Chapter 74 Paper Tiger
The conference room emptied like a receding tide, leaving Sierra standing alone amidst the scattered papers and half-empty water glasses, the echo of her final words still hanging in the air. She exhaled, long and slow, her fingers tightening around the folded note before adding it to the stack of papers on the table. The weight of Aldridge’s scrutiny had lifted, but Julian’s words clung to her like smoke: Her heart is wherever I am.
She allowed everyone plenty of time to be on their way and pressed the button on the intercom.
“Isabella, the conference room needs refreshing.”
“Right away, Ms. Quinn,” came the reply.
“Thank you.”
With that task completed, she scooped up the stack of files, slipped through the glass doors, and stepped into the hallway, heels clicking sharply against polished marble, and pulled out her phone.
The city hummed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, yellow cabs, distant sirens, the relentless pulse of Manhattan’s ambition. She pressed the call, walking with purpose down the corridor.
“Si.” Cody’s voice came through, warm and slightly breathless, edged with the open sky of Arizona. “Hey, wanted to give you the update before you get buried in city nonsense.”
She smiled despite herself. “You mean before I descend further into the concrete abyss?”
“Exactly.” There was a pause, the kind filled with wind and ranch sounds, hooves on dry earth, a distant dog bark. “Look, the feed inventory’s holding, but we’re running low on the organic hay you insisted on. I put in the order, but the supplier said they’re backed up. I called three others. One came through, Rancho Verde, but it’s a 15% markup.”
Sierra entered Chloe’s office to drop off the stack of files. “You did the right thing,” she waved at Chloe and continued on her way to her office. “Better to pay more than risk the herd’s health.”
“Yeah, well, Dad would’ve kicked my ass if I started cutting corners now.” There was a quiet pride in Cody’s voice, new, fragile, but real. He was trying. For her. For their father.
She continued across the bullpen, navigating the maze to her office on the other side, tucking a loose strand of sandy blonde hair behind her ear. “How’s the south pasture fence?”
“Fixed. Took me two days, but it’s solid. Ryder helped.” Cody’s tone shifted, lighter, teasing. “Said to tell you hi. Didn’t say much else. You know how he is.”
Sierra’s breath hitched. Ryder. Even the mention of him unraveled something in her chest. The memory of his hands calloused from rope and reins, the way he’d look at her like she was sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He’d told her he had his own place to run and suggested that he didn’t plan on continuing to help out at Sage Ranch; maybe he’d changed his mind.
“Tell him thanks,” she managed.
There was a beat. “You coming back soon?”
She hesitated. “A couple more days. Aldridge wants to move fast on this campaign. I have to get everybody lined out and turn it over to Chloe before I can step away again.”
“A couple of days,” Cody echoed, skepticism threading through the words. “That usually means at least a week.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I just need to see this through here.”
“Right. The big city. The firm. The billionaire boyfriend.” There was no malice in it, only the ache of distance, of change.
Before she could respond, she slipped through the door of her office, and her gaze snapped to the far side of the room.
Julian Rossi sat behind her desk.
His tailored navy suit was flawless, one arm draped over the back of the chair, the other holding a tumbler of amber liquid from her private decanter. He hadn’t turned on the lights, but the late afternoon sun cut through the blinds, casting golden bars across his face. He looked like a king who’d claimed a throne.
“Cody,” Sierra said, her voice sharpening, “I have to go.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. I have to deal with something. Call me tomorrow.” She ended the call before he could answer, the silence that followed thick and electric.
She stepped forward, closing the door with a soft click that felt like a declaration of war.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, her voice low, controlled fury coiling beneath.
Julian smiled, just a curve of the lips. He didn’t move.
“You left the door open,” he said, voice smooth as aged bourbon. “Felt like an invitation.”
“It wasn’t. Just like there wasn’t an invitation for you to sit in on my presentation.”
He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim. “You were brilliant in there, by the way. Aldridge ate it up.”
“That’s not why I do this.”
“No. You do it because you’re brilliant. Driven.” He set the glass down. “And because you’re still trying to prove you’re not just a ranch girl playing dress-up in Manhattan.”
Her breath caught. “You don’t get to define me.”
“I don’t want to. I just want to be with you.” He leaned forward slightly. “And to be clear, what I said in there? I meant it. Wherever you are, that’s where my heart is.”
“That’s not what you said,” she snapped, taking a step toward the desk. “It sounded extremely possessive. And you had no right to say that in front of Aldridge. In front of me. You undermined me.”
“I was supporting you.”
“By making my loyalty to you a public spectacle?” Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Get out of my chair. Out of my office.”
Julian didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue. He simply watched her, cool, composed, maddeningly untouchable.
And that’s when it happened.
Her anger, so sharp and certain a moment ago, began to fray. The silence stretched, suffused with memory, the first time he touched her at a gallery opening in Milan, the way his hand had lingered at the small of her back; the electricity of their early nights, tangled in silk sheets in the penthouse overlooking the Duomo di Milano, even more so, the villa on St. Barts and the stateroom on the Seraphim.
She hated how good he made her feel—hated that he could make her doubt herself with just a look.
But now, in the dimming light, with her heart still pounding from the boardroom and the ghost of Ryder’s name in her ears, she felt a pull, deep and primal, toward the man who sat smugly in her space.
Her defenses cracked.
The Julian who had just challenged her authority in front of her client was the same man who made her feel powerful, desired, and invincible. The man who didn’t need to chase her, he simply waited, confident she’d come.
She walked around the desk, slow, deliberate. The hem of her Prada skirt slid up her thighs as she perched on the edge, facing him. Her pulse thrummed in her throat.
Julian’s eyes darkened. He started to rise.
She placed a sharp stiletto heel on his chest and pushed, not hard, but with authority, and he sank back into the chair.
“I thought you wanted me out of your chair and out of your office,” he smirked.
“I’m not through with you yet,” she growled.
His breath hitched. A spark leapt between them, hot, dangerous.
She didn’t look away as she reached into the drawer beside her, fingers closing around the sleek remote. With a press, the motorized blinds snapped shut, sealing the office in golden twilight. Another press, the soft thunk of the lock engaging.
Then silence.
Her legs parted slightly, the silk of her skirt riding high, revealing a flash of black lace beneath. She could see the dilation of his pupils, the quickening of his breath.
Julian smiled, slowly, knowing.
But Sierra wasn’t playing games anymore.
She leaned forward, her voice a velvet threat. “If you’re going to sit in my chair… you’d better be prepared to earn the right.”