Chapter 10 Under His Gaze
Millie woke with a start, like someone had pulled her out of sleep. Her heart thudded hard enough to make her stomach turn. The mild anxiety she’d gone to bed with had turned into full dread.
She stared at the ceiling, then slipped out of bed quietly.
Cody was still asleep, curled under the blanket.
Phone in hand, she stepped into the hallway and called Clara. It rang long enough for her to think about hanging up before a sleepy “Hello?” came through.
“Hey,” Millie whispered, tiptoeing. “Can’t talk long—I’m heading out to meet this Mr. Moretti guy.”
“Wait. Mr. Moretti? As in the one-night stand Moretti?”
Millie winced. “I don’t know if it’s him. Bert just said a Mr. Moretti wants to talk to me. There are probably a thousand Morettis in the city.”
Clara let out a sound between a gasp and a laugh. “Right. It’s probably nothing. Maybe the guy just wants to give you a five-star review and a fruit basket. Text me the address before you go in. And if I don’t hear from you later, I’m coming to find you.”
Millie let out a shaky laugh. "Okay. I promise. I’ll text you the address.”
“Good. And if he’s hot and emotionally available this time? Go for it. Dump Cody’s ass.”
“Yeah, right." Despite herself, she smiled. “I’ll text you.”
She hung up and slipped her phone into her back pocket. She moved through her morning on autopilot—brushed her teeth, tied her hair, pulled on a shirt and pants. She left a quick note for Cody and closed the apartment door quietly behind her.
Bert’s directions took her somewhere unfamiliar. A row of old industrial buildings on the city’s edge. It looked more like a shady warehouse sale than the office of a millionaire.
A woman in a black suit waited by the door, posture so straight it looked trained. Her gaze skimmed over Millie—neutral, but sharp. Maybe recognition. Maybe judgment.
Without a word, she turned and walked. Millie followed.
They passed rows of tall crates marked with codes and city names. Millie’s sneakers echoed against the high ceiling, too loud in the space. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
They stopped at a black door—plain, unmarked, heavy-looking.
The woman knocked once, then pushed it open.
“Go in,” she said, already turning away.
Millie hesitated—just a second. Long enough to remind herself that Clara had the address. Cody too. If she didn’t come back, someone would know.
Then she stepped inside. The door shut behind her with a solid thud. The room wasn’t what she expected.
No dim warehouse or peeling paint. It looked like something out of an architecture magazine. At the far end sat a massive desk, dark wood polished to a mirror finish. Behind it, a man stood as she entered.
And he wasn’t Aidan. The man was in his mid-thirties, tall, built like he spent mornings boxing instead of sleeping.
“Miss Foster,” he said. “Thank you for coming on short notice. Please, sit.”
Millie froze. When her legs finally moved, she sat across from him. “So… what is this about?”
“I’m Ethan Moretti,” the man said instead.
Before she could reply, the woman from earlier stepped in and placed a glass on the desk.
“Thank you,” Millie said quietly, palms damp against the glass.
Ethan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “You and your crew were told to stay out of the art room,” he said, skipping small talk. “Yet you went in.”
Millie swallowed. “I did—but it wasn’t like that. The place was a mess, and I thought…” She stopped. It sounded weak even to her. “I was just cleaning. That’s my job.”
“You reorganized it,” he said, like she’d confessed to a crime. “You touched everything. You moved things.”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I was trying to be thorough—”
“You didn’t think,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. The room suddenly felt too warm.
“I didn’t break anything,” she said quickly. “Didn’t take anything. I swear.”
His gaze didn’t shift. “No, you didn’t. But you touched everything, Miss Foster. My space. My things.”
He stood and came around the desk, stopping in front of her. He was taller up close.
“You put your hands on what wasn’t yours.”
Millie froze, mouth dry.
He leaned in just enough to make her tense. “You brought order to something you didn’t understand. That wasn’t just cleaning, was it?”
She couldn’t answer. He didn’t raise his voice or threaten her, but something about him pressed close—tight as wire.
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“You walked into a room you were told to avoid. You saw something that wasn’t yours. And instead of leaving it alone, you changed it. That’s not impulse, Miss Foster. That’s need.”
Her breathing hitched. His stare pinned her, stripping away any practiced calm.
Then he stepped back. She pulled in a shaky breath, fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
“If you want an apology,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t ask for one,” he said. “Certainly not one rehearsed in the hallway.”
She flinched. “Then why—”
“I let people into my space under strict terms. You broke them. That tells me something.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
He leaned in again, and she caught the faint scar under his jaw. “Stop apologizing.”
Her voice shook. “Did I break something without realizing it? I can pay for the paints, or anything else I messed up.”
His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. “If I wanted your money, Miss Foster, you’d have an invoice.”
Then his fingers brushed the edge of her collarbone.
Her breath hitched. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re not scared of me?” he asked.
“I am,” she said.
He studied her. “But you’re still here. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Something flickered across his face.
“Honesty,” he said, almost to himself. Then his thumb brushed her lower lip. Just once. Light. Charged.
She stayed still.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said. “Not when you walked into that room. And definitely not now.”
Millie said nothing. She didn’t know who she was in that moment.
“I’m still deciding what to do with you,” Ethan said, stepping back with that same calm. “You crossed a line. That has consequences.”
Her heart thudded. “You think this is a game?”
“I don’t play games. I enforce rules.”
She started to speak, then stopped. The smart move was to leave, but some part of her didn’t want to.
Ethan walked back to his desk. The air felt cooler once he stepped away.
“Consider this a reprieve,” he said, sitting down. “A temporary one. You’re free to go.”
Millie stood. Her legs were unsteady, but she straightened her back and walked toward the door.
At the knob, she looked over her shoulder. Ethan watched her, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled.
“Leave now, Miss Foster,” he said.
She turned and went without another word.
Halfway down the hall, she noticed her hands shaking.