Page 95 of Claimed By The Other Brother

I move back, maintaining distance.

"Mr. Blackwell—"

"Dax."

"Mr. Blackwell," I repeat firmly.

"I'm here in a professional capacity. To manage your crisis and restore your company's reputation. That's all."

"Is it?" He moves closer again, invading my space.

"Because it seems like you're running from something."

"I'm not running from anything." I lift my chin.

"I accepted this position because it's a tremendous opportunity. Not to rehash personal history."

"Personal history?" His eyes darken.

"Is that what we're calling it?"

Heat crawls up my neck.

"What would you call it?"

"Unfinished,” he asks as he leans forward.

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning.

"How have things been in Chicago?" he asks, his tone deceptively casual.

I know what he's really asking. About Miles. About whether I've moved on or gone back.

"Fine," I say.

"Miles and I have been speaking."

Dax's jaw tightens. He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne.

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what I said. We've been speaking."

"About what?"

"That's not your business." I hold my ground even though every instinct tells me to step back.

"This is a professional setting. I'm here to work and do my job—the job you orchestrated to bring me here. Not to disclose details of my personal life."

His eyes lock on mine, intense and possessive.

"Scarlett—"

A knock at the door interrupts him. Dax stops, hisexpression flickering with frustration. He clears his throat.

"Yes. Come in."

The door opens, and Emma enters, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.