What were we doing? Whatever this thing we had was, it was getting addictive.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
theo
Monday hit like a truck.
By 9 a.m., I was two coffees deep and seated across from three investors, running point on Q3 projections and international partnerships. By 11 a.m., Nico had found his way to my office, sunglasses still on, coffee in hand like he belonged here, which, soon, he might, if he says yes.
“I still don’t get how you talked me into this,” he said, plopping into the chair across from me. “Because you like money, status, and expensive coffee,” I said, flipping through files. “And because I need someone I trust leading the Tech strategy team. Hayes International is behind the curve in that area.”
He shrugged. “You’re not wrong. But it’s going to cost you. I like first-class accommodations, a good salary, and benefits that signal you work for a multi-billion-dollar company.
I glanced at him. “You’ll have all of that.” Hegrinned like he’d won something. “Pleasure doing business with you then.”
After a quick sync with Max, who was surprisingly on board, we brought Naomi into the conversation. She walked into the conference room like she was running the place, polished, sharp, unreadable. Nico stood and offered a hand. “Naomi Hayes, you are the hottest and scariest woman I’ve ever met.”
She didn’t even blink. “And you are insufferable and underqualified to be here.” I cleared my throat before the tension caught fire. “He’s coming in as a consultant for the Tech division.” Naomi crossed her arms. “Consultant, huh? Fine. But if he crashes our internal systems, it’s on you.”
“Noted,” I said. We called Cameron and Sam into the boardroom to finalize the vote. “All in favor?” I asked. Everyone’s hand went up, even Sam’s, though her eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. When the room cleared out, I asked Harper to come in. She handed me a folder. “Still thinking about the HR policy?”
“Just weighing my options.” She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Harper had seen me through three startups, one marriage, and a nervous breakdown at thirty-two. She knew what I meant. Once she was gone, I opened Sam’s calendar, found a slot, and typed:
Me: Dinner Date tonight at 7:00 p.m. — Tulips. I’ll send you a car if you want.
Also, wear that red lipstick, please.
Sent.
Later that day, the apartment felt too quiet.
Elena’s bag was by the door. “You sure you don’t want the car to take you?” I asked.
“I’ll survive a cab, Theo,” she said, smirking. “Text me when you land.” She nodded, then pulled back, her gaze softening. “Try not to screw this one up.” My mouth twitched. “I won’t.” She just winked, grabbed her bag, and was gone.
I stood at the window for a minute, watching the cab disappear into the stream of city traffic, then turned to find Nico already halfway through a protein bar and scrolling something on his phone. “She’s cool,” he said, still chewing. “She’s better than both of us combined.”
“The bar is very low.” We sat in the living room for a while, with him pretending to work while I actually did. We reviewed some onboarding plans for his new consulting role, drafted a few notes on the tech integration strategy, and traded barbs like we were still in college.
Then, around 5:45, Nico looked at me over the rim of his glass. “So. Date tonight?”
I glanced up from my laptop. “Yeah.” I kept typing. “Are you nervous?” He set the drink down and really focused on our conversation now. “No.”
“You are.” I rolled my eyes at him, “I’m really not.” He grinned. “Did you shave your balls?”
“Get out of here.”
“Just saying. The first ‘official’ date is in a different territory. You need a clean shave.” That was the cue I needed. I stood to walk toward the bedroom. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t burn the place down.”
As the hot water hit my skin, I let myself think about her. Samantha Hayes. Smart-mouthed, sharp-eyed, frustrating as hell. Inherited charm and danger from her father. And I was walking straight into the fire tonight.
By the time I stepped out, the bathroom mirror was fogged. I wiped it clean and stared at myself, at the man who hadn’t cared this much in a long time. About how I looked. About how she might look at me.
I buttoned a charcoal-gray shirt with rolled sleeves, the collar open, and reached for the cologneshe had complimented in Paris. A final check in the mirror. My pulse is steady. My mind is less so.
I texted Harper.
Me: Out for the evening. Forward anything urgent.
