a moment of weakness. Not me. Never me.
Besides, Sebastian has one rule: never mix pleasure with work. This means that no matter how much I want to bend her over my desk, exert my dominance over her, spank her until her skin flushes pink and she begs for more, or even just have a sniff of her panties to inhale that sweet, forbidden scent—I will not do that.
The fantasies hit me hard, unbidden. Imagining her spread out on the polished wood, her skirt hiked up, my hand coming down firm and deliberate, her moans echoing in the room. Or pinning her against the window, the city as our backdrop, claiming her with every thrust until she shatters.
She’d be so responsive, so eager under that innocent facade. I can see it in the way she challenges me with those eyes, even when her voice trembles. But no. That path leads to ruin. I’ve enforced that rule for years, turning down advances from employees, keeping interactions strictly professional. Lena Sawyer is no exception.
And besides, she’s too young for me. Twenty-four to my forty-eight. Half my age, practically. What would a vibrant, ambitious woman like her want with a jaded old bastard like me? I’ve got silver in my hair, scars from a bitter divorce, and a son who’s closer to her age than I am.
The only way I can keep her at arm’s length is if I don’t let her get too close. I’ll remain just the boss that I am to her, nothing more. Stern, demanding, professional.
I’ll assign her to projects that keep her busy, away from my office. Delegate through Tessa or the team leads. No more one-on-one meetings unless absolutely required. Control the proximity; control the temptation.
I rub my temples, the headache building like a storm. This isn’t like me. I don’t obsess over women. I take what I need, when I need it, on my terms. Maybe that’s the problem. It’s been too long since I indulged. Victoria’s betrayal left me wary, but I’ve got needs. Dark ones. The kind that require trust and discretion. But for now, I need to get my mind off her.
I resolve to go to the bar tonight and find someone very hot. Someone who won’t complicate things. Perhaps I just need to have sex. That’s all. Once I find someone to have sex with and get kinky with in my sex room—restraints, blindfolds, the full release—everything will be fine. I can purge this obsession and reset.
I stand, pacing to the window, my reflection staring back—tall, broad-shouldered, the silver streaks at my temples making me look distinguished, or so they say.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. Sharp, insistent. I grunt, annoyed at the interruption. “Who is it?”
The voice that answers is smooth, sultry, and far too familiar. “It’s Sienna, Sebastian. We need to talk.”
I grunt again, deeper this time, irritation flaring. Sienna Rowe. Wesley’s fling, or ex-fling. What the hell is she doing here?