Page 73 of Hate Notes

Was he still talking about business? My cheeks burned.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear." Davenport stood, straightening his jacket. "I don't need another slick presentation. I need to know the people handling my legacy understand what that really means. Show me a plan that balances both our visions—profit and preservation. Then we'll talk details."

Once Davenport was gone, I stared at Orion, heart pounding. "Did that just happen?"

"Which part?" His voice was rough. "Davenport essentially telling us to work together, or..." His eyes dropped to my mouth.

"Both." I stood on still-wobbly legs. "I should... probably go review these notes and see what I can come up with."

"Probably." But neither of us moved.

"Do you really think we can make this work?" I whispered. "The whole 'nothing changes outside the closet' thing?"

Orion's laugh was low and dangerous. "I don’t suppose either of us are willing to stop now. So I imagine we’re going to find out if it’ll work or not.”

Yeah.He was right about that. If we had stayed in that closet another minute, I think I was about to beg him just like he wanted. Somehow, things had gone from messy to messier, and I had a bad feeling we were only just getting started.

34

ORION

"The paperwork is ready whenever you are, Sir," Roman said, sliding a folder across my desk. "Once Davenport signs with us, the property transfer clause will be ironclad."

My office windows sputtered as a sudden April shower drenched the city outside.

I stared at the folder, remembering Davenport's words about his factories being like his children. About legacy.

And then I thought about the recent developments with Ember. Three days ago, I took Ember into that closet and had the best few minutes of my life. Two days ago, we both stayed late and used my office desk as an improvised bed. To my surprise, we had stopped short of true penetration, though. It was all thoroughly enjoyable foreplay, sexual banter, and a bit of heavy physical teasing, but we didn’t truly fuck. Yesterday had been more of the same.

Today, I expected she would linger late again and slip into my office as was quickly becoming our custom. I had made sure toacquire a healthy stock of condoms after our first encounter, but I wondered if I would need one tonight.

I wondered what was holding both of us back from that final step.

Was it that the foreplay was enough? Was it simply easier to write it off as physical fun and nothing more if we didn’t truly have sex? Or were we afraid of what might happen if we went all the way?

I couldn’t begin to guess what was going through Ember’s mind. Frankly, I couldn’t even decode my own thoughts and reservations on the topic.

All I knew was neither of us ever seemed to be willing to take the final steps, whether they were emotional or physical. We were both holding back, too reluctant to trust the other not to…what?

I supposed in my case, I worried that the truth of what she hid would sting too badly—that it would ruin me somehow. I also worried that my own hidden truth was enough to make her want nothing to do with me.

"Sir?" Roman prompted. "Is something wrong?"

"No." I opened the folder, scanning the legal documents that would effectively steal Davenport's property after his death. Documents I'd been pursuing relentlessly just weeks ago.

In truth, it felt like I wasn’t the same person when I sat and listened to Roman’s initial proposition—about how a legal loophole would mean we could become the de-facto inheritors of everything an old dying man owned as long as he contracted us to work on his factories. In that meeting, I was only thinking about the bottom line and Foster Real Estate.

The idea that we would do anything other than demolish those factories and build something new hadn’t so much as crossed my mind. I also hadn’t spared a thought for what the dying old man would think about his factories being destroyed and wiped from history.

And then the old bastard had gone and connected it to dad. On top of that, Ember had infiltrated my mind and company like a virus, making me think about projects and clients from angles I had never before cared to consider.

“Everything’s fine,” I said, even if it felt like it was anything but.

"It's just... you seem different lately." Roman shifted uncomfortably. "The whole office feels different. I heard you’ve barely even been getting those weird Hate Notes anymore."

He wasn't wrong. The changes were small but undeniable. This morning, I'd walked past the break room while people were celebrating someone's birthday. Instead of shutting it down, I'd just... kept walking. And two days last week had passed where I hadn’t been delivered a single Hate Note. It was unheard of, and not entirely unpleasant.

It made me feel as though some alien presence had woken inside me and was gradually taking over the controls. Maybe that should have terrified me, but I couldn’t deny the changes Roman was talking about. It wasn’t just the office that felt a little… brighter, either. It was everything.

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