Chapter Twelve
Malachi's POV
"Sir, Travis is awake."
Maurice's words hung in the air like a death sentence. Not Travis's death. Mine. Because if that bastard woke up now, everything I'd carefully arranged would crumble.
I stared at the monitor showing Alicia's room, watching her finally settle into bed. She'd touched her jaw three times since I left. The same spot where my thumb had grazed her skin.
"Malachi?" Maurice's voice pulled me back. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you." My grip tightened on the phone. "Handle it."
"Handle it how, sir?"
I closed my eyes, thinking. Travis awake meant Travis talking. Travis demanding. Travis taking back what I'd only just claimed. The company. The control. Her.
No. Not yet. Not when I'd barely tasted what I wanted.
"Give him something," I said quietly. "Something to keep him under for a while longer."
Silence on the other end. Then, "Sir, that's—"
"I don't pay you to question me, Maurice. I pay you to get things done."
"Yes, sir. I'll speak to the doctor."
The line went dead. I set the phone down and turned back to the monitors. Alicia had turned off her lights. In the darkness, I could just make out her shape under the covers.
Sleep well, little butterfly. Tomorrow, you're mine for the entire day.
An hour later, my phone buzzed again. Maurice.
"The doctor is being difficult," he said, frustration clear in his voice. "He says it's against medical ethics. That he could lose his license."
Of course. People and their morals. Always getting in the way of what needed to be done.
"Give me his number."
"Sir?"
"The doctor's number. Now."
Maurice rattled it off, and I ended the call. Then I dialed.
He answered on the fourth ring, his voice cautious. "Hello?"
"Dr. Chen," I said, keeping my tone pleasant. Almost friendly. "This is Malachi Blackwood. I believe we have a problem."
"Mr. Blackwood, I can't do what your assistant is asking. It's unethical and—"
"And you have a daughter, don't you?" I interrupted. "Emily Chen. Sixteen years old. Attends Silver Lake Academy. Takes the bus home every day at three-fifteen."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy.
"I'm not threatening you, Doctor," I continued, my voice still calm. "I'm simply reminding you that ethics are flexible depending on circumstances. My brother needs rest. Extended rest. His body needs time to heal properly. Surely you can justify that medically?"
His breathing grew uneven. "How long?"
"A week. Maybe two. Just enough time for his body to recover without stress."
More silence. Then, quietly, "I'll do it. But after this, I'm transferring his case."
"That's perfectly acceptable. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Chen. My family appreciates your dedication to my brother's health."
I ended the call and set the phone down. Problem solved.
Some people required money. Others required fear. The trick was knowing which currency they traded in.
I stayed up late, working through emails and documents Maurice had sent over. Financial reports. Contract proposals. Meeting schedules for the week. But my mind kept drifting back to camera twelve.
To her.
The way she'd looked at me in that hallway. Equal parts afraid and wanting. Like she knew I was dangerous but couldn't help moving closer anyway.
That's what I wanted. For her to choose the danger. Choose me.
I finally fell asleep around three in the morning, and when I woke, sunlight was already streaming through the windows. I checked my phone. Seven thirty.
Time to play CEO.
I dressed carefully. Black suit. White shirt. No tie. I preferred the top button undone. More casual. More approachable. Even if I was anything but.
When I walked into the dining room, Alicia wasn't there yet. I took my seat at the head of the table and checked my emails while I waited.
She appeared ten minutes later, dressed in a navy blouse and black skirt. Professional. Proper. Buttoned up in every way.
I wanted to unbutton her.
"Good morning, Alicia," I said, setting my phone aside.
"Morning." Her voice was quiet. She sat far enough away to be polite but not close enough to be comfortable.
Smart girl.
The maids brought breakfast, and we ate in relative silence. I asked her a few questions. Simple things. Whether she slept well. If she had dreams.
She lied and said no. I could always tell when she lied. Her eyes shifted slightly to the left, and her fingers tightened around whatever she was holding.
But I let it go. For now.
The car ride to the office was torture. Sweet, delicious torture. She sat as close to her door as possible, staring out the window like the city was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.
Meanwhile, I couldn't stop looking at her. The curve of her neck. The way she bit her lower lip when she was nervous. The small scar on her hip that I knew was hidden beneath that skirt.
When we arrived at the building, the whispers started immediately. I heard them. Saw the looks. Women staring. Men sizing me up.
But I only cared about one person's reaction.
Alicia's jaw tightened. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She kept her eyes forward, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.
Jealousy looked beautiful on her.
We took the private elevator up, and I couldn't resist. "Jealous?"
She denied it, of course. But the flush on her cheeks told a different story.
The office looked perfect. Maurice had done well. Everything in shades of black, grey, and white. Clean lines. No distractions.
Except for her.
Alicia's desk sat across from mine, and I'd positioned it deliberately. Far enough to give her space. Close enough that I could watch her all day.
"This is going to be fun," I told her.
She didn't respond. Just turned to her computer and started typing.
Good. Let her think she could ignore me.
The morning passed in a blur of meetings. Investors. Department heads. Legal teams. Everyone wanted face time with the new CEO. Everyone had problems they expected me to solve.
But through every meeting, every presentation, every handshake, my mind was somewhere else.
On her.
I'd never seen Alicia jealous before. Never seen that fire in her eyes when other women looked at me. She'd been so controlled, so careful around me.
But this morning, something had cracked.
And I wanted to break it wide open.
During the third meeting, while some executive droned on about quarterly projections, I found myself wondering what she was doing. If she was thinking about me. If she'd gone to lunch yet.
If she was still jealous.
The thought made me smile, which confused the executive mid-sentence.
"Something funny, Mr. Blackwood?"
"No," I said smoothly. "Continue."
But my mind was already gone. Already back in that office where she sat, trying so hard to pretend I didn't affect her.
She could pretend all she wanted.
I knew the truth.
And soon, so would she.