At 2:57 PM, I stand outside Caspian's office, my hand hovering over the door handle like I'm about to detonate something.
Aria is safely deposited with our office-manager, bribed with coloring books and the promise of choosing dinner. I've checked my reflection three times—armor-perfect blazer, hair scraped back, lipstick that says ‘professional’ instead of ‘terrified.’
I look like someone who has her shit together.
I feel like I'm walking into an execution. The scenarios loop through my mind.
He'll tear into me about bringing Aria, question my judgment, my fitness as a department head. Or worse—he'll be smug about our Columbia days. Reminisce about debates where he eviscerated my arguments while I pretended not to notice how his mouth moved when he talked.
Or maybe he'll threaten my position because I challenged him in front of his new acquisition, because I've always been too stubborn to know when to bow.
I knocked. Wait. "Come in."
His voice reaches through the door, and something low in my stomach tightens in a way I refuse to name.
Caspian sits behind his desk with the kind of languid confidence that comes from never doubting you belong exactly where you are. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Tie loosened. Auburn hair slightly disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
The sharpness of his cheekbones, his straight perfect nose, only annoy me.
His grey eyes, focused on me with incredible intensity, send shivers down my spine. He looks like he already owns this place. Owns everything in it.
Including me, possibly.
"Ms. Vale." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Not ‘please sit.’ Just the command.
I sit because standing feels like conceding something worse.
"I assume this is about this morning." I keep my voice level. "My childcare situation was unavoidable, but I understand the optics were—"
"I'm not here to discuss your child." He leans back, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight. "Though we should probably talk about why a senior analyst can't afford reliable backup options."
The casual cruelty of it, the implication that I'm failing somehow, ignites something vicious in my chest.
"I manage fine, thank you. Is there an actual purpose to this meeting, or did you just want to—"
"I want to offer you a position."
The words hits wrong. Like he's speaking a language I almost recognize but can't quite translate. "A position."
"Director of Acquisition Integration and Oversight."
He slides a folder across the desk. Embossed. Official.
"You'd lead a special task force auditing both companies during the merger. Full access to my company's financials, not just yours. Authority to flag problems, recommend against specific merger points.”
I stare at the folder like it might bite me. “Real power, Vale. Not the scraps you've been fighting for."
"I don't understand."
"I've reviewed your career trajectory."
He taps something on his tablet, and my entire professional history probably glows on his screen.
"Your analysis is brutal and accurate. You've saved your company from three lawsuits that no one even knows about because you caught the problems before they metastasized…"
He's been researching me. Not just reviewing my file. Actually studying my work.
The realization feels invasive. Intimate.
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than I intended. "What's your actual motivation here?"
His mouth curves—not quite a smile. "You think I have ulterior motives."
"I think you're Caspian Rothwell, and you always have ulterior motives."
Something flickers in his expression. Almost like amusement.
"The board wants this merger done in six months." He stands, moving to the window, hands in his pockets. "They're pushing me to move fast, cut deep, show immediate returns. But I've done enough acquisitions to know what happens when you prioritize speed over stability."
"So you need someone to find the problems before they become lawsuits."
"I need someone who'll tell me the truth." He turns, backlit by Manhattan, and the light makes it hard to read his face. "Someone who won't be afraid to tell me when my company is fucking up too. And you've never been afraid of me, Vale."
The admission lands unexpectedly and strangely to my chest.
I’ve almost forgotten through these years what glimpses of his approval did to me.
I opened the folder and the salary makes my breath catch. Nearly double what I make now. The authority is real, not cosmetic. I'd have ammunition to potentially blow up parts of this deal. Protect my people.
Maybe even sabotage the worst of his restructuring plans. But it also ties me to him. Directly. Daily meetings. Close quarters.
His attention fixed on me in ways I'm not sure I can survive.
"This gives me power over your company," I say carefully. "Why would you risk that?"
"Because you're not stupid enough to abuse it." He moves closer, perching on the edge of his desk. Close enough that I have to look up to meet his eyes. "You'll use it strategically."
My pulse hammers against my throat. "You could be setting me up. Giving me rope to hang myself with."
"I could be." His voice drops lower and a sly smile curls the corner of his mouth. "Or I could genuinely respect you and be smart enough to recognize talent when I see it."
"You've never respected me, Rothwell."
"Maybe those aren't mutually exclusive."
The air between us feels compressed. Dangerous.
I should say no. Should walk out of this office and find another job. Another life where Caspian Rothwell isn't watching me with eyes that see too much.
But Aria needs stability. My team needs protection. And some part of me—the part that thrived on our Columbia battles, that felt most alive when we were against each other—wants to know what happens if I say ‘yes.’
"I'll do it." The words come out steady despite the chaos in my chest. "But I want it in writing. Full autonomy. If I flag something, you listen."
"Deal." He extends his hand.
I shake his hand quickly. His grip is warm, firm, and when our palms connect, something electric shoots up my arm.
He feels it too. I watch his pupils dilate slightly before he releases me.
"Welcome to the team, Ms. Vale." His voice has gone rough around the edges. "I'll have HR send over the paperwork."
I stand, needing distance, needing air, and moving out without another glance at him.
"One more thing." I freeze at the door. "Your daughter."
His tone has shifted—still casual, but with something underneath I can't identify. "She's remarkably similar to you. Same expressions."
My hand tightens on the door handle. "Children often resemble their parents."
"Of course." A pause. "Though those eyes are unusual. Distinctive."
He's fishing. Testing. Seeing if I'll react. I force myself to turn, to meet his gaze directly. "Was there something else, Mr. Rothwell?"
Our eyes lock. Grey on brown. The same unusual shade that Aria traced on her own face this morning.
"No." He looks away first. "That's all."
I walk out before my composure cracks. In the elevator, my hands shake as I pull out my phone.
Me: Need to talk. Emergency.
Maya: shit what happened???
Me: Caspian Rothwell happened. He just offered me a promotion. And he’s way too interested in Aria.
Maya: WHAT. THE CASPIAN ROTHWELL?? okay, I'm out of town until Friday but the SECOND I'm back, we're getting cocktails and you're telling me everything. can you survive until then?
Me: Define survive.
Maya: don't do anything I wouldn't. actually, scratch that. don't do anything PERIOD until we talk.
I pocket my phone and close my eyes, leaning against the elevator wall.
Caspian Rothwell wants me close. Wants to watch me work, study me, keep me within reach.
And I just agreed to let him.