Chapter 20 On Edge
\-Lucien-
Celeste Ashford's Post-Wedding Mystery: Who Is This New Beau?
The tabloid headline flickered across my screen like a slap. Beneath it was a photo of some unknown man holding the door open for her, framed perfectly to suggest intimacy. I scrolled past it once, twice, then shoved the phone into my pocket, even though the image refused to leave my mind.
I forced my attention to the construction site around me. It was a new residential project, ten units already snapped up by elites before the paint had dried. High yield equaled high pressure.
Quietly, I observed as workers move back and forth, masking chaos for productivity. Jackson's voice cut through the clatter as he hurried behind me, explaining timelines, but I barely heard him. My thoughts kept drifting back to her. Celeste.
I couldn't shake the memory of last night. I shouldn't have let it happen, the moment I slammed my lips onto hers, it was reckless, raw, and almost cruel. And yet... the way she moved against me, the way she made me forget everything else, I lost all control.
Now, seeing that damn headline with some random guy holding her door open, I wanted to rip the screen off my phone and part of me wanted to pull her back into that chaos, even knowing how dangerous it was for both of us.
My jaw clenched as my eyes swept across the site. Jackson was still talking, but I was noticing. The titles on the staircase were slightly misaligned, just enough to bother me.
As we walked into three different units, I noticed the uneven cabinet doors, the crooked light fixtures and the sloppy interior trim edges.
Every error and imperfection got under my skin more than it should have. So I wrote down the names of those responsible, but really... it wasn't about them. It was the restlessness Celeste had left in me.
"I want everyone involved in the lighting, trim and cabinets, including supervisors, here immediately." My voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of drills and hammering.
"I-Is there something wrong?" Jackson stuttered, his brows knitted in confusion.
At that moment, all I could think was that he had missed all these important details.
Ignoring him, I gestured to a cleared space near the lobby. "Right here."
The men gathered, faces etched with confusion as whispers and murmurs grew among them.
Once I stepped forward, the noise stopped. Jackson's expression turned frantic, like he had something to hide, but that was the least of my concern at the moment.
I stopped in front of the junior supervisor, smiling at me like he was clever. He had signed off on a major inspection, even though the tiles didn't match the client's design. A rookie mistake, yes, but overstepping authority? That was unforgivable.
"You approved this inspection yourself...explain."
"I-I thought the client had approved this layout in an earlier meeting." He stuttered.
"Right," I scoffed, "And did you even consult your supervisor?"
"I assumed the senior supervisor had already signed off-"
I didn't let him finish. "You're fired."
Shock rippled across the crew. The junior supervisor's face faltered, but I simply walked past.
"And where's he? The senior supervisor?" I asked nobody in particular. Murmurs, hesitation, no one was brave enough, until Jackson answered for them.
"He's not on site, not answering, but I think-"
"Fired." I raised my hand, cutting him off.
Even absence was a failure under my watch. Responsibility wasn't about convenience, it was about accountability. I continued my walk among the remaining team.
"The tiles in at least four units are misaligned, the cabinet doors like they were done by seven-year olds. The trim like a toddler went at it with a ruler, and the light fixtures... whoever thought this was acceptable?!" I snapped. The men exchanged fearful, apologetic glances, but that wasn't enough to save them.
"All the members of the team I mentioned are fired." I turned on my heel, leaving the chaos behind. Whispers trailed after me, tension thick in the air, but the deed was done. I couldn't tolerate this level of unprofessionalism, especially not in my business.
Jackson followed me, grabbing my arm, yanking me to a stop.
"Lucien, what the fuck was that?! Why are you so on edge? You can't just fire an entire team for something small-I could've handled it-"
"But you didn't!" I shot back, my voice slicing through the air like a blade. Sharper than I intended.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tight with frustration. "You can't just-these men have families-"
I let out a dry laugh. How could he be so naïve?
"And if the roles were reversed, they'd fire without a second thought. I own this company, Jackson. I set the standard. I don't tolerate cheap, careless work. Go. Find me a team of professionals who understand that perfection isn't optional. Report back when you've found them."
