Hadley’s POV
The afterglow of victory lasted about forty-seven minutes.
I spent them coordinating the confidential financial report meeting Orson needed for tomorrow, confirming Evangeline’s availability, and working through my remaining tasks with the focused calm of a woman who had absolutely not done what I’d just done in her boss’s office while he was on an international video call.
About an hour later, his door slammed open with enough force to rattle the frame.
Before I could react, he was leaning over my chair, both hands gripping the armrests, his face inches from mine, those dark eyes burning with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Hadley, listen to me very carefully.” His voice was low, dangerously controlled.
“This situation between us ends today.
I won’t accept any more excuses or delays.
Clear your schedule—we’re not leaving this building until we sit down and hash this out like adults.”
He held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, the air between us crackling with unspoken tension.
Then he straightened abruptly, turned on his heel, and stalked back into his office.
The door slammed behind him with even more force than it had opened, and the coffee in my mug rippled.
I sat there completely stunned, my heart hammering against my ribs, hands gripping the armrests in the exact spots where his had been—the leather still warm from his palms.
Dorian appeared in my doorway thirty seconds later, looking thoroughly bewildered.
“Hadley, what on earth happened to Rowan during that video conference?
He seemed completely distracted, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.”
I blinked several times, assembling my face into something approximating professional confusion.
“I honestly have no idea, Dorian.
Was there some kind of problem?” The lie rolled off my tongue smoothly, but guilt twisted in my stomach.
“He was checked out,” Dorian said, shaking his head.
“Anyway, I’ve already confirmed with Evangeline that you two will be joining us for dinner tonight.
I absolutely won’t take no for an answer.”
“I’d be delighted, assuming my boss doesn’t object.”
“Your boss has plenty of other things to worry about right now,” he muttered, and disappeared into Rowan’s office.
I grabbed my phone and texted Cora, explaining I’d be home late due to a dinner commitment and asking if Estelle could stay longer to watch Leon.
Her response came back almost immediately: Go have fun!!
Estelle’s already here.
I’ll spoil my godson rotten.
He’ll survive without you for a few hours.
I smiled at the screen—the first genuine smile in hours.
My good mood evaporated the moment Mr.
He was tall and sharp-boned, with graying hair, a ridiculous mustache, and fox-like eyes that swept over me with undisguised contempt.
From the moment Evangeline had introduced him, something about the man had set my teeth on edge.
He planted himself at my desk, expression thunderous.
“So you’re the little nobody who humiliated my daughter yesterday.
Because of your interference, Rowan embarrassed her publicly and his friend had to escort her out.
But mark my words, you insignificant little secretary—this won’t stand.
I’ll make sure he throws you out of here so fast your head will spin.”
He slammed his palm on my desk hard enough to make my coffee cup jump, then turned toward Rowan’s door.
I shot to my feet and positioned myself between him and the door, my back against the wood.
“Mr.
Ashcroft, I’m going to have to ask you to wait while I check if Mr.
Sinclair is available.
I apologize, but I’m following direct orders.”
His face went white with fury.
He completely lost control—his hand shooting out and closing around my throat with crushing force.
My airway compressed instantly.
The world narrowed to the pressure of his fingers and the animal panic of being unable to breathe.
His face was inches from mine, voice exploding at a volume that must have carried to every corner of the floor.
“Who the hell do you think you are, you worthless little secretary?
I’m the financial director of this company!
I go where I want, when I want, and you’re nobody to tell me otherwise!”
The edges of my vision were beginning to darken when the door behind me burst open.
Rowan’s arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me away from Ashcroft’s crushing grip and against his chest.
Air rushed back into my lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp.
I could feel the fury radiating from his entire body, his breathing heavy and controlled behind me.
Ashcroft went on the offensive.
“Rowan, you won’t believe this.
This woman just insulted me gravely.”
Pressed against Rowan’s chest, I felt his heartbeat—fast, hard, furious.
When he spoke, his voice was ice. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Ashcroft, first of all, lower your voice immediately.
Let me make several things crystal clear.
First, from what I heard perfectly well, Ms.
Vane didn’t insult you whatsoever.
Quite the opposite, and you owe her an apology.
Second, she’s not my secretary—she’s my executive assistant and has my complete and total trust.
Third, you know damn well that you need to be announced before entering my office.
This isn’t news to anyone.
Fourth, and most importantly, if this is how you treat the employees of this company, I need to seriously reconsider your position here, because I will not tolerate disrespect toward my staff under any circumstances.”
“But Rowan, I was just trying to—”
“Never set foot on the executive floor again without being specifically summoned.” Rowan cut him off.
“Brenna, get in here now.”
Brenna appeared instantly.
“Yes, Mr.
Sinclair.”
“Escort Mr.
Ashcroft to the elevators immediately.
Schedule a meeting between us for first thing tomorrow morning, in his office.
After he leaves, come to my office.”
“Absolutely, sir.
Mr.
Ashcroft, if you’d follow me please.” Her voice was perfectly professional, but I caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
“Oh, and Ashcroft—if you ever lay a finger on Ms.
Vane or any other employee in my company again, you’ll be looking for new employment.
Are we clear?”
Silence was his answer.
He followed Brenna without another word.
Still holding me against his side, Rowan guided me into his office and closed the door.
His grip shifted—gentler now, the fury draining from his touch.
He led me to the chair and gently made me sit, his hands lingering on my shoulders before he let go.
I sat there with my throat burning, Ashcroft’s fingerprints throbbing against my windpipe, and looked up at the man who’d just dismantled his own financial director to protect me—and understood, with a clarity that settled deep, that whatever was happening between us had just become something neither of us could walk away from.