Chapter 119
Aria's POV
I awoke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, momentarily disoriented by the panoramic view of Manhattan's skyline. Devon's penthouse. My body ached in places I'd forgotten existed, a physical reminder of last night's intensity. Devon's possessive grip, his lips claiming mine, his voice low and commanding: "Aria, make sure only I get to touch you."
The memory sent a shiver through me despite the warmth of the Egyptian cotton sheets. I reached across the king-sized bed, finding only cool emptiness where Devon had been. Of course he'd already left. Devon Kane wasn't the type to linger in bed, even after a night like that.
I stretched cautiously, wincing at the soreness. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, Jeremy Pierce's name flashing on the screen. I hesitated before answering, my thumb hovering over the screen as I considered ignoring it.
"Jeremy? Is everything okay?" I finally answered, my voice still thick with sleep.
His voice sounded strained. "The doctor says I need someone to accompany me for the follow-up. The cut on my lip got infected, and they want to do a minor procedure." A pause. "I wouldn't ask, but this injury happened while I was protecting your property."
Guilt washed over me. Jeremy had defended my beach house against those thugs, taking a punch meant for me. The image of him efficiently handling Rex's men flashed in my mind, his split lip bleeding as he'd stood protectively in front of me.
"What time do you need to be at the hospital?" I asked, already calculating how Devon might react, his jealous eyes from last night still vivid in my memory.
"Eleven at New York General," Jeremy replied, relief evident in his voice. "You'll come?"
"Of course. You took that hit for me." I hung up, my stomach knotting with conflict. I couldn't abandon someone who'd helped me, but the thought of Devon finding out made me uneasy.
I pulled on Devon's discarded shirt, its collar still holding his scent, and made my way downstairs. The penthouse was silent except for the faint rustle of newspaper pages turning. I found Devon in the kitchen, lounging at the marble island in expensive casual wear, the Wall Street Journal spread before him. His dark hair was still damp from the shower, and he looked irritatingly comfortable while my entire body protested each movement.
"Good morning," I said, trying to sound casual while studying his face for any lingering emotion from last night.
Devon lowered his paper, his gray eyes sweeping over me in his shirt. I noticed the slight tightening of his jaw, the almost imperceptible darkening of his eyes as he took in my appearance. His expression quickly settled back into unreadability, though something flickered in his gaze when he noticed my slight wince as I moved toward the coffee machine.
"Help yourself," he said, nodding toward a French press. His tone was neutral, giving away nothing about his thoughts or last night's possessiveness, but his eyes lingered on me a second too long.
I poured myself coffee, gathering courage for what I needed to ask. With my company struggling and Harper Group on shaky ground, I needed Devon's business acumen more than ever. I leaned against the counter, my heart beating faster as I formulated my request.
"I was wondering," I began, keeping my tone light despite my nerves, "if you might be interested in investing in Harper Group?"
Devon set down his newspaper, his expression sharpening, eyes suddenly alert and focused entirely on me. "You think the sinking Harper Group deserves Kane Technology's investment?" His voice remained controlled, but I detected the slightest edge to it.
I moved closer, allowing my fingers to brush against his arm, feeling his muscles tense beneath my touch. "If you're willing to help, I could make the partnership more... personal." My voice softened, but inside I felt a twinge of shame at using our physical connection as leverage.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "What unique value does Harper Group offer? The market's saturated, and company pivots rarely succeed." His voice remained clinical, assessing, but his gaze dropped briefly to where my fingers touched his arm. "Besides your pretty face, what does Harper Group have that would interest Kane Technology?"
The dismissal stung more than I expected. Not just his rejection of my company, but the implication that my only value was physical. My cheeks burned with humiliation. I withdrew my hand, straightening my spine, fighting the unexpected hurt in my chest.
"Apparently I overestimated my business value," I said, working to keep my voice steady despite the tightness in my throat. "Excuse me."
I turned to leave, dignity intact despite wearing only his shirt and my undergarments from yesterday. Devon remained silent behind me as I climbed the stairs to retrieve my clothes, but I felt his eyes following me.
Twenty minutes later, dressed and composed, I walked toward the elevator. Marcus appeared from nowhere, as he always did.
"Mr. Kane requests that I escort you home, Ms. Harper."
"That won't be necessary," I replied, already pulling up the Uber app on my phone, my fingers slightly unsteady. "I've called a car."
Marcus hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen where Devon presumably still sat. "Is there anything you need, Ms. Harper?"
I glanced back at the penthouse, a hollow feeling spreading in my chest. "What would it matter if there was?" I murmured, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open.
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Devon's POV
I watched the security feed until Aria's car pulled away from the building. The penthouse felt oddly empty now. Her scent still lingered in the air, a reminder that just minutes ago she'd been here, wearing my shirt, her hair tousled from sleep.
"Ms. Harper has left, sir," Marcus reported unnecessarily. "She seemed disappointed."
I felt a pang of regret at how I'd handled her request. The hurt in her eyes when I'd dismissed her company's value had been genuine, not the calculated manipulation I'd initially suspected. I tapped my family ring against the marble countertop, the rhythmic sound helping me focus my thoughts.
"Look into Harper Group's client list and recent projects," I said, my voice betraying none of the conflict I felt.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Why not simply tell her you're willing to consider it?"
I felt my expression harden. Marcus had overstepped. "I pay you to execute orders, not question them."
I turned toward my home office, already mentally calculating how much capital Harper Group would need to stabilize. Despite my cold response to her proposal, I couldn't deny the surge of protectiveness I'd felt when she mentioned her family company's troubles. The way she'd maintained her dignity even when hurt stirred something unexpected in me.
I'd look into it. But she didn't need to know that. Not yet.