Chapter 92
Aria's POV
"Devon!" I called out again, my voice strained as Preston tightened his grip on my hair.
In what felt like slow motion, Devon appeared at the private dining room doorway. His expression shifted from casual indifference to cold calculation as he assessed the scene before him.
"Preston," he said with deceptive lightness, "good to see you. Having a pleasant conversation with my friend here?"
Preston's grip loosened immediately. He straightened up, his face pale as he recognized the newcomer. "Mr. Kane. This is... this is a private meeting."
Devon smiled, but his eyes remained glacial as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Well, now it's become a reunion. We haven't caught up in what—two years? Not since that Miami development fell through."
The subtle reminder of Preston's past failure hung in the air. I watched Devon navigate the room with effortless authority, settling into a chair as if he owned the place.
"I was just leaving," Preston muttered, adjusting his wet pants with obvious discomfort.
"Nonsense," Devon countered, gesturing to the vacant seat. "Join us for a drink. For old times' sake." He signaled to the waiter hovering uncertainly by the door. "Your finest brandy, please."
I remained silent, studying Devon's technique. Despite his casual demeanor, there was something predatory in the way he commanded the space. Preston looked trapped, shifting uncomfortably as the waiter returned with an expensive bottle.
"So," Devon said, pouring three glasses, "tell me about this Miami project. I heard Westbrook pulled their funding last minute?"
Preston's face tightened. "That situation was—"
"A complete disaster," Devon finished for him, pushing a glass toward Preston. "Cost your investors what, twenty million? Drink up."
I watched in fascination as Devon systematically dismantled Preston's composure, bringing up business failures with each refilled glass. Every time Preston attempted to excuse himself, Devon would mention another potential investor or project, forcing Preston to stay engaged.
Thirty minutes later, Preston had consumed several brandies in quick succession. His face had taken on a greenish tint.
"I need... bathroom," he muttered, stumbling to his feet and barely making it to the door.
As soon as he disappeared, I exhaled heavily, the tension draining from my shoulders.
"That was... impressive," I admitted, meeting Devon's gaze across the table.
He regarded me coolly. "I didn't expect to find you here. On a date with Preston Scott, of all people?"
"It wasn't a date," I clarified quickly. "Just a business meeting. I need investors."
I hesitated, then added, "Thank you for stepping in."
Devon's mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. "Your conflict resolution strategy involves throwing tea on people? Creative."
My cheeks warmed with embarrassment and lingering anger. "He wanted more than investment returns. He was expecting... additional benefits."
Devon's expression hardened. "Did he record anything?"
I shook my head. "No, I recorded him. Just in case."
He nodded approvingly. "Smart. Though Preston has connections in certain circles. You should be careful."
He rose to leave, straightening his impeccable suit jacket. "If there's nothing else, I'll be going."
I watched him, my mind racing through calculations and consequences. The weight of my failing company, the SEC investigation, the Blake family's commercial blacklisting—all of it pressed down on me. I bit my lower lip, indecision warring with desperation.
"Wait," I called as he reached the door. "Can I... get a ride with you? I'm worried Preston might come back looking for trouble."
Devon raised an eyebrow but held the door open without comment. I quickly gathered my belongings and followed him through the restaurant to the gleaming Bentley waiting outside.
The interior of his car smelled of expensive leather and his subtle cologne. We sat in tense silence for several minutes, the soft purr of the engine the only sound between us.
"Interesting," Devon finally said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You'll seek help from someone like Preston Scott with his questionable reputation, but not from someone who could actually solve your problems."
I feigned confusion. "I don't know what you mean."
Devon's laugh was cold. "Don't play dumb, Aria. I know the Blakes have blacklisted your company. So you're what—meeting with second-rate investors like Preston? That's your solution?"
I stared at him, surprised. "You've been keeping tabs on my business troubles?"
He didn't answer directly. "You really thought tea-throwing and Preston Scott would fix things?"
I looked down at my hands, clutching my purse tightly. The defeat and frustration I'd been holding back threatened to overflow. For weeks I'd been fighting to save my company, refusing to ask for help, determined to solve everything myself.
"Fine," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "You're right. I need help... your help."
Devon's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. "Tell me exactly what's happening."
I took a deep breath, pride dissolving in the face of necessity. "The Blake family has been systematic. They've scared off potential clients, spread rumors about financial instability, and somehow triggered that ridiculous SEC investigation that's draining our resources. We're running out of options."
Devon nodded slowly. "I can handle these issues. But I have conditions."
I tensed. "What conditions?"
His eyes met mine, intense and unreadable. "Our previous arrangement. I want to extend it. Not just for a month, but... indefinitely."
"Why?" I questioned, genuinely confused by his request. "What do you get out of this?"
Devon rarely showed vulnerability, but something in his expression shifted. "My insomnia... it's been better since I met you. I don't know why. The doctors don't know why. But I sleep when you're there."
The confession caught me off guard. Devon Kane, Manhattan's most formidable business titan, admitting he needed me for something as basic as sleep. It was both powerful and strangely intimate.
"I need to maintain my company's independence," I countered, not wanting to seem too eager. "And my own personal space. This can't be a 24/7 arrangement."
"Agreed," he said after a moment's consideration. "I'll handle your Blake problem and ensure the SEC investigation disappears. In exchange, our arrangement continues, with reasonable accommodations for your independence."
We shook hands, and I felt a strange electric current pass between us. This was more than our previous transaction—something had shifted.
The car pulled up to the Harper family mansion. I prepared to exit, feeling simultaneously relieved and anxious about our new agreement.
"My team will contact you tomorrow to discuss specifics," Devon said, his business tone returning.
On impulse, I leaned over and pressed my lips to his cheek. "Thank you for today."
His expression registered genuine surprise, his fingers unconsciously touching the spot where I'd kissed him. For a moment, his features softened in a way I'd never seen before.
I hurried out of the car, heart racing at my own boldness, wondering what had possessed me to do that.
Inside, Elsa the housekeeper greeted me with worried eyes. "Miss Aria, have you eaten dinner? You look exhausted."
I shook my head. "Just tired, Elsa. Are my father and Victoria home?"
Elsa's expression clouded. "Your father is in his study, miss. Victoria took Miss Scarlett to the hospital last night. Mr. Blake brought her in for a... procedure." She lowered her voice. "An abortion, miss. But something went wrong. There was heavy bleeding. It's quite serious."
I froze, a complex wave of emotions washing over me. Scarlett pregnant with Ethan's child. Ethan taking her for an abortion. The procedure going wrong. Part of me wanted to feel vindicated—they deserved consequences for their betrayal. But another part felt an unexpected twist of concern.
"I see," I said quietly, climbing the stairs to my room.