Hadley’s POV
I made it to my chair before my legs gave out.
The professional facade I’d maintained through the entire catastrophe—Ivetta’s venom, Rowan’s arm banding around my waist, his body crushing mine against his chest, the undeniable hardness of him against my lower back—collapsed the moment I was alone.
My hands shook.
My skin was flushed from throat to collarbone.
Between my thighs, a pulse throbbed and settled in, making itself at home with absolutely no regard for my dignity or my employment status.
When he’d caught me, when his arm had locked around my waist and hauled me flush against him, every rational thought in my head had short-circuited at once.
I felt the heat of him bleed through my dress.
I breathed in cedar and sandalwood.
I felt his arousal, rigid and unmistakable, grind against the small of my back—obvious, deliberate, unacknowledged—until the air between us turned combustible.
Then his mouth had dropped to my ear, breath hot and rough.
Stay exactly where you are.
The command hit me like current through a wire, liquefying something low in my spine, pooling wet heat between my legs that I hadn’t felt since the masquerade.
Three years.
Three years since a stranger’s hands had made me feel anything at all.
And my boss had me soaked through my underwear without even trying.
“Hadley, you are absolutely screwed,” I whispered into my palms.
I grabbed my phone and fired off a text to Cora: Finally met the boss.
Face to face.
Her reply came instantly: And??
Did he grab you in his office yet??
I typed back with trembling thumbs: He actually did.
I’ll tell you everything tonight.
I’d barely tucked the phone away when Brenna appeared in my doorway, her face a mask of mortification.
“Hadley, I am so sorry.
That insufferable woman always causes a scene when she shows up.
Please tell me Mr.
Sinclair wasn’t angry at you because of my failure to stop her.”
Brenna ran this entire floor with the precision of an air traffic controller—nothing moved through the twenty-eighth floor without her knowledge, and her desk at the front was the first and last checkpoint between the elevator and the executive suite.
She was striking in a polished, effortlessly put-together way—mid-thirties, rich brown hair swept into an elegant twist, intelligent dark eyes behind designer frames that made her look authoritative and approachable at the same time.
“Don’t worry about it, Brenna.
Mr.
Sinclair was furious, but his anger was aimed entirely at that woman, not us.
She’s Ashcroft’s daughter, right?”
“Unfortunately.” Brenna’s expression curdled.
“She’s been stalking Mr.
Sinclair for years—showing up uninvited, ambushing him at events, manufacturing reasons to be in the building.
He can’t stand her.”
“How long has Ashcroft been with the company?”
“Three decades.
Started as a junior analyst under the previous leadership and climbed to financial director.
His daughter and Rowan grew up in the same circles, and Ashcroft has spent years pushing the narrative that their families always intended for them to marry.” Her voice dropped.
“Especially after Rowan’s parents died.
Ashcroft tells anyone who’ll listen that a union between them would have honored both families’ wishes.
It makes Rowan absolutely livid.”
“That sounds like an impossible situation.”
“It was.” Brenna leaned against the door frame.
Mr.
Sinclair called security and had her permanently banned from the building.”
Brenna’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open, and then she broke into a grin so radiant it could have powered the floor’s lighting.
She practically floated back to her desk, calling out, “Thank God.
Finally!”
Before the echo of her departure faded, Evangeline and Dorian strolled in arm in arm, both wearing matching expressions of pure delight.
Dorian went first.
“Did Rowan really have Ivetta Ashcroft permanently banned?” His face lit up.
“This is the greatest day of my professional career.”
I confirmed it with a nod.
The laughter that erupted from both of them was so genuine, so relieved, that I couldn’t help joining in.
When they composed themselves, Evangeline turned to me with sparkling eyes.
“Hadley, sweetheart, I hear you’ve officially met your boss.
And apparently in quite the memorable fashion.” She arched an eyebrow at Dorian, who had clearly reported every detail with zero editorial restraint.
“Mr.
Kingsley, where’s your compassion?” I pressed a hand to my chest.
“I genuinely thought I was going to be murdered in that room today.
I don’t know whether to laugh or file for hazard pay.”
Dorian beamed.
“First—it’s Dorian, please.
And second, there is no chance my best friend would let anyone touch a hair on your head.” He turned to Evangeline with an exaggerated pout.
“Why didn’t you stick Orson with Mr.
Grumpy and let me work with this lovely woman instead?”
“Because you’re an incorrigible flirt who hits on every woman within fifty miles, and she wouldn’t survive two days around you.
Hadley isn’t like your usual conquests, so keep your hands to yourself,” Evangeline replied warmly but with steel underneath.
