adison
We rode the elevator in silence, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. In the lobby, Alexander guided me outside with a light touch at the small of my back that sent electricity up my spine.
His Bentley waited at the curb, and his driver, John, was holding the door open.
“Ms. Harper,” John nodded, his expression carefully neutral.
I slid into the plush leather seat, and Alexander joined me, sitting uncomfortably close. The door closed, sealing us in the quiet luxury of the car.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Alexander asked as the car pulled away from the curb.
“It was lovely,” I answered automatically. My fingers curled around the soft leather seat of the Bentley, trying to ground myself. This was a bad idea. But something about Alexander’s presence always clouded my judgment, making me agree to things I knew I shouldn’t.
The drive to his penthouse was mercifully short, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows like fireflies. Neither of us spoke; the silence filled with unspoken questions and tension thick enough to touch.
John stopped the car at the private entrance to Alexander’s building, opening my door with practiced efficiency.
“Thank you,” I murmured, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Alexander followed, nodding to his driver. “That’ll be all for tonight.”
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt like the longest thirty seconds of my life. Alexander stood beside me, his cologne teasing my senses, making it hard to remember why I’d ended our arrangement in the first place.
I watched our reflections in the polished doors: him tall and commanding in his perfectly tailored tux, me in that daring blue dress that suddenly felt like armor.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal the sprawling luxury of his penthouse. I stepped inside, immediately drawn to the floor–to–ceiling windows showcasing the glittering Manhattan skyline.
“Drink?” Alexander asked, already moving toward the bar.
“One,” I agreed, setting my clutch on the marble countertop.
He poured amber liquid into two crystal tumblers, handing me one. Our fingers brushed, and I pulled away too quickly, nearly spilling the drink.
“Nervous, Ms. Harper?” His lips quirked into that half–smile that always made my stomach flip.
“Not at all, Mr. Knight.” I took a deliberate sip, letting the expensive whiskey warm my throat. “Should I be?”
Alexander loosened his bow tie, moving to stand by the windows. “That depends entirely on your reasons for avoiding me at my own party.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lied, joining him at the window but keeping a careful distance. “I was being
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professional. Mingling. Networking.”
“With Jackson?” His tone was casual, but something dangerous lurked beneath the surface.
I turned to face him fully. “Is that what this is about? Jackson?”
Alexander swirled his drink, ice clinking against crystal. “Are you dating him now?”
“Why does it matter to you?” I countered, taking another sip of whiskey for courage.
“Answer the question.” His voice was low, commanding.
“I don’t have to,” I replied, setting my glass down with more force than necessary. “You’re my boss. My personal life is no longer your concern.”
“Madison-”
“No.” I cut him off, feeling a surge of courage from somewhere. Maybe the whiskey. Maybe just the culmination of weeks of hurt and confusion. “You don’t get to interrogate me about who I spend time with when you’ve been parading around New York with Katherine on your arm.”
Alexander’s eyes widened slightly, the only indication of his surprise. “Is that what this is about? Katherine?”
“This isn’t about anything,” I insisted. “You asked a question, and I’m telling you it’s none of your business. Just like it’s none of my business that you’re clearly back with your ex.”
“I’m not dating Katherine,” he said flatly.
I laughed, the sound sharper than I intended. “Sure looks that way to everyone else. The business dinner, the gala, the photos in the society pages… You two make such a lovely couple, according to Caroline.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been talking to Caroline?”
“We had drinks,” I admitted. “She was very informative about your history with Katherine.”
“I bet she was,” he muttered, draining his glass. “Caroline loves nothing more than stirring up drama.”
“She wasn’t wrong, was she?” I challenged. “Katherine is your ex. The one who left. The one whose name you called me that night.”
His expression darkened. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have.”
“Well, I didn’t want to have a conversation about Jackson, but here we are.”
Alexander set his empty glass down and moved toward me with predatory grace. “My meetings with Katherine are strictly business.”
“None of my business,” I corrected, holding my ground as he came closer.
“Isn’t it, though?” His voice dropped lower as he stopped just inches from me. “Isn’t that why you wore this dress tonight? To make a point?”
My heart thundered in my chest. “The dress wasn’t for you.”
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“Liar,” he whispered. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Like you knew what you were doing bidding on dinner with Katherine?”
His eyes flashed. “That was for the charity.”
“How generous.”
“You’re jealous,” Alexander stated, something like satisfaction creeping into his expression.
“And you’re deflecting,” I shot back. “You asked if I was dating Jackson. I asked if you were dating Katherine. You answered. I don’t owe you the same courtesy.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re only my boss now,” I said firmly. “Our arrangement ended the moment you chose business meetings with your ex over honesty with me.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“It’s what I know happened,” I replied, stepping away from him. “You never mentioned Katherine. Not once. Then suddenly she’s back, and you’re having private dinners with her that you conveniently forgot to mention.”
“They’re business meetings,” he insisted, following my retreat until my back hit the cool glass of the window. ” Katherine runs Sinclair Luxe. They’re expanding to New York. Knight Industries owns property she’s interested in leasing.”
“How convenient for both of you,” I remarked, trying to ignore how my body responded to his proximity.
“Madison.” His voice softened slightly. “There’s nothing between Katherine and me anymore.”
“Then why did you call me by her name?” The question escaped before I could stop it, my deepest insecurity laid
bare.
Alexander’s expression clouded. “I was drugged. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Drugged people don’t invent names out of nowhere,” I argued. “They say what’s already in their minds.”
“What do you want me to say? That Katherine and I have history? Fine, we do. She was part of my life for years.”
“And now she’s back.”
“For business,” he reiterated. “Nothing more.”
I shook my head, finding it hard to believe him when every tabloid in New York was suggesting otherwise. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
