It was eleven o’clock on Thursday night, and I was currently sprawled across a multi-thousand-dollar Italian velvet sofa in the private library, wearing oversized flannel pajama pants with little rubber ducks on them.
Genevieve had finally scrubbed the heavy prosthetics off my face, leaving me back to my regular twenty-two-year-old self.
But my feet were currently throbbing in rhythm with the clock on the wall after spending four hours practicing six-inch-heel turns across slick hardwood floors.
“High society is a scam,” I announced to the empty, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.
“They wear uncomfortable shoes so they’re too distracted by foot pain to realize how boring their galas are.” Roxie Fox, my internal voice chimed in, you are just twenty-four hours away from facing the board of directors of a multi-billion-dollar empire.
You should be studying corporate law.
Instead, you are contemplating the deep philosophical flaws of designer footwear.
“She’s right, you know.” I flinched, almost dropping my yellow highlighter onto the cream velvet cushion.
Julian was standing at the entrance of the library, leaning against the dark mahogany doorframe.
He had stripped off his suit jacket, rolled his crisp white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and loosened his black silk tie just enough to look completely, unfairly relaxed.
Emergency control room, my brain screamed, red lights spinning everywhere.
Forearms on display!
Forearms on display!
Why does unbuttoning two collar buttons make a man look thirty percent more lethal?!
Where is my protective eye gear?!
“I was not talking to myself,” I said immediately, sitting up straight and tucking my duck-print pajama pants under my knees.
“I was conducting an oral exam on high-society etiquette.
And I passed with honors.” Julian walked further into the dim room, the scent of cedarwood and faint evening rain following him.
He pulled out the heavy leather chair across from the sofa and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You’ve been up since five,” he noted quietly, his dark eyes taking in my bare face, my messy bun, and the slight dark circles under my eyes.
“You don’t have to keep memorizing the board members’ financial histories tonight, Roxie.” I blinked.
Hearing him use my real name in that low, quiet tone hit my chest like a sudden, warm shockwave.
Hold up, my inner commentary booth panicked, waving yellow flags violently.
Did he just drop the ‘Lady Sterling’ title?
Did he just sound…
genuinely concerned?
No, no, no.
Do not fall for the soft CEO voice.
It’s a trick.
He’s a professional negotiator.
“I have to,” I replied, tossing my highlighter onto the coffee table and offering him a small, stubborn grin.
“Elder Sterling is coming for my head tomorrow.
If I mispronounce his late wife’s French maiden name, he’s going to use it to invalidate my entire existance in front of thirty shareholders.” Julian looked at me for a long beat.
The cold, impenetrable CEO armor he usually wore in public seemed to soften, just a fraction, under the dim library lamps.
“Elder Sterling is a corporate dinosaur,” Julian said softly.
“He relies on fear because he realizes the market has moved past him.
You handled Richard Montgomery in six minutes.
You will handle the board.” I stared at him, completely disarmed by the steady, unshakeable confidence in his voice.
Oh, great, my brain whimpered as my heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs.
He believes in me.
That is so much worse than him yelling at me.
How am I supposed to keep my heart out of this fake contract when he looks at me like I’m his secret weapon?!
“Well,” I squeaked, clearing my throat and leaning back against the cushions.
“If I fail, at least I get one hundred thousand dollars to buy a island and change my legal name to duck-pants-girl.” “Well,” I squeaked, clearing my throat and leaning back against the velvet cushions.
“If I fail tomorrow, at least I get one hundred thousand dollars to buy a private island and change my legal name to duck-pants-girl.” A sudden, low chuckle broke from Julian’s chest—real, warm, and entirely unscripted.
“Deal,” he murmured, his dark eyes lingering on my face with an intensity that made the room feel three degrees warmer.
My stomach did a slow, dangerous flutter.
Okay, exit strategy time before my heart does something stupid.
“I need a glass of water before my brain melts,” I said, quickly standing up and smoothing down my duck-print pajama pants.
“Don’t lock me out of the suite.” I shuffled out of the library and down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the main kitchen.
The penthouse was completely silent, bathed in the soft glow of floor-level nightlights.
