Chapter 229
Aria's POV
Devon's eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering in their gray depths. For once, I thought I glimpsed vulnerability beneath his perfect façade—a momentary crack that disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it.
"This is the alcohol talking," he said, his voice low and controlled.
I shook my head, my hair falling across my face. "No. Alcohol just... removes the filter. These thoughts are always there."
He remained perfectly still as I continued tracing the contours of his face with clumsy fingers. The movie credits rolled in the background, casting shifting shadows across the room.
"You should rest," he said finally, catching my wrist gently.
"Everyone leaves me," I murmured, feeling tears prick behind my eyes. "My mother died. My father chose Victoria and Scarlett. Ethan betrayed me. Even Sophia has her own life. Nobody really wants me."
Before I realized what was happening, Devon leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was different from our previous encounters—gentler, almost hesitant. When he pulled back, his expression was composed once more, but something in his eyes had changed.
"This was your doing," he said quietly.
I didn't have time to respond before he stood, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. My head spun from the combination of alcohol and his proximity. I pressed my face against his chest, inhaling his cologne as he carried me up the stairs.
"Devon," I whispered as he laid me on his bed, "I'm so tired of being strong all the time."
He stood looking down at me, his silhouette tall and imposing against the bedroom's dim lighting. For a moment, I thought he would leave, but instead, he sat beside me, drawing me against him.
"Sleep," he said, his voice a command and comfort all at once. "I'm here."
I closed my eyes, feeling safer than I had in years, and drifted into darkness.
---
Morning arrived with merciless brightness and a pounding headache. I groaned, pressing my palms against my temples before realizing I wasn't alone. Devon lay beside me, already awake, watching me with that unnerving intensity of his.
Memory flooded back in fragmented pieces: the whiskey, the movie, my embarrassing confession. I sat up too quickly, wincing at the pain that shot through my skull.
"How are you feeling?" Devon asked, his voice neutral.
"Like I've been hit by a truck," I muttered, scanning myself and noting with relief that I was still fully clothed.
"How much do you remember?" His question seemed casual, but his eyes were watchful.
I avoided his gaze, mortification creeping up my neck. "Bits and pieces. Did I... say something inappropriate?"
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "You were quite forthcoming. Apparently, I'm 'really handsome,' and you were curious about my motivations for saving you."
I groaned again, burying my face in my hands. "Can we pretend that never happened?"
"What about the kiss?" His tone remained conversational, but there was something underneath it I couldn't identify.
I peeked through my fingers. "Kiss?"
"So you don't remember." He sat up, straightening his shirt. "You practically attacked me, and now you're conveniently forgetting. How typical."
"I did not attack you," I protested, though I couldn't actually be sure.
"I have the lip marks to prove it," he said, standing. "Now, are you hungry?"
The abrupt change of subject left me dizzy. Or maybe that was the hangover. "Starving, actually."
"Get dressed. I know a place."
The restaurant Devon chose was hidden behind an unmarked door in a nondescript building, revealing an opulent interior that only New York's elite would know existed. The maître d' led us to a secluded corner table with practiced deference.
Devon ordered for both of us in fluent Italian, and I was too exhausted to protest. We ate in companionable silence until his phone vibrated. His expression changed as he read the message, becoming remote and businesslike.
"I need to go," he said, already signaling for the check. "Something's come up."
"Is everything okay?"
"It's nothing that concerns you." His tone was dismissive. "Take your time finishing. You can get a cab back to the apartment."
I watched him leave, wondering if last night's glimpse of warmth had been nothing but alcohol-induced imagination. His words echoed in my mind: "Nothing that concerns you." Of course not. Whatever we had was transactional, not emotional.
As I sipped my espresso alone, Mandy's words from weeks ago floated back to me: "a woman who means a great deal to him." The thought left a bitter taste that had nothing to do with the coffee.
---
Back at Harper Group the next day, I found my desk piled with new business folders. Sophia burst into my office, her expression brighter than I'd seen in weeks.
"You won't believe what happened," she said, perching on the edge of my desk. "Reed Group called. They want us to handle their new product launch. And three major fashion brands contacted us this morning for quotes. Our inbox is flooded with inquiries."
I flipped through the folders, recognizing names of companies that had previously dismissed us. "This is... unexpected."
"I know, right? It's like someone waved a magic wand." Sophia tilted her head. "The weird thing is, every single one of these new clients has some connection to Kane Technology. Direct investment, board membership, something."
I stared at the contracts, pieces clicking into place. Devon had done this—used his influence to drive business our way. While I'd been wallowing in whiskey and self-pity, he'd been securing our company's future.
"Why would he do this?" I murmured, more to myself than Sophia.
"Who?"
"Nothing." I closed the folder, conflicted emotions churning inside me. Gratitude and suspicion warred with something dangerously close to hope. "Let's get to work. These won't complete themselves."
As Sophia left, my office door opened again. A tall man with sandy hair and an easy smile walked in as if he belonged there.
"Sorry I'm late on my first day," he said, extending his hand. "Jeremy Pierce. Your new assistant."
I stared at him blankly. "I didn't hire an assistant."
"Technically, no. But your inbox is overflowing, your calendar is a disaster, and you've been ignoring my texts for weeks." He dropped into the chair across from me. "So here I am."
"I don't need—"
"—a babysitter?" Jeremy finished, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe not. But you do need someone to manage the avalanche heading your way. Which I'm uniquely qualified to do."
I studied him, suspicion growing. "Who sent you?"
Jeremy's smile didn't waver. "Does it matter? The point is, I'm here, and you're drowning. Let me help."
As he left to get coffee, I turned to the window, watching the city below. First the new clients, now Jeremy. Devon was inserting himself into my professional life with typical efficiency, providing what I needed without being asked.
The realization should have angered me. Instead, I felt something dangerously close to gratitude warming my chest, and I wondered when exactly the line between our business arrangement and something more complicated had begun to blur.
I reluctantly agreed to let him stay, but as soon as Jeremy stepped out, I motioned for Anna to come closer.
"Make sure our new assistant gets plenty of tedious grunt work," I whispered, watching the door to ensure he wouldn't return unexpectedly. "The more menial tasks, the better."