“The boss already made it crystal clear that she’s completely off-limits, so I’ll behave.
But we can definitely be friends.” He winked at me.
“You really are stunning, though, Hadley.
You’re going to make a lot of women around here very jealous.”
“Thank you, Dorian, that’s incredibly sweet, but I’m really hoping to avoid any more drama.”
“Please, just call me Dorian.
I want us to be genuine friends.” He clapped his hands together.
“Now excuse me while I go check on my friend after you literally fell into his arms.” He sauntered toward Rowan’s office and walked right in without knocking.
When we were alone, Evangeline studied me with the same appraising warmth my own mother used.
“So, Hadley.
Honest opinion of Rowan.”
“Despite that horrible incident that set him off, he was completely professional and courteous.
I think we’ll work together just fine.” The lie came out smooth and steady—a small miracle, considering that half an hour ago I’d been pressed against the man with my body screaming in ways that had nothing to do with professionalism.
“I know all that.
I want to know what you think of him as a man.
He’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t he?” Her smile grew as she watched my face flush.
“Don’t even try to deny it.
You were completely blown away by him.”
“Yes, Evangeline, I definitely wasn’t expecting my boss to be so young and incredibly handsome.
And he has the exact same eye color as Leon,” I said, almost thinking out loud.
“What do you mean by that?” Evangeline went very still.
“Well, my son has these amazing violet-blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Mr.
Sinclair’s.
“Yes, they certainly are.
I’ve only ever known Rowan and his father to have eyes that particular color.” She paused.
“Now I’m dying to meet your son.
Who did he inherit those eyes from?”
“His father.” The old ache surfaced.
“The same deep, gorgeous violet-blue.
You should come have dinner with us tonight—Cora is desperate to meet you, and Leon is such a little angel.”
“I would absolutely love that.” Her warmth returned, though something thoughtful lingered behind her eyes a beat too long.
“It’s settled then.
Now I need to go check on Rowan.
That boy is like my own son—I even changed his diapers when he was little.”
She headed into his office.
I grabbed my phone to tell Cora, but her message was already waiting: DETAILS.
NOW.
Minutes later my desk phone rang—Rowan’s extension.
My pulse kicked hard.
I grabbed my tablet and walked in, then froze in the doorway.
He was smiling.
Not the careful, guarded expression he wore for boardrooms, but a real smile, wide and unguarded, that transformed his entire face and made him so devastatingly handsome I forgot how to breathe.
He looked directly at me and his smile grew wider, like he knew exactly what it was doing to me.
“Miss Hadley, come in and close the door behind you.
Join us to hear what Dorian did to that insufferable woman.”
I did exactly as he asked.
Dorian launched into a full reenactment of Ivetta Ashcroft’s expulsion from the building—the tantrum, the foot-stomping, the threats delivered at a volume that probably reached the parking garage—mimicking her voice and mannerisms with devastating accuracy.
All four of us laughed until my ribs ached.
When the performance ended, his expression turned serious.
“But honestly, we need to be careful.
That psycho woman promised she won’t rest until she gets your assistant fired and thrown out of here.” He turned to me.
“Hadley, watch your back.
Not just with Ashcroft, but with her father too.
They’re vindictive people who hold grudges.”
A chill cut through the laughter.
Then Rowan’s gaze locked on mine, low and deliberate, his violet eyes dark with something that made my stomach drop.
“Don’t worry about it, Dorian.
From now on, I’m the only one allowed to touch Hadley’s behind.”
He said my name without the formal Miss—just Hadley, warm and possessive—and held my gaze while he said it.
Something deep inside me clenched hard enough to steal my breath, and the flush that swept through me was total: neck, cheeks, ears, everything.
Dorian, predictably, seized the moment.
“Hadley, I think your behind is definitely in trouble.”
“Maybe I should get some chamomile tea.” Rowan’s mouth curved, and he winked at me—slow, deliberate—and the heat in my face could have powered a small generator.
Evangeline stepped in before I could spontaneously combust.
“Boys, don’t make Hadley quit on her first day, because I’m moving up my Boston departure and I absolutely refuse to find you another assistant, Rowan.”
“Alright, Evangeline, I’ll control myself.” His eyes hadn’t left mine.
“Let’s leave Hadley’s lovely behind alone and discuss the contract we finalized during our trip.”
The meeting shifted to business.
I stared at my tablet with an intensity that was ninety percent professional focus and ten percent desperate self-preservation, my body still humming from his hands, his voice, the way he’d said my name like he already owned the syllables.
Working for this man was going to demand a level of self-control I was not sure I possessed.