Morning arrives with coffee. My body still aches with memories of our sex in my father's study. And all I can think about is wanting to feel Jake's cock inside me again.
Jake is having breakfast nearby; it seems he even got enough sleep. I feed myself with my eyes, taking in his charming masculine appearance.
Zachary appears at the breakfast table like he materialized from the marble itself—pressed suit, tablet glowing, coffee cup in hand. The man looks more awake at eight AM than I've felt in my entire life.
"Your father was transported to the hospital during the night." His voice is measured. Professional. "Routine monitoring. The doctors wanted better access to certain equipment."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "Routine?"
"Nothing to alarm you, Miss Ward." He sets his tablet on the table, already scrolling through what looks like a thousand emails. "Everything is under control."
I want to believe him. I don't.
Jake sits across from me, and I notice—for the first time—how he watches Zachary.
The assistant moves through my father's penthouse with proprietary ease, refilling his coffee from the carafe like he lives here. Like this is his kitchen, his space, his empire to manage.
Jake's jaw is tight. His shoulders squared. I recognize that posture. Territorial instincts prickling at a threat he can't quite name.
"There's a shareholders meeting at noon." Zachary slides a folder across the table toward me. "You must attend."
I open it. Documents. Summaries. Personnel files. Each page marked with handwritten notes in precise script—context explanations, concern flags, political land mines to avoid.
"I prepared these personally." Zachary's tone carries something that might be pride. "I know you studied business management as an elective at Columbia. This should help bridge any gaps in your understanding."
The words land wrong. Too familiar. Too knowing.
Jake's voice cuts through before I can respond. "What else do you know about her?"
The question lands like a gauntlet thrown onto marble floors.
Oh my gosh, Jake, please not now!
Zachary's smile doesn't waver, but something sharpens behind his eyes. A blade unsheathing. "I've worked for her father for eight years, Mr. Sullivan. I know what the role requires."
"That's not what I asked."
"I'm aware." Zachary takes a measured sip of his coffee. "Miss Ward's educational history, her previous engagement, her professional aspirations—these are matters of record. Relevant to ensuring a smooth transition."
"Sounds like surveillance to me." Jake doesn't back down from questioning.
"Sounds like preparation." Zachary sets down his cup with a soft click. "Something I imagine ranchers understand. You don't breed cattle without knowing their bloodlines."
The comparison hangs in the air. Deliberate. Pointed.
Jake's hands flatten on the table. "She's not livestock."
"Of course not." Zachary's smile widens fractionally. "She's an heiress. The stakes are considerably higher."
The confrontation builds—polite words carrying knife-edges, both men circling something neither will name directly. My place between them. My loyalty. My future.
I'm tired of being the territory they're fighting over.
So I do the only thing that makes sense in this moment of masculine posturing and veiled threats.
I stand up. Cross to Jake's side of the table. And kiss him.
Not a gentle kiss. Not a reassuring peck. I kiss him like I'm planting a flag. Like I'm making a declaration that requires no translation.
His hands come up to my waist automatically, pulling me closer, and I feel the tension in his body shift from defensive to something warmer. Something that belongs to us.
When I pull back, Zachary is watching with an expression of perfect professional neutrality.
"The car will arrive at 12:30." He finishes his coffee without comment, setting the empty cup on the counter. "There are expectations for appropriate attire. The board will be assessing more than your business acumen today."
Jake's voice is rough. "What should I wear?"
The silence that follows stretches just a beat too long.
"You weren't invited, Mr. Sullivan." Zachary's tone remains smooth. Apologetic. Absolutely firm. "This is a board meeting. Shareholders only."
"I'll be there whether you want me or not." Jake smiled. It's scary.
Zachary doesn't argue. Doesn't push back. Simply turns to me with an expression of patient expectation.
Waiting.
The realization sinks through me like cold water.
Jake has no place in that room. He's not a shareholder. Not a board member. Not anyone the corporate world of Ward Enterprises would recognize as relevant.
He's a cowboy. A Texas rancher who owns cattle and land and my entire heart—but none of those things translate into the language spoken in Manhattan boardrooms.
And he's just left me no graceful way to say it.
If I tell him to stay behind, I'm choosing my father's world over him. If I bring him anyway, I'm sabotaging my first impression with people who already have reasons to doubt me.
Jake's eyes find mine. I see the stubbornness there. The refusal to let me walk into enemy territory alone.
But I also see that he knows. Somewhere beneath the protective instincts and the territorial fury, he understands what he's asking me to navigate.
"Jake." My voice comes out softer than I intend. "I need to do this right."
His jaw works. The muscles in his neck cord with the effort of not arguing.
Zachary observes us both with clinical precision. "First impressions are critical, Miss Ward."
The words aren't cruel. They're simply true.
I look at the folder of documents. At the man who prepared them. At the man who wants to protect me from everything, including the consequences of his protection.
I think about my father and how he believes he has won. But I want to play this game on my own terms. Zachary is only an assistant, not the leader of the game. So he will have to reckon with me.