POV Audrey
The lamplight casts soft shadows across the living room, turning Shane's features into something almost gentle. Almost safe. I should excuse myself, retreat to my bedroom, put walls back between us before this conversation ventures somewhere I can't control.
Instead, I stay.
The realization arrives with unsettling clarity: Shane Reed is flirting with me. Not performing for investors or testing boundaries for strategic advantage. Flirting. The way his eyes hold mine a beat too long, the way his voice has dropped into something intimate and warm—these are not the tactics of a man negotiating a merger.
And despite every instinct screaming caution, I find myself responding.
"You said you can do whatever I want."
I lean back in my chair, studying him with a boldness that surprises me. At work, I command boardrooms without hesitation. With men—with desire—I have always retreated into safety. But something about the dim lighting, the strange honesty of this evening, makes me reckless.
"What exactly does that mean? What would you actually be willing to do?"
Shane doesn't flinch. Doesn't deflect with humor or soften his interest into something more palatable. Instead, he meets my gaze with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"I'm very good at pleasing women, Audrey. I say that not as arrogance but as fact—I pay attention, I listen, I learn what someone needs." His words are carefully chosen, each one landing with precision. "I'm willing to do whatever ensures a woman is satisfied with me. In all the ways that might matter to her."
The subtext hangs between us, electric and unmistakable.
My pulse climbs until I can feel it thrumming against my throat. The air has turned thick, charged with something I haven't allowed myself to feel in nine years.
Shane's eyes don't waver from mine, and in them I see not calculation but genuine desire—the kind that makes rational thought feel like an inconvenience.
"That's quite a promise," I manage, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. "Most men claim capability they don't possess. How would I know you're any different?"
"You wouldn't. Not until you gave me the chance to prove it." He leans forward slightly, closing the distance between us by inches that feel like miles. "I'm not asking for blind trust, Audrey. I'm asking for the opportunity to earn it. Whatever that looks like for you."
My phone shatters the moment.
Oliver's name glows on the screen, and the spell breaks with almost physical force. I'm on my feet before I've consciously decided to move, clutching the phone like a lifeline.
"I need to take this. I'm sorry—I need privacy."
Shane nods, his expression shifting to something I can't read as I retreat to my bedroom. The door closes behind me, and I press my back against it, breathing hard.
"Mom!"
Oliver's voice fills my ear with relief and pain in equal measure.
"Guess what? We're almost done with our environmental project, and Mrs. Patterson says it's the best one she's seen in years. We made this whole display about rivers pollution with real statistics and everything, and I got to do all the math parts because nobody else wanted to."
"Baby, that's incredible." I sink onto the edge of the bed, his excitement washing over me like medicine. "I knew you'd be brilliant. You're always brilliant."
"The presentation for parents is next week. You'll come, right? You have to see the graphs I made. They're color-coded and everything, and I used that software you showed me for the pie charts."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. I'll be there in the front row, embarrassing you with how proud I am."
He laughs—that bright, uncomplicated sound that makes everything else feel manageable.
We talk for another ten minutes about his project, about his ankle that's healing faster than predicted, and other things.
When I hang up, I sit in silence for a long moment.
Oliver inherited my intelligence—the analytical mind, the love of systems and data. But he also inherited Shane's resourcefulness, that same instinct for strategy that I've watched his father deploy in boardrooms and negotiations. The thought stabs through my chest with unexpected force.
My son carries pieces of a man who doesn't know he exists. And I've just spent twenty minutes almost kissing that man in a hotel suite three hundred miles from home.
When I return to the living room, the heat between us has cooled to something manageable. Shane sits where I left him, though his posture has shifted—less predatory, more patient.
"How is Oliver doing?" The question sounds casual, but his eyes are watchful. "You seemed concerned when you answered."
Irritation flares through me immediately. "That's none of your concern. My relationship with my son is separate from whatever arrangement exists between us."
"We'll meet eventually, Audrey." His voice carries gentle reason that only makes me angrier. "I'm going to be his stepfather, after all. At some point, I'll need to know him—and he'll need to know me. Pretending otherwise doesn't serve anyone."
I bite back the cutting response rising in my throat. The irony of Shane Reed volunteering to be a stepfather to his own biological son would be hilarious if it weren't so devastating.
"Where is Oliver's father?" Shane's question catches me off guard. "You've never mentioned him. Not his name, not what happened, not whether he's still in the picture. Who is he?"
The arrogance of the question ignites fury that burns through every soft feeling I'd allowed myself to harbor tonight. He sits there in his expensive suit, in this penthouse he probably considers modest, asking me to account for my choices while remaining utterly ignorant of his own role in creating them.
"That is absolutely none of your business." My voice comes out cold and final. "Oliver's father is a closed subject. I won't discuss him with you—not now, not ever. Whatever curiosity you're nursing, I suggest you abandon it immediately."
Shane opens his mouth to respond, but I'm already moving toward my bedroom.
"I need sleep before tomorrow's presentation. Goodnight, Shane."
I don't wait for his reply. The door closes behind me with finality, leaving him alone in the dim room with questions I will never answer.
Some secrets aren't just worth keeping. Some secrets are the only thing standing between my son and a father who might not want him after all.
Because I think that his attempts to get close to Oliver are just attempts to win my trust so that it will be easier to manipulate me.