I released his arm and kept walking until I reached my car. I knew he was watching, still there as the gravel crunched under my tires. He looked like I'd broken his heart.
I told myself I was heading home, back to my apartment. But somehow, my hands turned the wheel toward Tribeca, driving straight for the penthouse, even though I knew Celeste would be there.
The elevator doors opened, and the smell of warm, home-cooked food hit me. This place had never smelled like this before. I usually came home to frozen meals, to no one. Part of me tensed at her presence, but another, darker part wanted to claim it all. Every step made it clear: she had already unsettled everything I thought I controlled.
When I walked into the kitchen, her hair was tied up in a messy bun, an apron around her waist. The way she moved with practiced prevision, almost like she was shaping art, made it impossible to look away. And even in a simple apron, she was breathtaking.
"Hi." She blinked at me, her expression neutral. "I made dinner...to de-stress, and I figured since last time, I'd cook rather than bake."
What was stressing her? My reeled, but before I could speak, she pulled out a chair, gesturing to sit. "Let's eat together."
My legs seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying me to the chair. My eye glanced at the palette. My eyes landed on the plate of truffle mushroom risotto, perfectly plated. One of my favorites. How had she known?
"My favorite," she said casually, taking the sit next to mine.
I nodded, lifting the spoon to my mouth. The first bite of truffle mushroom risotto was rich, earthy, and perfect. For a moment, I felt like a little boy again comforted, content, and completely caught up in the taste like nothing else existed.
I opened my eyes and met hers, as if she were waiting for a review. "It's... delicious," I said, letting the words come easily. A small, satisfied smile tugged at my lips, I hadn't felt this... simple enjoyment in a long time.
She smiled with a small nod, and somehow we ate in a comfortable silence. When we finished, she stood to put away the dishes, but my hand shot out before she could move. Our fingers met, and I didn't pull away.
Quietly, I rose to my feet, letting my fingers trail along her arm, following the curves I couldn't stop noticing. Her warm, faintly sweet scent hit me, then I caught the way her eyes flickered between mine and my lips without pulling back. She wanted this. I knew it.
So I leaned forward, but she turned sharply and walked off with the dishes. I stood there watching her wash the plates. Her shoulders were tensed, hands working with precision as she scrubbed the plates like she was trying to erase a permanent stain.
She was upset.
But I couldn't resist, I took a step closer, till I was just I behind her and barely any space between us. She froze, then dropped the
plate and turned to me. "Shouldn't we talk?" Her eyes flickered with annoyance and wanting me.
I chuckled, my voice low. "What's there to talk about?" She scoffed. "You're ruining a good moment," I added sharply. "Why do you want to dwell on the past-?"
"You can't just fuck me and make me pretend it didn't happen!" she snapped. Her voice was tinged with bitterness and anger. Then she added, almost reluctantly, "A client invited me to an event tonight. So do whatever you do, stay or go to your apartment. I'll be home late." With that, she rinsed her hands and walked away.
A client? Of course, it was him.
The thought of him holding doors open and smiling in her face, irritated me enough. I couldn't let her go there on her own. So, I didn't hesitate. Despite everything else going on, I would go with her. By the time she came out, I was already dressed, and waiting in the living room.
Her eyes scanned my suit with suspicion, confusion and maybe a hint of frustration. "What are you doing?" she demanded sharply.
I walked over to her, slow and deliberate, a smirk tugging my face. "It's your first event after getting married. What will people say when they see you without your husband?"
She stifled a laugh, her eyes burning with anger. "I don't care what they say, Lucien. This isn't the 1800s, a woman is allowed to do as she pleases." With that, she walked away, but I grabbed her arms and spun her to face me.
"Your grandmother's little visit to your store is all over the media, Celeste. We both know she doesn't approve, that she's looking for a flaw to break this. You wanted this, Celeste. So why are you afraid to take it?"
She yanked my hands off, jaw clenched like the thought of her grandmother had upset her.
"Fine." She murmured, "Let's make tonight our first public appearance."