Without Genevieve’s heavy prosthetics, my bare, twenty-two-year-old face felt completely free, and I took a deep, relaxed breath.
Just twenty-four hours, Roxie, I coached myself, opening the massive double-door stainless-steel fridge.
Get through the boardroom tomorrow, keep the accent raspy, don’t trip over your heels, and— CLICK.
The sharp sound of the private elevator doors unlocking echoed straight down the foyer.
My heart instantly slammed into my throat.
Wait.
Who is coming up the private elevator at eleven fifteen at night?!
Heavy, unsteady footsteps clattered into the foyer, followed by a loud, familiar groan.
“Julian…
if you have any of that expensive Italian mineral water left, I am dying…” LEO.
My brain slammed into code-red panic mode.
SYSTEM FAILURE!
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL!
I HAVE NO MAKEUP ON!
NO PROSTHETICS!
NO SILVER HAIR!
I LOOK LIKE A TWENTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD IN RUBBER-DUCK PAJAMAS!
IF HE SEES ME RIGHT NOW, THE ENTIRE EXCLUSIVE CONTRACT IS DEAD!
“Aunt Sterling?” Leo’s voice called out, getting closer to the kitchen archway.
“Are you still up?” Panic hit me like a bucket of ice water.
There was nowhere to hide behind the marble island.
Without thinking, I dropped flat onto my stomach and army-crawled behind the floor-length velvet curtains lining the floor-to-ceiling kitchen windows, holding my breath so hard my lungs burned.
The kitchen light flickered on.
Leo’s designer sneakers shuffled into the room.
I could see his shadows through the bottom slit of the curtain.
He stopped right in front of the counter—literally three feet away from where I was squished against the glass like a dramatic pancake.
Please don’t look down, my inner voice whimpered, praying to every acting teacher I had ever had.
Please don’t sneeze.
Please don’t let the rubber ducks on my pants rustle.
Leo reached into the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and took a long gulp.
He paused, looking around the quiet kitchen.
“Hello?
I swore I heard someone…” He took two steps directly toward the curtain.
This is it, I thought, closing my eyes in pure terror.
I’m going to be exposed by a hungover trust-fund nephew in a kitchen.
Suddenly, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the silence.
“Leo.” Leo jumped, nearly dropping his glass bottle.
Julian was standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, his dark eyes sweeping the room until they landed subtly—precisely—on the tiny sliver of my duck-print pajama pants sticking out from behind the curtain.
A tiny, wicked spark danced in Julian’s eyes, but his voice remained smooth as ice.
“What are you doing in my kitchen at midnight?” “I…
uh…
came to borrow mineral water,” Leo stammered, holding the bottle up like an apology.
“I thought I heard Aunt Sterling in here.” “Lady Sterling retired to her wing an hour ago,” Julian said coldly, taking a slow step forward to block Leo’s line of sight to the window.
“And she explicitly stated that if you disturb her beauty sleep before the boardroom meeting, she will have your inheritance restructured.” Leo visibly went pale.
“Right.
Got it.
Going to my room downstairs now.
Goodnight!” Leo practically sprinted back toward the private elevator.
The doors chimed, closed, and the penthouse fell dead silent once more.
I stayed frozen behind the curtain for three full seconds before crawling out on my hands and knees, my hair wild and my face flushed red from holding my breath.
Julian stood over me, leaning back against the marble counter with a slow, devastating smirk spreading across his face.
“Nice camouflage, duck-pants-girl,” he murmured, his voice rich with quiet amusement.
“He almost saw me!” I hissed, scrambling up to my feet and clutching my chest, my heart pounding at a million miles an hour.
“I was one foot away from being ruined!” Julian’s smirk softened into something surprisingly steady.
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me in the warm kitchen light.
“He didn’t see you,” Julian said softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute certainty.
“I told you, Roxie.
As long as you’re in this penthouse, I’m not letting anyone break your cover.” I stared up at him, my breath hitching for a completely different reason this time.
Oh no, my brain squeaked as my heart took another heavy, illegal thud against my ribs.
The near-miss almost killed me, but the way he’s looking at me right now?
That might actually finish the job.
What do you think is going to happen when Roxie steps into that boardroom tomorrow?
Let me know your predictions below!