"You're hiding something."
Blaine's voice comes from directly behind me, low enough that only I can hear it over the quiet hum of the thirty-second floor.
I didn't hear him approach—one moment I'm staring at my phone, refreshing the FirstBid app with trembling fingers, and the next his breath is warm against the back of my neck.
I shove the phone under a stack of papers so fast I nearly knock over my coffee.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
He rounds my desk and perches on the edge, close enough that his knee brushes my arm.
His amber eyes sweep over my face with the precision of a predator tracking wounded prey.
"You've checked your phone seventeen times in the last hour. Your hands shake every time you do it. And right now, you're looking at me like you're terrified I'm going to ask what you're so desperate to see."
My throat closes around any possible response.
"So."
He leans closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne—something expensive and dangerous, like whiskey and smoke.
"What are you hiding, Ethan Hale?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Everything about you concerns me."
The words land like a physical touch, and his smile sharpens when he sees my reaction.
"That bothers you, doesn't it? The idea that someone might be paying attention to what you're trying so hard to keep invisible."
"Blaine." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I have work to do."
"You have work to avoid." He doesn't move. "There's a difference. And I'm very good at recognizing avoidance—I've spent my whole life perfecting it."
Something in his voice shifts, the predatory edge softening into loneliness he's learned to weaponize as charm.
For one disorienting moment, I see past the charm and the calculated provocation to the loneliness of a man who performs confidence because the alternative is unbearable.
"Whatever it is," he says quietly, "you don't have to carry it alone. Even if you don't want to tell me."
Before I can respond, Asher's voice cuts across the floor. "Blaine. The Pemberton call starts in five minutes."
Blaine rises from my desk with fluid grace, but his eyes don't leave mine.
"Think about it," he murmurs, and then he's gone, striding toward Asher's office with the easy confidence of a man who always gets what he wants.
I exhale and reach for my phone with shaking hands.
The break room is mercifully empty when I slip inside twenty minutes later, desperate for a moment away from glass walls and watching eyes.
I'm pouring water into a paper cup when Jules appears like a violet-haired apparition, his grin wide enough to split his face.
"Personal assistant to the holy trinity of hotness?"
He practically bounces beside me, voice low but vibrating with barely contained glee.
"Baby, you've ascended. This is literally the plot of every romance novel I've ever read, and you're living it in real time."
"Jules, keep your voice down."
I glance toward the door, pulse spiking.
"Someone could hear you, and then I'd have to explain why my friend is calling my bosses the 'holy trinity of hotness' in the middle of the workday."
"I'm stating observable facts."
He steals a sip from my water cup, unbothered.
"Will you please shut up?"
The words come out harsher than intended, my nerves fraying at the edges.
"I can't think about any of that right now. I just need to survive this day without getting fired or having a complete breakdown."
Jules studies my face, his theatrical energy dimming to genuine curiosity.
"Hey. How's the other situation? Your dad?"
"Fifty-two hours." I set down the cup, my appetite vanishing. "Bidding opened this morning. I haven't checked the numbers yet."
"Ethan—"
"I can't. I can't think about it until tonight, or I won't make it through the rest of this day. Just let me pretend I'm a normal person with a normal job for a few more hours."
"You're going to be okay," Jules says quietly. "Whatever happens, you're going to be okay."
The crisis hits at 2:47 p.m., and for the first time all day, I'm almost grateful for the distraction.
"The Pemberton meeting was scheduled for Thursday at three."
Asher's voice cuts across the floor like a blade.
"Why does my calendar show a conflict with the board presentation at the same time?"
"There must be a system error," someone from scheduling stammers through the phone. "We can try to reschedule the board presentation, but the directors are already confirmed—"
"The Pemberton account is worth forty million dollars. Rescheduling is not an option."
I freeze in the doorway to the supply room, my mind racing through possibilities.
The conference rooms. The timing. The directors' availability that I memorized from this morning's briefing.
"Asher."
My voice surprises me with its steadiness.
"The board members have a forty-five-minute window between their morning session and the presentation. If we move Pemberton to the satellite conference room and start at two-fifteen, you can close the meeting by three and join the board presentation five minutes late with an apology for the scheduling overlap."
The silence that follows feels infinite.
Asher turns to face me, steel eyes narrowing.
"The satellite room has video conferencing capabilities?"
"Yes, and it's smaller. Pemberton's CEO prefers personal attention over corporate grandeur. The setting might actually work in our favor."
Blaine laughs from his office doorway—not the calculated charm I've come to expect, but something genuine that transforms his sharp features into something almost boyish.
"I told you he was worth keeping," he says to no one in particular. "The boy thinks on his feet."
Asher holds my gaze for three long seconds, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looks almost like respect—then nods once.
"Make the adjustments." He returns to his desk. "And Ethan? Don't make me regret trusting your instincts."
Cole appears at my elbow, his presence warm and solid, as I turn back toward my desk.
"Well done," he says softly, close enough that I feel his breath against my temple. "You just saved a forty-million-dollar relationship in under sixty seconds."
His hand brushes my lower back—barely a touch, gone almost before I register it—but the contact sends heat flooding through my entire body.
I look up and find his eyes fixed on mine, naked want he doesn't bother to disguise.
"You're remarkable," he says, so quiet only I can hear. "I hope you know that."
Before I can respond, he's gone, striding back toward his office with tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
Hargrove finds me at my new desk at 6:15 p.m., his expression twisted between irritation and what might almost be grudging respect.
"The Varkas brothers have requested you permanently," he says, each word apparently causing him physical pain. "Effective immediately, you're no longer part of my department. Congratulations, Hale. Try not to let the altitude go to your head."
He leaves without waiting for a response, and I sit in stunned silence as the weight of the day crashes over me.
Permanent. They want me permanently.
The thirty-second floor empties around me.
Asher departs with a curt nod.
Blaine waves with a smile that promises future conversations I'm not ready for.
Cole lingers at his door, his jaw tight with something that looks like restraint, watching me with an expression that makes my pulse stutter.
"Go home, Ethan." His voice carries across the quiet space. "You've earned the rest."
I wait until he's gone before pulling out my phone.
The FirstBid app loads with agonizing slowness.
My profile appears, anonymous and clinical, and beneath it—
$85,000.
The number glows against the dark interface, impossibly real.
Eighty-five thousand dollars for something I've never given anyone.
My phone buzzes with a platform notification: High activity on your profile. Premium buyers are watching.
And somewhere in the distance, my father's heart keeps failing, one beat at a time.