Page 16 of The Founder's Power

“I know.”

“You probably shouldn’t drive.”

I pause. Of course I can drive. I’m awake and aware. Far too aware of her.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask.

She hesitates, and my entire chest aches.

“You can stay,” she says softly. “The couch is clean.”

I nod once. “Thank you.”

She moves to the linen closet, and I follow her with my eyes, memorizing the way she walks, the slight sway of her sweater, the quiet focus as she folds the edges of the blanket before handing it to me. There’s a kind of delicate care in the way she moves. She always had that. Her quiet elegance made me want to bulldoze the world just to create space for it.

“I don’t do this, you know,” she says as I place the blanket on the couch.

“What?”

“Let people stay.”

I wince because I’m certain she could easily add, “Not after you.”

I meet her gaze, and something in my chest pulls tight. “I won’t take it for granted.”

She nods once, slow and unsure, then shifts toward the hallway. “Goodnight, Damian.”

“Goodnight, Isabelle.”

I want to say more. I want to tell her that this—thisnothingbetween us right now—is already more meaningful than a thousand other nights I’ve had in luxury hotel suites and boardrooms and sterile penthouses.

But I don’t. I hope she already knows.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind her, and I sit down on the couch in the dim light of her apartment, blanket beside me, heart racing like I’m a teenager again.

I’ve been in penthouses across the world, but tonight, sleeping on this couch with her just down the hall? It might be the most important place I’ve ever been.

* * *

I miss a call with Tokyo.

That’s the first sign something’s slipping.

I never miss calls. Especially not ones that involve international licensing deals worth eight figures. But I forget. I actually forget.

Because I was with her.

On her couch. Feet tangled, her head on my shoulder, some indie film playing in the background we didn’t really watch. She fell asleep halfway through. I wanted to brush back her hair and press a kiss to her forehead, but I just stared down at her, memorizing the slope of her nose, the way her fingers curled slightly in her sleep like she was still holding something.

Maybe me.

And I forgot the damn call.

At the office, it’s starting to show. My assistant gives me a schedule update and I ask her to repeat herself. Twice. I’m behind on approvals. I leave meetings early. The Kincaid board starts murmuring about my “inaccessibility.”

I’ve never been inaccessible.

She’s in my head. All. The. Time.

---