I sat at the far end of the table of the executive boardroom with my laptop open. Fingers moving across the keyboard while my pulse hammered beneath my professional facade.
Alan stood at the head, walking through Iris Project data with the kind of precision that made investors throw money at problems. His voice was steady, controlled, each word calculated for maximum impact.
Beside him sat Henri Delaunay.
Eighty-two years old and dressed in a bespoke suit that probably cost more than my car. He radiated the kind of authority that made even Alan's shoulders tense slightly, made his usual absolute confidence waver at the edges.
Alan's presentation was flawless. Numbers, projections, market analysis that painted Veridian's surveillance technology as inevitable. Henri listened with his fingers steepled, expression carved from granite.
But his eyes kept moving to me.
Watching my hands on the keyboard. Watching my face stay composed while my thoughts spiraled. Each time his gaze landed on me, my spine straightened reflexively.
Alan finished and stepped back, waiting for his grandfather's verdict. Henri didn't look at him. He looked down the length of that massive table directly at me.
"Madame Garnier." My throat tightened. "You worked at the Cléry Foundation during the 2020 scandal."
Not a question, just a statement that hung in the air with weight. The room went silent and I saw how Alan's jaw tensed.
It seemed like every board member stopped breathing.
"Yes, Monsieur." I kept my voice level. "I was an event coordinator. I resigned when the allegations became public."
"You ran." His voice was dry paper rustling. "Most people who ran had something to hide."
My pulse kicked into my throat. "I protected my future. I had no involvement in their financial dealings and I refused to let their failures define me."
Henri studied me with eyes that had probably interrogated generals and politicians. The silence stretched until it felt sharp enough to cut.
"The Cléry Foundation organized charity galas," he said slowly. "Including one at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs. Masked ball. Very exclusive."
My blood went cold. Everything in me froze.
He knew. Or suspected. Or was testing.
"I coordinated several events for them." I forced the words out steady. "The Musée gala was one of many."
"Mmm." He held my gaze for three more seconds that felt like hours. Then nodded once. "Bien."
Something flickered in his expression. Not quite approval, but close. He turned to Alan. "The project is approved. Finalize the merger documents with the Artois family tonight. Signatures before the market opens tomorrow."
He stood. The meeting dissolved.
By the time the office emptied, exhaustion had settled into my bones. Rain continued its assault on the windows while Paris glittered below, indifferent to the small crisis I'd just survived.
I gathered my notes with hands that still trembled slightly from Henri's interrogation. Alan stood by the window, his tie loosened for the first time since I'd met him.
"You handled my grandfather well." His voice had lost its boardroom edge. "Most people fall apart under his questioning."
"He's intimidating." I kept sorting papers, needing something to do with my hands.
"He's a tyrant who enjoys making people uncomfortable." Alan turned from the window. "But you didn't break."
"I've learned not to."
He watched me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. Like the mask he wore in boardrooms was cracking now that we were alone. Then he moved closer, the space between us contracting.
The air itself shifted into something I felt in my chest, my throat, the base of my spine.
His cologne reached me first—the scent I'd been trying not to notice for days. Rain shadows from the window moved across his face, softening the sharp angles.
"You're a mystery, Élise."
He'd dropped the formal Madame. Just my name in that low voice that made my pulse stutter.
"All that composure in the boardroom." He took another step. "All that control. But I see what's underneath."
"You don't know what you mean." My voice came out quieter than I intended.
"Don't you?" His hand lifted slowly, deliberately. His thumb brushed along my jawline, the touch sending heat through my entire nervous system. "Your pulse is racing. I can feel it."
My breath caught when his eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there, the weight of his gaze almost physical. The city lights behind him blurred into abstract color.
"This is a bad idea." I said it but didn't move.
"Terrible." He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Possibly the worst I've ever had."
His other hand came up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. The touch was gentle but possessive, like he'd been thinking about it for longer than either of us wanted to admit.
My hands moved without permission, finding the front of his shirt. The fabric was expensive, warm from his body. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, racing as fast as mine.
"Élise." My name was half question, half surrender.
He closed the distance between us—
The desk phone exploded into sound. Shrill and electronic, violent enough to make us both flinch apart.
Alan's hands dropped. His expression shuttered so fast it was like watching a door slam. He stepped back, putting cold space between us, and the Man of Glass was back in place.
He cursed in French under his breath, words I'd never heard him use. Grabbed the phone. "Oui?"
Anna's voice carried through the line. I couldn't make out words but I recognized the tone—silk wrapped around steel.
"Yes. Finishing up." His voice had gone arctic. "No. Not tonight."
He hung up without saying goodbye.
The spell shattered. My face burned, my head spun, my hands shook from adrenaline that had nowhere to go. I grabbed my bag. "I should leave."
"Wait." Command, not request. CEO voice firmly back in place.
He gestured to his desk where documents sat in neat stacks. Merger agreements, engagement contracts, everything his grandfather had just approved.
"These need to be finalized tonight. Cross-referenced with the Iris files. Collated for signatures tomorrow morning." His tone was pure business, like the last five minutes hadn't happened. "No mistakes."
I looked at the clock. 7:32 PM. Looked at the mountain of work. "This will take hours."
"Yes." He pulled on his coat with sharp, precise movements. "Which is why you're doing it."
He stopped in the doorway, light from the hallway cutting his silhouette into sharp relief.
"You have access to my office for the night. Password for the Iris archive is 1810. Don't leave until it's finished."
Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
I stood there surrounded by the scent of his cologne and the ghost of his touch on my jaw. My lips still tingled with the anticipation of a kiss that never happened.
The merger documents waited on his desk. Anna's signature already elegant on the contracts, waiting for his to make it permanent.
I sat in his chair, pulled the first stack toward me, and opened my laptop. Typed 1810 into the password field. The Iris archive opened—files, data, photographs that made my stomach tighten with recognition I couldn't quite place.
Rain hammered the windows. Paris sprawled below in scattered lights.
I was alone in Alan Delaunay's office with access to everything he'd been hiding, preparing the documents that would bind him to another woman forever. My jaw still burned where he'd touched it. My body still hummed with want I couldn't afford.
I pulled up the first contract and started reading. Professional. Efficient. Completely destroyed.
The universe had a sick sense of humor, and I was the punchline.