Page 94 of Power
“Choose your next words very carefully,” I warned, my finger hovering over the intercom. “Security is one button away, and I don’t mind addingthreatening behaviorto your file.”
He glared at me, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I should have felt relieved. Getting into a fistfight would be frowned upon by the board and would be a violation of that damn morality clause in the contract that might as well read,CEO shall refrain from physically assaulting employees, no matter how punchable their faces may be.But it was such an empty victory.Firing him wasn’t enough. Spreading the word through every contact I had in business about him and the liability he’d pose to companies—and, yes, I’d do that—wasn’t enough. Breaking his cheekbone … that was what I’d wanted to do. That was what would have felt like justice.
I flexed my fingers and buzzed my assistant.
“Send in the next one,” I said.
The following meetings went on similarly: strategic conversations that led to damning admissions. By the end of the day, the company had three fewer problems. Three fewer predators hiding in plain sight. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. People would not be abused on my watch. Not at my company.
I should have felt triumphant. Powerful. Instead, I felt hollow.
I stared at my phone, at all my unanswered calls and texts to Scarlett. How could she walk away like this? I hadn’t meant to insult her with a promotion. I was trying to give her what she deserved. What she’d earned.
At least she’d given me more intel to figure out who had done this to her, letting it slip that it happened during her interview. Six interviews, according to my sleuthing, and HR was assembling the names of those interviewees.
Still, even the knowledge that I was one step closer to finding out who hurt her couldn’t erase the pain slicing through my insides.
I poured myself a scotch, downing it in one burning swallow. It didn’t help. Nothing did. Not the satisfaction of cleaning house, not the knowledge that I’d done something good today. None of it mattered if she wasn’t here with me.
The truth hit me like a wrecking ball. It was no longer a possibility: I was absolutely falling in love with her. Completely, irrevocably in love with a woman who might never speak to me again.
My hand tightened around the empty glass, her final kiss still burning on my cheek like a goodbye I couldn’t accept. I’d lost people before—my mother to cancer, my father to violence—butthis was different. This was someone walking away by choice. Someone deciding I wasn’t worth the risk.
Maybe she was right. Maybe the power imbalance between us was too fundamental to overcome. Maybe some differences couldn’t be resolved with determination and good intentions. Not everything could be fixed with money or influence—a hard lesson I learned early on in life.
But for the first time in my professional career, I faced a problem I couldn’t solve. A battle I couldn’t win. She didn’t just distrust my power; she resented it. And I couldn’t shed who I was any more than she could erase her past.
I drained the glass, feeling hollow. Empty. All those years of protecting myself from exactly this kind of pain, and in the end, I’d finally let someone in. And now, she was walking away from me.
No. Fuck that. I hadn’t built an empire by accepting defeat. I hadn’t survived everything life had thrown at me by giving up when things got hard.
I wasn’t going to lose her. Not like this. Not without a fight.
She always worked late. She’d probably still be here, hunched over her desk, that little crease between her eyebrows indicating she was deep in concentration. And she was going to get a piece of my mind this time. I’d tell her how I felt, how I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe without thinking of her. How she’d somehow become the center of a universe I’d never meant to create.
I put my glass down, shoved my phone in my pocket, and stormed out of my office.
48
SCARLETT
Operation Trap Marcus into a Confession was in full swing. My cell phone was carefully hidden on the desk, its camera lens facing outward, recording already initiated. Even if he moved out of the video frame, all I needed was one shot of him, and the rest could be audio. I’d sent him an “urgent” message. Bait that his ego didn’t let him ignore this time.
Meanwhile, I positioned myself on the opposite side of the room, deliberately distant from my phone, arranging items on my bookshelf with calculated nonchalance. The perfect cover. When he arrived, when he sat down in one of the chairs beyond my desk, he shouldn’t suspect a thing.
Once I had this proof, I’d make a copy at home, stored somewhere impenetrable. Then I’d finally face Jace. I’d been ghosting him all day, declining every call, ignoring every text, but with evidence in hand, there’d be no disputing Marcus’s true nature. Together, Jace and I could determine our next move: HR? Legal action? Whatever it took, I’d ensure Marcus couldn’t hurt Jace.
And then … then maybe I could untangle these messy feelings for Jace that kept my mind racing. Tessa was right; I was feeling wildly protective of him. If not for that, I might not risk everything on this sting operation.
A shadow darkened my doorway. Marcus stepped inside, his demeanor suggesting that being summoned to my office registered somewhere between a mild curiosity and an inconvenience.
“Close the door,” I said, my voice steadier than the thundering pulse in my throat.
Marcus regarded me for a long moment, his eyes calculating as they swept over me. He obliged, pushing the door shut with a soft click before sliding his hands into his pockets, assessing me as if I was a curiosity in a museum display. For a fleeting second, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker in his eyes—a momentary consideration that perhaps I’d reconsidered my stance on his “promotion offer.” That I was about to do whatever it took to secure it.
Fat. Chance.
