It was 9:45 PM, a time when most normal people were winding down, not delivering revised projections for a multi-billion dollar merger to a man who probably didn't know the meaning of the word 'downtime'.
I rang the bell, heart thumping a nervous rhythm against my ribs. I was wearing sensible flats and a slightly rumpled work blouse; this pristine environment, with its polished marble floors and abstract art, felt like another world.
The door opened almost instantly. Kieran stood there, looking far more relaxed than I'd ever seen him in the office, yet somehow more imposing.
He wore only dark gray sweatpants and a simple white T-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was damp and slightly messy, a sharp contrast to the impeccably styled CEO I knew.
"You actually made it."
"You requested it, Mr. D'Angelo," I replied,
"The revised Meridian projections."He didn't take the folder. Instead, he stepped back, opening the door wider. "Get in here. I want to look at those now."
I hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, the click of the heavy door shutting behind me echoing like a final verdict.
The penthouse was vast and minimalist, all sharp angles and glass, a reflection of the man himself.He led me into his office, a breathtaking, two-story room overlooking the glittering city. He took the folder from me, his fingers briefly brushing mine.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to a sleek leather chair.
I sat, back straight. He walked over to a bar area, poured himself a tumbler of scotch, and then turned to lean back against the counter, staring at me over the rim of the glass.
The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. He wasn't intimidating me; he was owning the moment.
"You're efficient," he noted, taking a slow sip.
"I try to be thorough, sir."
He walked towards me – his movements predatory smooth, stopping just inches from my chair. He leaned down slightly, invading my personal space entirely.
"I recall you have a rather steady hand," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. Tuesday morning.
The executive bathroom.He'd been swearing under his breath, fingers fumbling with a stubborn silk knot.
"Do you want help?" I'd asked, calmly walking up to him.He let out a soft sigh and nodded.
"Alright."The room was silent. I felt his warm breath brush against her cheeks while she fixed his tie.
"You're good with hands," He said, in a soft voice. I had looked up and seen a rare, small smile on his lips.
"There," I had said, taking a step back, "Done.
"Before he left the office, he turned around to look at me once more."Red is a lovely colour." Was all he said, before walking out.
At first, i was confused by what he meant. But then i looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw that my shirt was a little unbuttoned. The red bra beneath impossible to miss. No wonder he'd smiled like that.
"Oh, shit."
"I-I should get going, sir. G-good night."
"Wait."His voice was sharper this time, a command that stopped me mid-stride.
I turned back slowly. He picked up a set of sleek, silver car keys from a bowl near the door."It's late, Aurielle. You're not taking a cab from here at this hour."
"I can manage, Mr. D'Angelo, really. I can order an Uber."
He narrowed his eyes, the full force of the ruthless billionaire snapping into place. "That wasn't a request. I'm taking you myself."
...
The atmosphere in the Mercedes S-Class was suffocatingly quiet. Kieran drove with a practiced, predatory ease, his profile illuminated occasionally by passing streetlights. I sat in the passenger seat, the leather interior smelling of money and cold, sharp cologne, my mind racing.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on my lap. The screen lit up with a notification: Jason (Text): Where are you? It's late.
A low, resonant voice cut through the silence. "Who's Jason?"My hands fumbled, nearly dropping the device. I tucked it into my pocket instantly.
"A friend," I replied, the word sounding small and inadequate in the vast silence of the car.
Kieran didn't look at me. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but a muscle in his jaw tightened.
"Really?" The word was a slow burn, dripping with skepticism and something far more dangerous.
He shifted his gaze from the traffic light to my face, his expression unreadable, intense. The light turned green.
He didn't just drive; he accelerated, pinning me slightly against the expensive leather seat as the car surged forward.
"Is he the kind of 'friend' who notices that red is a lovely color on you, Aurielle?" His voice was silk over steel, a clear reference to that mortifying moment in the office bathroom. The possessiveness, barely concealed in his tone, was far more chilling than any boardroom ruthlessness.