Chapter 77: Chapter Seventy Six

Eros

Two days later 

The glass-walled conference room buzzed with quiet conversation as directors and executives filed in. I stood at the head of the table, expression unreadable—my presence quiet, yet commanding.

Athena sat two seats away, tablet in hand, her posture sharp and composed.

“Let’s begin,” I said, skipping pleasantries.

Silence dropped over the room.

Athena tapped her screen, and the first slide illuminated the wall behind me—clean, sharp, precise.

“As you can see, our Q2 projections are up 6.2% across key markets,” I began, pausing to glance at her. “Ms. Carmichael, walk them through the regional breakdown?”

A few heads turned. The CFO raised a brow, no doubt wondering if I’d lost my mind, letting my new assistant take the floor. None of them had read her report. But they were about to find out.

Athena didn’t flinch. “Of course.”

She rose, clicked the remote, and began navigating the data. Bullet points. Charts. Trends. Delivered with calm authority and surgical clarity.

No fluff. No fumbles.

When she finished, the room was still—then slowly, nods of approval.

I studied her. I didn’t smile, but the corner of my mouth twitched.

“Thank you, Ms. Carmichael,” I said, reclaiming my place. “Now, onto the merger risks.”

\~~~~~~

“Athena.” Her name escaped my lips, unbidden, and it caught me off guard. She didn’t seem to hear it, or at least didn’t react. I couldn’t decide if it was solitude playing tricks on me—or if it meant more than I cared to admit.

She paused mid-stride in the hallway. I had followed her out.

“Yes, Mr. Belmonte?”

My brow twitched. Formal, as expected. The formality irked me. “You held your ground in there.”

“I assumed you didn’t like to be disappointed.” She stated.

I studied her. “I don’t. Which is why you’re taking points at tomorrow’s investor lunch.”

She blinked. “You want me to represent Belmonte Group?”

“You’re not deaf. Or shy. I think you’ll handle them better than Garrett ever could.”

I stepped closer, voice lower now. “But don’t mistake this for praise. One good performance means nothing. Consistency is what counts.”

“Noted,” she replied smoothly. “Would you like me to prepare the talking points?”

“Already done?”

“Last night.” She replied.

I looked at her—long, unreadable. “You came prepared.”

“I always do.” She smirked.

I turned to leave, then paused.

“One more thing,” I said without looking back. “In that conference room—when you took over?”

“Yes?”

“You made me look good.”

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” Her voice curved with a smile I couldn’t see but definitely felt.

The office was dim, lit only by the skyline melting into twilight. I sat behind my desk, tie loosened, the city reflected in the glass behind me.

Athena’s meeting notes sat before me—flawless. Every action item checked. Every board comment was tracked and timestamped.

Efficient. Detailed. Unshakable.

I took another sip of the coffee she’d brought earlier. Still warm.

I hadn’t wanted her here. Yet here I was—relying on her. Damon had always anticipated my needs, but with Athena, it felt different. As if we still knew each other in ways neither of us would admit.

That unsettled me more than I liked.

A soft knock interrupted the quiet. The door creaked open.

Athena stood in the doorway. “I emailed tomorrow’s itinerary and left the files on your desk,” she said.

“Stay.” I interrupted, ignoring what she said—too focused on the strange impulse that I didn’t stop to understand.

She froze. “Excuse me?”

“Sit. Just for a minute.”

She hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door gently before sitting across from me.

“Do you hate being here?” I asked, voice softer now.

She met my gaze. “No.”

“Even after everything?”

Athena inhaled slowly. “This job isn’t about us.”

“But we’re always in the room,” I murmured, tapping the table once. “No matter who else is there.”

She said nothing.

“I’ll expect you at seven tomorrow,” I said, standing. I wouldn’t allow myself to unravel in front of her.

She stood as well. “I’ll be here by six-thirty.”

I gave a low chuckle. “Trying to impress me again?”

“No,” she said, turning for the door. “Trying to stay one step ahead.”

Just before she shut it behind her, she added, “You’ll thank me for it someday.”

I stared at the closed door for a long time.

“Maybe I already do,” I muttered.

