Chapter 157
Aria's POV
"Come down. Now." His voice was crisp, authoritative.
No please. No explanation. Just a command, as usual.
"I'm still working," I replied, my eyes scanning the financial report in front of me.
"I'm outside. Don't make me wait." He hung up without waiting for my response.
I sighed, smoothing down my pencil skirt and glancing at the clock. It was nearly seven, and I'd been poring over Harper Group's financial reports since my meeting with Diana ended. My first day as Vice President had been exhausting but deeply satisfying. The look on my father's face when I fired those two managers loyal to Scarlett—that alone was worth all the years of being sidelined.
My lips tightened. Part of me wanted to make him wait, just to prove I could. But I'd learned enough about Devon Kane to know that would only make things worse. Besides, I was too tired for games tonight.
The elevator ride down seemed endless. When the doors finally opened to the lobby, I strode across the marble floor, my heels clicking rhythmically against the stone. Outside, the city lights had come alive, painting Manhattan in its evening glow.
I expected to see Marcus waiting with the car. Instead, Devon himself leaned against his Bentley, scrolling through his phone with casual indifference. He wore a charcoal suit that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair slightly tousled by the evening breeze.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"I was working." I adjusted the strap of my bag. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd send Marcus."
Devon's eyes finally lifted to mine, sharp and assessing. "Tsk. I thought Ms. Harper might be planning to burn bridges now that she's reached her goal." His sarcasm made my heart race despite my exhaustion. "A whole day without returning my messages? Busy enjoying your new power as VP?"
I felt a flash of guilt. I had seen his texts earlier but had been too caught up in my triumph to respond. "It's been a long day," I said, sliding into the passenger seat as he held the door open.
As Devon walked around to the driver's side, I settled against the leather seat. That's when I noticed it—a subtle floral scent lingering in the car. Chanel. Not my perfume, and certainly not Devon's usual sandalwood cologne. I inhaled deeply, trying to mask my sudden discomfort with a small cough.
Devon glanced at me as he pulled into traffic. "Something wrong?"
"No." I looked out the window, watching the city blur past. "Actually, I'm not feeling great. Maybe you should just take me home."
"Not feeling great how?" His voice was neutral, but I felt his gaze flicking to me periodically.
"Just... women's things." I shifted uncomfortably, hoping he wouldn't press further. "It's that time of the month."
The car slowed slightly as Devon gave a cold laugh. "Is it now? That's interesting."
"What's interesting about my period?" I snapped, turning to face him.
"That it's so conveniently timed. And so irregular." His fingers tapped the steering wheel rhythmically. "Unless your cycle runs on a ten-day schedule, which would be medically concerning. That's the second time you've used that excuse recently, Aria."
Heat crept up my neck. Of course he would remember that.
"Fine," I muttered. "I'm tired. It's been a long day of destroying people's careers."
"And you enjoyed every minute of it." There was a hint of approval in his voice.
The rest of the fifteen-minute drive passed in tense silence. I watched as we approached one of Manhattan's most iconic buildings, its sleek glass facade stretching toward the night sky. Devon pulled into a private underground garage, nodding to the security guard who recognized him immediately.
As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Marcus was already waiting. "Mr. Kane," he said. "The documents you requested are in your office, and the meeting with Tokyo has been moved to 9 AM tomorrow."
"Fine." Devon's hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward a private elevator. "Ms. Harper doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Marcus's eyes flickered to me, his expression professionally blank. "Of course, sir."
As the elevator doors closed, I caught Marcus's parting words: "Mr. Kane doesn't like to wait either, Ms. Harper."
The elevator shot upward, my reflection in its mirrored walls looking tired and tense. Devon stood beside me, his face unreadable, fingers still lightly pressed against my back.
When the doors opened directly into his penthouse, the city stretched out below us through floor-to-ceiling windows—a carpet of lights beautiful and cold, like our arrangement itself.
"Make yourself comfortable," Devon said, loosening his tie as he walked toward what I presumed was the bedroom.
I remained standing, taking in the minimalist luxury of his space. Everything was sleek lines and muted colors, tasteful but impersonal. No photographs, no mementos—nothing to suggest the man who lived here.
The sound of running water caught my attention.
"Aria." Devon's voice carried from the bathroom. "Come here."
I hesitated, then slowly walked toward the sound. The bathroom door stood ajar, steam escaping into the hallway. I pushed it open to find a marble paradise larger than my entire first apartment. Devon reclined in an enormous freestanding tub, his chest bare and glistening with water.
"Join me," he said, eyes never leaving mine.
I noticed that the bruising around the wound has subsided, and dark scabs have formed at the suture sites. He looked powerful even in repose, muscles defined under bronzed skin.
"I told you, I'm not feeling well," I tried again, though we both knew I was lying.
"Then perhaps a bath will help." His voice was soft but left no room for argument.
I stood frozen, caught between desire and the need to maintain some control. Devon watched me, waiting. When I didn't move, he rose slightly, water cascading down his chest, and extended his hand.
"Don't make me ask twice."