Chapter 97
Devon's POV
In a glass-walled conference room at Kane Technology, I watched my executive team present quarterly projections with detached interest. The CFO's voice droned on about market fluctuations and investment returns, but my mind kept drifting to Aria—her scent still on my skin, the way she'd looked this morning, hurt flashing in her eyes at my deliberately cruel words.
"As you can see, Mr. Kane, our Asian markets have shown a seventeen percent increase in the third quarter..."
I nodded absently, picturing Aria's face instead of the charts on the screen. The way her lips had parted in surprise when I'd kissed her neck. The small gasp she'd tried to hide when I pushed her against the sofa by the windows.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Normally, I would never interrupt a presentation to check messages. It was one of my strict rules—full attention during meetings, no exceptions. Yet I found myself raising a hand to stop my CFO mid-sentence.
"One moment," I said, pulling out my phone.
The room fell silent. I could feel their surprise—none of them had ever seen me break my own protocol before.
Aria's message appeared on the screen: [Devon, regarding the company matters, thank you.]
A second message followed: [I owe you one, beyond the contract.]
Something shifted in my chest. I felt my lips curve slightly upward before I could control my expression. The slight acknowledgment of debt pleased me more than it should have.
"We'll continue this next week," I announced, standing abruptly. I tucked my phone away, already mentally calculating how quickly I could get back to the penthouse.
"But sir, we've covered less than half the agenda," my CFO protested, gesturing at his meticulously prepared presentation.
"Send me the reports," I said, already moving toward the door. I was vaguely aware of the stunned faces around me. Three hours of detailed financial projections abandoned for a text message. It wasn't like me at all.
As I strode toward the elevator, I overheard two executives speaking in hushed tones around the corner.
"Must be Caroline Hayes," one murmured. "The engagement announcement is expected any day now."
"Makes sense," the other replied. "Nothing else would make Kane leave a quarterly review early."
I felt my jaw tighten, my step faltering briefly. The Hayes-Kane union—the perfect marriage of old Boston money and new tech wealth that my mother had been orchestrating for years. Caroline, with her impeccable breeding and social connections. The ideal wife on paper, selected like a business acquisition.
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. My expression darkened as the elevator doors closed behind me, shutting out the whispers. They didn't know that I had no intention of announcing any engagement—to Caroline or anyone else. Yet the rumor persisted, fueled by my mother's not-so-subtle hints to the press.
I pressed the button for the ground floor, suddenly impatient to escape the building and its expectations. My thoughts returned to Aria, to her body against mine, to the way she challenged and frustrated me. To the fact that for the first time in years, I'd slept through the night with her beside me.
The contract between us was clear and defined. Temporary. Transactional. But as the elevator descended, I couldn't deny that something was shifting, evolving beyond the boundaries we'd established. Something dangerous.
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Aria's POV
At Stellar Impressions, I stood before my team, struggling to contain my own excitement as I outlined our approach to the sudden influx of prestigious clients.
"This is incredible," breathed Tessa, our junior strategist. "Our revenue projections just doubled."
"More like tripled," Sophia corrected, her eyes gleaming.
I held up my hand. "I know it's tempting to accept everything that comes our way, but we need to be strategic. Starting tomorrow, we're temporarily closing to new clients."
A ripple of confusion went through the room.
"In Manhattan, reputation isn't about quantity," I explained. "It's about quality. One mediocre campaign for Vogue would hurt us more than turning down ten other clients."
Understanding dawned on their faces as I continued, "We'll structure bonus incentives for everyone based on performance metrics. These accounts could transform Stellar Impressions, but only if we deliver excellence."
As the meeting adjourned, Sophia pulled me aside, her expression a mix of joy and wonder.
"Talk about a turnaround," she whispered. "Last month we were worried about making payroll, and now this? It's like the universe finally decided to pay us back."
I smiled noncommittally, knowing it wasn't the universe but a certain CEO with storm-gray eyes who'd orchestrated this reversal of fortune.
Later, as I reviewed the Vogue proposal in my office, Sophia knocked and entered, her expression suddenly serious.
"Did you hear about Preston Scott?" she asked.
I looked up. "No, what about him?"
"He was fired from his venture capital firm this morning. Apparently, a major investor threatened to pull out unless they cut ties with him."
I set down my pen slowly. "That's... quite a coincidence."
"His assistant called," Sophia continued. "Wanted to schedule dinner so he could apologize to you personally."
I felt a chill. Preston had been inappropriate at our meeting, but this seemed excessive. Once again, Devon's invisible hand was shaping events around me.
I sent Devon another text: About Preston Scott. Thank you for handling it. I appreciate it. I watched as the message was marked "read," but no reply came.
The hours ticked by, and gradually my team filtered out for the evening. By midnight, I was alone in the office, finalizing urgent revisions for our first presentation to Vogue. The building had grown quiet, most other businesses long closed. I rolled my shoulders, fighting fatigue, determined to perfect the proposal.
The elevator's soft chime startled me. No one should be arriving at this hour. I reached for my phone, unease creeping up my spine.
The office door swung open, revealing Preston. His expensive suit was rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. The smell of whiskey hit me from across the room.
"Working late, Ms. Harper?" His voice was slurred, dangerous.
I stood, keeping the desk between us. "Mr. Scott, the office is closed. I'll have to ask you to leave before I call security."
He laughed, a bitter sound. "Security? In this building? I checked—the night guard is on his dinner break." He stalked closer, swaying slightly. "You cost me my job. My reputation."
"Your behavior cost you those things," I replied, reaching slowly for my phone. "I suggest you leave now."
"You high-society whores are all the same," he snarled, moving faster than I expected for someone so intoxicated. "Sleeping your way to the top. What makes Devon Kane's little slut so special?"
He rounded the desk, closing the distance between us. His alcohol-soaked breath hit my face as he leaned in, eyes narrowed with malice.
"Let me see what Kane finds so fascinating."