Chapter 46 The Summons
Sable's POV
Monday started the way most Mondays did—too early, too loud, and too caffeinated.
Jenna was already perched on the edge of my desk, waving a coffee cup like a flag of peace. “Double shot, oat milk, extra cinnamon. You looked like you’d need it.”
“I always need it,” I said, taking the cup gratefully. “You’re an angel.”
“I’m a saint,” she corrected. “And don’t forget it when the client from hell calls again about ‘brand tone synergy.’”
“Don’t say those words to me before nine a.m.,” I groaned.
She grinned and hopped off my desk. “Sam’s on his way in. Marcos says the Ironclad deck looks clean. We’re still on for the post-mortem at two?”
“Yep. We’ll get through it.” I paused, staring at the email inbox glowing on my screen. “Hopefully without needing actual wine.”
“Ha. That’s optimistic.” She patted my shoulder. “Text me if you want lunch.”
When she left, the office settled into its usual rhythm—typing, phones, the low hum of conversation. It should’ve felt normal. But the second I saw it—his name sitting at the top of my inbox—my stomach dropped.
From: K. Blane, Ironclad Enterprises.
The subject line: Continuation.
I stared at it for a full minute before opening it.
Sable,
Ironclad requires clarity before next steps.
I expect you Monday, 8 p.m. for dinner, Ironclad Tower Penthouse.
Alone.
—K. Blane
I reread it twice, pulse drumming in my ears.
Dinner. Alone. At his penthouse.
What the hell was he playing at?
I leaned back in my chair, taking a long breath. Part of me wanted to laugh—it was such a Kier move, all command and no explanation. Another part of me wanted to throw my laptop out the window. The nerve of him, just summoning me like that.
And yet… my wolf stirred, tail twitching, curiosity sparking. Go, she whispered. See what he wants.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered under my breath. “And let him lure me into his trap. Not happening.”
Except my heart wasn’t convinced.
By noon, I’d read the email again. And again.
By three, I’d convinced myself it was purely professional. Ironclad requires clarity—those were his words. This could just be a strategic debrief. Maybe he wanted to smooth things over after the tension in the last session. Maybe this was business.
Or maybe I was lying to myself.
Jenna appeared at my door, chewing on a pen cap. “Hey, you good? You’ve been in your office all day. I thought you died.”
I forced a small smile. “Just emails.”
“You look… haunted.”
“Thanks, I was going for ‘haunted chic.’”
She narrowed her eyes. “This about Ironclad again? Because if Kier Blane sends one more power-play message, I’m blocking his entire domain.”
My fingers twitched. “It’s fine. Really.”
“You’re saying ‘fine’ like someone who’s about to make a terrible decision.”
“I haven’t made any decisions, yet.”
“Yet,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about one?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “He wants a meeting. A private one. At his penthouse.”
Jenna’s eyebrows shot up. “At his what?”
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m already starting. That’s not a meeting, babe, that’s a setup. Nobody schedules a work dinner at their penthouse unless they’re trying to blur lines—or cross them.”
“It’s not like that,” I said automatically, though I wasn’t entirely sure. “He said it’s for clarity. Maybe he wants to finalize the campaign direction.”
Jenna made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Sure. Over candlelight. Who's dessert, him or you?”
I couldn’t help smiling, though it felt forced. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m protective,” she corrected. “Because I’ve seen the way you and that man look at each other. If this were a movie, there’d be dramatic music and slow motion.”
“Stop,” I said, trying to hide my grin.
“Seriously. Be careful. Guys like that? They don’t play fair.”
You think I don’t know that?
“I’ll handle it,” I said instead.
“Uh-huh.” She gave me one more long look. “Text me when you get home tonight. I mean it.”
I nodded. “Promise.”
The rest of the day dragged. Every meeting felt like noise. Every email was static. The only thing I could hear was the steady echo of his words in my head.
I expect you Monday, 8 p.m.
By the time I got back to my apartment, it was past six. I stood in front of my closet, towel-drying my hair, and stared at the rows of clothes. Professional, casual, confident. None of them felt right.
“This is stupid,” I muttered, tossing hangers aside. “It’s just dinner.”
Then why does your pulse sound like thunder? my wolf teased.
“Because he’s infuriating,” I snapped aloud.
She purred. Because he’s ours.
I froze. “No,” I said sharply. “He’s not.”
And yet you’re still going.
I glared at my reflection. My wolf wasn’t wrong. I was going. Maybe to show him that he didn’t control me. Maybe because… some sadistic part of me still wanted to know what lie between us.
I settled on black slacks, a silk blouse, and my favorite heels—professional, not flirty. I dried and curled my hair choosing to leave my chestnut curls loose. I took one last look in the mirror before grabbing my keys and purse to head out.
The car ride to Ironclad Tower was too quiet. The driver barely glanced in the rearview mirror, and I was grateful for it. My fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the clasp of my bag.
The city lights blurred past—cold, bright, relentless.
When my Uber pulled up to Ironclad, the air felt different. The tower loomed above the city, quiet and watchful—an empire holding its breath. It was the complete opposite of how it usually was: no noise spilling from the lobby, no flash of executives rushing through glass doors, no pulse of conversation echoing off marble floors.
By the time the elevator doors opened onto the top floor, my heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest.
The moment the elevator doors slid open, I could feel it.
That electric tension that seemed to hum in the air whenever Kier was near.
I’d spent the entire day convincing myself I was over it—over him. Over the way his voice could pull something from me I swore I’d buried.
The moment I opened the door, my heart stopped.