Blake didn't slow. Elaine had to move quickly to keep up with his quick steps, her heels tapping against marble in an almost provocative rhythm that she absolutely pretended was unintentional.
His voice finally drifted back. "You said you wanted to learn this business."
"I do."
"Then you're going to see what your proposal affects."
Elaine frowned. "Already? Isn't that—"
"Fast?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.
"You're mocking me."
"A little."
She nearly tripped trying not to laugh. The Ice King has humor? That felt illegal.
He led her to the window overlooking the southern district of the city. Thousands of office lights flickered, glowing like constellations caught in steel.
"That building," he said, pointing, "International operations. Your restructure would cut two redundant teams."
"It would save millions," she countered.
"It would also cause backlash."
She folded her arms. "Good leadership isn't about avoiding backlash. It's about doing the right thing even when it's unpopular."
His gaze slid to her arms, her posture.
"You talk like someone who isn't scared of consequences."
"I'm not."
"You should be," he murmured.
The air thickened.
Elaine swallowed. "Is that a threat?"
"An observation."
She lifted her chin. "Well, here's mine: You're not nearly as detached as you pretend to be."
He went still. Not angry. Not offended. Just…exposed.
It lasted one fraction of a heartbeat before he regained his composure, colder than before.
"You've done enough for today," he said. "Return to your desk."
It wasn't dismissal.
It was retreat. From her. From the truth she'd just laid bare.
Elaine let a soft smile touch her lips. "Whatever you say, Mr. Grosvenor."
He turned sharply, refusing to meet her eyes as he walked back to his office. The glass door shut with a soft, controlled click.
Elaine lingered in the hallway for a moment, pulse warm, cheeks flushed.
He liked her. He definitely didn't want to. And he absolutely didn't know what to do about either.
Perfect. This was going to be fun.
Elaine returned to her new desk with a mix of triumph and adrenaline humming through her veins. Her first day—barely two hours in—and she had already challenged Blake Grosvenor, impressed him, and somehow rattled him all at once.
Not bad.
She slid into her chair, exhaling as she booted up her computer.
"Rough day already?"
Elaine glanced up.
A man leaned casually against the edge of her cubicle—mid-twenties, bright smile, blond hair that looked like it had been styled by a coastal breeze. He wore a navy shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing forearms that suggested he didn't spend his entire life in spreadsheets.
"And you are?" Elaine asked.
"Henry Clarke," he said, offering a hand. "Junior associate. Resident morale booster. Occasional office troublemaker. And you must be the new intern giving everyone heart palpitations."
Elaine blinked. "I…what?"
Henry grinned. "Word travels fast here. And someone told me you survived the elevator with Blake Grosvenor."
"Survived?" she repeated. "He's not a wild animal."
"Debatable," Henry said. "Depends on the day."
Elaine laughed despite herself. "He was…fine."
Henry's eyebrows shot up. "Fine? That's a new one. Most people interact with Blake once and need emotional support."
Elaine shrugged. "I just spoke to him like a person."
Henry stared at her for a long beat—then let out a low whistle. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
Before she could ask what that meant, he dropped a folder onto her desk.
"I'm supposed to bring this to you. Lila said you're helping with the investor presentation."
"Already?"
"Welcome to Grosvenor Global," Henry said with a flourish. "Where deadlines are tight, expectations are high, and the CEO is apparently fascinated by you."
Elaine froze. "He is not fascinated by me."
"Mhm," Henry said, smirking. "So that heated hallway tension was…what? Workplace air-conditioning malfunction?"
Her cheeks warmed. Great, now she was blushing at a coworker's teasing.
Henry leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Look, Blake is impossible to read. But when he passed earlier and glanced at your desk? I've never seen him look at anyone like that."
Elaine swallowed. "Like what?"
"Like he was trying not to look."
That pulled an involuntary flutter from her stomach.
Henry stepped back, hands in his pockets. "Anyway, if you need anything—anything at all—come find me."
He flashed another bright, devastating smile before slipping away.
Elaine stared after him.
Okay.Henry Clarke was trouble of a different kind—warm, charming, disarming. The kind of man who flirted because he could, not because he meant anything by it.
The exact opposite of Blake.
And somehow, far less dangerous.
She skimmed through the folder Henry dropped off, taking notes on what needed to be reworked. She had only gotten halfway through before a shadow fell over her desk.
Cold. Precise. Familiar.
She didn't need to look up.
"Mr. Grosvenor."
Blake didn't respond right away.
She finally lifted her eyes.
He stood there, face unreadable, but something simmered beneath the surface. Something tense.
"Wright," he said evenly. "A word."
Elaine stood. "Of course."
As she followed him toward his office, she became acutely aware of the shift in his posture—straighter than usual, jaw tighter, shoulders rigid.
Something was off.
He held the door for her—not gently, but formally, as though playing the role of a man determined not to let his composure slip.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Before she could speak, Blake turned.
"Who was that?"
His tone was controlled.
Too controlled.
Elaine blinked. "Who?"
"The man at your desk."
Ah.
Henry.
"Why?" Elaine asked carefully.
Blake's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I asked you a question."
"And I asked you why you're asking me that question."
Blake stepped forward, just enough to send a ripple down her spine.
"Wright," he said quietly, "answer me."
Her heart thudded—but she refused to back down.
"That was Henry Clarke," she said. "He brought me a folder. And apparently, he makes it his mission to brighten everyone's day."
Blake's jaw clenched.
"Does he?"
"Yes," she said, crossing her arms. "Why does that matter?"
"Because," Blake said slowly, "I need to know if he's interfering with your work."
Elaine stared at him.
He didn't blink.
She stepped closer. "Or is it because he was flirting with me?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop and rise all at once.
Blake's eyes darkened—not with anger, not exactly, but with something deeper. Possessive. Involuntary.
Dangerous.
"That's irrelevant," he said.
"No," Elaine whispered. "It's not."
They stood only a breath apart.
Neither moved.
Neither dared.
Finally, Blake tore his gaze away, running a hand through his hair in a rare, unguarded gesture.
"This conversation is over," he muttered.
Elaine didn't move.
She didn't smile.
She only said, "You know, Mr. Grosvenor…you're a terrible liar."
His eyes flashed to hers—sharp, shaken—and for a moment, every wall he'd built trembled.
"Get back to work, Ms. Wright," he said, voice low and strained. But his eyes lingered on her as she walked out. Heat, conflict, and something else he refused to name, fought for a spot at the center of his thoughts. Elaine closed the door behind her, pulse racing, a smile tugging at her lips.
Blake Grosvenor might have power, control, and a fortress around his heart— But he was slipping. Badly.
And she wasn't done pushing. Not even close.