My phone buzzes. A calendar pop-up: Kade: 8:30 PM — Offsite. Private invite. No location. No notes.
I look up slowly. "No."
He raises a brow. "No?"
"Office hours are off-limits. You don't get to ping me from your desk like I'm a dessert cart."
"What if it's business?"
"Then put it on the calendar like business."
His gaze dips to my mouth and back. "Outside, it is business."
"That's your kink, not my job."
His smile sharpens. "You'll come."
"I won't."
"Because you're going to file a complaint?" It's not mockery. It's a challenge.
"Because I meant what I said."
We stare at each other until it's almost funny. Until it's nearly a kiss. It isn't.
"Cancel my dinner plans," he says finally, voice restored to cool. "I already have something lined up."
I hold his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Kade."
I make it to the door, open it, step into the hall, and close it softly. My hands are steady. My knees are not.
Back at my desk, the outer office is a cathedral of glass and quiet. I sit. I breathe. I drafted the board brief. I refuse to think about his hands on my hips. I refuse to think about what happens at eight-thirty.
My phone buzzes again—unknown number. Check your personal email. No signature.
I open my private inbox. One message waits at the top: Agreement Addendum — Exclusivity from a law firm I don't recognize. My stomach drops.
I click.
It's a clean PDF. Legalese, precise. Dated last night.
This letter confirms the exclusive arrangement between Client A.K. and Contractor (alias redacted), including the buyout of all third-party bookings. Any other clients shall not schedule the contractor—compensation: paid in full. Effective immediately.
Two attachments: Wire Transfer Confirmation.NDA Revision.
My lungs forget how to work.
He did it. He locked me down. Not with hands. With paper.
My phone buzzes again. Another message—from the escort app, even though I deleted it twice this morning.
A priority client has updated your availability. Contact your coordinator for changes.
I'm on my feet before I decide to be. I crossed the hall like the floor was on fire and didn't bother knocking.
He looks up from his laptop. Cool. Expectant. Like he knew precisely which minute I'd be back.
"You bought me," I say.
"I secured exclusivity," he corrects. "Which you asked me to do."
"I asked you to respect boundaries."
"And I am." He gestures around. "I haven't touched you today. Not once."
"You touched everything else."
A hint of heat at the corner of his mouth. "Semantics."
I throw the printout on his desk. "You don't get to update my life without asking."
"That's rich," he says softly. "Considering how you updated mine."
The room tilts. "What does that mean?"
He stands, slow. Comes around the desk again but stops at the same careful distance as before, like he's proving he can. "It means you walked into my world, and I haven't had a complete thought since. It means if other men even think about booking you, I shoot down the idea. With money," he adds, dryly. "Calm down."
"You don't own me."
"No," he says. "I just don't share well."
"Adrian."
He inhales, and the sound is too intimate for an office. "Say 'Mr. Kade, unless we're off the clock."
Every nerve in my body pulls tight. I hate him. I want him. I hate that I want him.
"Here are the rules," I say again, because if I don't drive this, he will. "Work is work. You don't make messages with looks. You don't test me with touching. Outside, you schedule like a grown man. I choose whether I accept. I can say no."
"You can," he says. "And I can make it very hard for you to want to."
My laugh is not nice. "Threatening me with good sex? Revolutionary."
He steps back, a concession. "Eight-thirty. There'll be a car. If you don't get in, I'll understand."
I open my mouth to say I won't.
He adds quietly, "Your brother's retainer is due Friday. The transfer confirmation should hit your account by morning."
My throat closes. "You—"
"I'm not buying you," he says, and for once there's nothing smug about it. "I'm removing noise."
"I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to."
I stare at him like he's a problem set I can't solve. He stares back like he already knows the answer.
I leave before I do something irreversible. Back at my desk, the office is a mirror—cold, precise, unforgiving. I pack my bag. I shut down my computer. The elevator dings and opens on an empty car.
My phone buzzes one last time—a calendar update, not from him, but from Security.
Private elevator access granted. Keycard is active after 8:20 PM.
Below it, a note appears from a contact I didn't add.
A.K.: After hours only. Your rules. Choose.
I should delete it. I should go home. I should put my phone in the freezer and my heart in a vault.
Instead, I stare at the time—8:01—and watch the minutes move.
The elevator doors start to close. A hand slides between them. The doors glide open again, and Adrian steps in, tie loosened, expression unreadable.
"Miss Vale," he says, voice even.
"Mr. Kade."
We stand there, not touching, with the kind of silence that is loud. The doors close. The car doesn't move.
"Last chance," he says. "Say no."
I swallow, pulse a drum in my ears.
"Mess around and find out," I whisper.
His mouth curves. He hits the button for the private level.
The elevator drops. My phone pings with the transfer confirmation. And somewhere between floors, the building lights flicker—like the whole tower just held its breath.