It doesn’t look much like a sacrifice judging by Maeve’s living situation in the best penthouse in Manhattan and a husband who kisses the ground she walks on.
“Queen?” I snort, my lips twitching. “More like a gladiator, dodging all his royal meltdowns.”
Said royal chooses this time to emerge from his dark quarters, narrowing his eyes at Martin.
“Stop distracting my assistant,” he growls sharply, tossing a tiny USB drive at me probably in hopes that it will hit me in the face. “Upload these plans to the server. Now. And don’t screw it up.”
I catch it midair with a venomous smile.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”
The plans upload in exactly two minutes, and I email him the confirmation with a single emoji: a crown. Maybe Martin was right, and I’m acing this whole ‘being an assistant to a tyrant’ thing.
The tyrant doesn’t respond, but I hear his loud curse even through the closed door, and I know I’ve won this round.
On day five,Ezra sweeps in, filling the office with his brooding presence. His dark eyes scan the empty lobby before landing on me. And it’s no surprise—I’m the only one here. It’s the executivewing, and the majority of people work down the hallway in a separate area. There are only a few desks this far down.
“Beatrice,” he says. “You’re still here. Impressive. Try to survive it a little longer so Maeve won’t kill me.”
“Barely here,” I reply with a chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “He’s got me sourcing coffee from Narnia and fixing permits written in finger paint.”
Ezra’s lips twitch with a rare almost-smile.
“He’s a nightmare these days,” he says, glancing at Noah’s office with something one might describe as concern. “But I know you’re tougher than you look.”
“High praise,” I quip sarcastically, even though my chest warms slightly.
Ezra’s tied to Maeve, to the island chaos I fled, but he’s not the enemy. He never has been—I realized it after a couple months away from all that mess. He was promised to me but never destined. We’ve never shared a spark. Never. Not like his brother and I. Even if it’s a spark of hate.
Noah chooses this moment to storm out with a tight jaw, flicking his eyes between us.
“What’s this, an island reunion?” he snaps sharply, tossing a Post-it at me, which is becoming his signature communication style apparently. “Book a meeting with the zoning board. Today. And get me lunch—sushi from that midtown place I got last month. Thirty minutes.”
“The meetings that need to be scheduled a month in advance, you want arranged in a few hours? Sure.” I catch the Post-it, my smile tight. “Can you please at least share the name of the place you dined at last month?”
“No.”
“Of course you can’t.” My smile is tightlipped. “I’ll get right to it,” I quip, scribbling in my notebook.
His eyes glint while a smirk tugs at his lips.
“If you can manage it, princess. Right? Since you are so qualified,” he says in a low voice, leaning closer, letting his cedar scent overwhelm me. For a second, his eyes soften, flicking to my lips, and the air crackles. That island tension flaring back to life like it never died. My pulse races, my hands trembling under the desk, but he steps back with a cold smirk. Just like the asshole did on that balcony a year ago.
Someone clears their throat. Loudly. And both our heads snap toward the sound—Ezra’s still here, watching us with wide eyes. I’d completely forgotten he was even here.
“Did I step into something here?” He glances between us.
“No!” we cry out at the same time, while Noah nearly jumps backward toward his office like he’s auditioning for Cirque de Soleil.
“Lunch. Now.” He points his finger at me, disappearing in his office.
I turn to look at Ezra, who’s still standing by my desk, observing the interaction with a half smile. “You don’t happen to know where your brother had the pleasure of having that wonderful sushi lunch last month?”
He shakes his head.
“Figures,” I sigh, pulling up the in-office messenger and firing a text to Martin.
“Is it always like that?” Ezra asks in a careful tone. Too careful.