And I didn’t know whether to hate that… or surrender to it. Because deep down, I knew—keeping her here would either be the smartest thing I’d ever done... or the beginning of my downfall.

******

The next day 

Athena

The rooftop restaurant hummed with the quiet opulence of old money—tailored suits, glinting silverware, and sweeping views of Crescent City. The air smelled of aged wine and quiet ambition.

I arrived ten minutes early, navy dress sleek against my frame, hair pinned back, every inch of me laced with intention. Confidence wasn’t an accessory—it was the outfit.

I scanned the table: place cards, financial packets, and water glasses aligned like soldiers. I didn’t just walk in ready. I walked in already owning the room.

“Miss Sanderson,” came a voice behind me, slick as oil. “Pleasure to see you again.”

I turned to find Cyrus Burgess—aging investor, overflowing with money and lacking in manners. He wore a smirk meant to disarm me.

It didn’t. It made my skin itch. I didn’t bother correcting the name—he’d heard it before, just chose to forget.

“Likewise, Mr. Burgess. I hope your morning wasn’t as volatile as your portfolio?”

Cyrus chuckled, not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

Before he could bite back, Eros arrived—tailored in charcoal gray, confidence etched into every stride. His eyes found me and lingered, just a beat longer than necessary.

“You ready?” he murmured under his breath.

“I was born ready,” I said, smooth as satin.

“Good.” His gaze swept over me once more before he took his seat.

Lunch unfolded with the usual performance—pleasantries, business talk, and curated bites—until Cyrus decided to remind us all why he was impossible to like.

He leaned in, wine glass in hand, voice too loud. “So, you’re Belmonte’s new... what is it again? Assistant? Advisor? Or just something nice to look at while the real men handle business?”

I didn’t blink.

“I’m whatever Mr. Belmonte needs me to be.” I said smoothly.

I didn’t have to glance sideways to know Eros had stiffened beside me. I could feel the tension radiate off him like heat.

I continued, calm and razor-sharp. “And today, he needed someone capable of explaining why your twenty-million-euro reinvestment plan is shortsighted and financially reckless.”

The table fell silent. One beat. Two. Strike delivered.

I tapped the packet in front of Cyrus. “Page seven. Redirect that capital into the East Ravencia expansion and you’re looking at a 14.8% return by Q3. Keep funneling it through stagnant logistics and we’re talking a 6.2% plateau—or a potential loss by year’s end."

Cyrus blinked, then smirked, impressed despite himself. “You did your homework.”

“No, Mr. Burgess,” I said, voice cool and measured. “I did yours.

Silence. Heavy. Perfect.

Then a slow clap—low, deliberate, unmistakable.

Eros.

“Well,” he said, with the hint of a smirk. “I think that answers the question.”

\~~~~~~

Eros leaned against the edge of his desk as I handed over the post-lunch debrief.

“You know,” he said, flipping through the pages, “when I asked you to take the lead, I didn’t expect a full-blown verbal assassination of Cyrus Burgess.”

I sank into the seat across from him, perfectly composed. “He underestimated me. That’s on him.”

His head tilted, a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “You enjoyed it.”

I shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. “Maybe just a little.” I resisted the urge to throw in a victory dance.

A pause settled between us—quiet, charged.

Then, his voice dropped—quieter, sincere. “You were impressive.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment, Mr. Belmonte?” I asked, feigning innocence, a teasing lilt in my voice. He’d caught me off guard, sure—but I buried the reaction beneath a calm facade. 

Was he going soft on me? Adorable. But let’s not kid ourselves. Please. That’d be the day.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, dry as ever.

I rose to my feet. “No worries. I prefer results to compliments anyway.”

He watched as I crossed the room, his expression unreadable, eyes tracking me like a silent thought.

But just as my hand touched the handle, his voice came again—softer, almost reluctant. “I meant what I said.”

I paused, turning slightly. “About what?” I asked, brows lifted.

Our eyes met. Something flickered behind his—pride, maybe. Something more. “You made me look good. Again.”

I held his gaze, my tone softer now. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

And with that, I walked out, leaving him with the thought.